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I am the wall that the target
is placed on,
you are the bow that the arrow
is shot from.
Dheeraj Gupta Feb 19
वही दूसरी दुनिया का दीदार बाकी है,
आँखें मूंद कर अभी एक सैर बाकी है।

अभी माँ की गोद में सर रख थपकी मिलना बाकी है,
चाँद तारो की बारात में जाना बाकी है।

पलकें भारी कर मूंदना बाकी है,
नज़रों में एक ख्वाब आना बाकी है।

ख़्वाब जो सोने न दे,
ख़्वाब जो कही खोने न दे।

भगाता है तू मुझे अपने पीछे,
रुक तुझे जीकर अभी पुचकारना बाकी है।

बुलबुला नही है तू जो हल्की हवा से फट जाएगा,
अभी तेरा आंधियो की सैर करना बाकी है ।

सोता था कभी तुझे देखने के लिए,
अब तुझे देखकर नींद लेना  बाकी है।
Dreams worth chasing .
Mayur dembda Jan 26
It’s me, the one nerd
Yes, who you used to throw your
hand made paper planes when I was concentrated in the books,
then pass your homework like I was your personal tutor
And made me cry on my way
back to home

It’s me, the fat
Yes, who you did not consider for cheerleading team just
because I was out of shape
And made me cry on my way
back to home

It’s me, the ***
Yes, who you used to beat up in the locker room for being
attracted to the same gender.
And made me cry on my way
back to home.

It’s me, the differently abled
Yes, who you used to punch,
slap, toss
anytime you wanted to do so.
And made me cry on my way
back to home


Listen to this, bully
It came to our mind, many times
to **** ourselves
because of the humiliation and the pain. but at our home door, we stood,
wiped the tears
because can’t show mama
that we were weak
and dad that we couldn’t stand for ourselves.

we did survive through, alive
but with remarks and scars
and with a shattered heart
-ache
Bullying is very bad.
Please don’t hurt other people.
Be kind to everyone.
Shadow Dragon Oct 2018
Hands leaving passionate marks
for a crying nun
that has sinned her life away.
Let her pray instead of running away.
Let her cry warm wasteful tears.
***** fingernails explore
the filthy nuns surface.
Tracing bruises
and spreading pain
from the spanking received
for being too needy.
Forming nuances of red
on the prime target.
Sweet syrup fingers
dripping down the arms
of a freshly dead man.
Defeat for the nun
who now is done.
News announced today "cop kills a man in his own home".
Mistakes his apartment for hers, mistakes him for a burglar or
an easy target!

My Granny says "I bet she is white and he was black"? She used was since Botham is dead. Granny says "cops killing black body has been normalized since forever".

Three days later the news releases her name and photo.
My Granny was right. She is a white woman with Klansman's robes for eyes looking to **** a black man.

  Amber tell me did you sit in your car for 15 hours carving Botham's name on the bullet that killed him before going to his apartment?

Did you want his apartment to reflect the same color as
the red mat in front of his door?
Oh, you didn't notice that,
or did you just decide to take a shot in the dark,
while Botham was in his home resting effortlessly?
It was too dark for you to see that was not your apartment, but lit enough to see him to shoot him in his chest.

Amber, I bet your heart is cut from the same
cloth as your mother's "All Lives Matter" Tee Shirt.
Botham's Mother says his heart was made by angels.
Nyx Aug 2018
I would like to write a poem
Just to scare you so
Cause you said you were weary
Of the poems that we sow

You're afraid of being immortalized
Within the scriptures that we write
You're afraid of the things we'll say
Scared it will leave a nasty bite

The words that we pour out
Are the retellings of our soul
The life that we have created
Our personal bible that makes us whole

You're slightly disturbed that we write
But also partially flattered
Though you would prefer to be left out
In case we leave you in tatters

You told me as you read through
A poem about yourself
"I have to be weary of what I say"
Relax, dont get too full of yourself

We write from the heart
unleashing monsters of all Kinds
Through we gain a sense of control
Control of the insanity of ones mind

Through poems of endless words
Letters strung together by string
A silver tongue out to express
A mind field of eternal sins

Beautiful phases of our love
Cut out from our still beating hearts
Each poem carefully crafted
As the world begins tearing us apart

Dont fault us for our creations
For this is our escape
eternalized within this site
Filling our voids
Its the Perfect shape
C.H
Its kinda hypocritical considering I did write a poem about a Convo we had
Emily Miller Jun 2018
I used to be a Glock 40,
my aim impeccable.
I made the decision,
I pulled the trigger,
I hit my target.
Lately, I've been a musket shot;
unpredictable,
and somehow even more dangerous than usual.
I miss the center and wind up somewhere in the corner of the paper.
Dust flies from the shrapnel
where I used to have a single trail of smoke indicating the bullet, crumpled but whole,
placing a hole where I wanted it to,
and one unbroken shell, slightly charred,
dropping near my feet.
But here I am watching people take cover
as my pieces go flying, destroyed by my own chaos,
tearing anything and everything apart in its path.
I used to be deadly but precise.
Now I'm not sure what I am.
I'm certainly causing damage,
but more to myself than anyone else...
I confuse and startle people more than strike fear in them,
and that's insufficient...
I want to be better,
but I keep going off without warning,
and people avoid me to avoid getting hit,
but they're not scared,
they're simply learning,
and I don't know how I feel about that,
maybe I'm not a gun anymore,
maybe I'm the target,
I certainly feel like a piece of paper,
flimsy and vulnerable against the onslaught of lead,
blown to bits and drifting off in the cloud of dust...
maybe I don't want to be a gun anymore.
I certainly don't want to be a target.
Maybe I don't want to be a pistol
or a musket
or a bow or a knife or a clenched fist,
maybe I want to be a person.
Josh Overson Jan 2018
Most beautiful,
Most Intelligent,
Most ****,
Beyond perfect
Like to the point.

I couldn't imagine anything better.
Maybe it's just to me...
But if it is or isn't.
I can't tell the difference.
All I know, it's you

And when I've said it.
*I've meant it.
***** that it's reciprocation was destroyed... but I can live with it.
I know what you're worth.
I would've gone if you had asked me.
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