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elizabeth Jun 2014
There are too many things
I still want to do with you

Baseball games
in the blistering heat
so I can Instagram our love

Trips to the city
I'll tweet about
just vaguely enough that people wonder
what we did all night
in that big hotel room

Swimming with sharks
getting likes on our Facebook photos
and jealous messages from our friends

Our relationship
was always set to private
I guess I liked it better that way
but whether or not my friends can see it
there are too many things
I still want to do with you

Please don't be done with me yet
If you want my thoughts
In a non-poetic form
Follow my twitter.
http://twitter.com/knightvowel
AavelinaJaden Jun 2014
I have a poetic bone in my body, I swear; I've seemed to misplace it
I'll search inside the cabinets, within the threads of my bedsheets
maybe you've withheld it in your eyes
breaking it with your icy glare,
maybe you enjoyed hearing it crack and shatter into pieces, 
was the dissonance music to your ears?
i thought i saw it the other day, chasing the hand you walked out on, 
funny how it could've escaped my grasp
when I once held it so close like the proverbial hand of cards,
a treasured piece of myself.
I can hear it now, it reverberating through the forest like the drumbeat of your heart.
Toying with me, a little girl attached to the strings of a puppeteer
suspending itself among the wind chimes that whisper melodies to the wind
it hangs there, taunting me with gut wrenching lullabies, torturing my every-waking moment
with the unmistakeable clinging of its own remnants.
I don't know if it'll ever return to me; do i even want it to?
COLLABORATION WITH TWITTER USER @BELLAN0VA
Timothy Miller Jun 2014
140
Emotions are cast before blinded eyes,
To stand before the final test of time.
Will our future look on us and despise,
One hundred forty characters of rhyme?
Jaded words cast into the endless sea,
Or three words said behind a glowing screen,
Generations look back with shame and see,
Romantic nothings not one soul did mean.
The birthing of passion is all but gone,
And often are we caught up, bound, and tied,
Trading away for screens our forlorn dawn,
Lost in the sea, in the black, raging tide.
So our time shall be remembered as thus,
One hundred forty characters killed us.
J M Surgent May 2014
No matter what I do
theres always something
I want more
Like a camera
or a trip
or even just something
just a little bit better
than what I have, even if its older, because
sometimes things
of old are
so much better
than the new,
like how I look at
These cameras I dream of
in stores, in
flea markets,
I hold their predecessors,
their grandfathers
and feel the cold calm
of the metal body
in my hands, and know that
things just aren’t built this way any
more, and people
aren’t what they used to be, or
so it seems,
from the history classes
and all the books
I read, about life
before it was my time
and how people seemed
to give a ****,
and didn’t just sit
and whine
and waste so much time,
but how did they live
before Facebook
how could they
fall in love without
Tinder,
or read the news without
Twitter
or pass their classes without
google on their Androids in their laps to pass the answers on the test before them?

So I guess they were just tougher
than us, like these old cameras
I want, and they
didn’t want, like we
want to pretend we need
so we don’t have to accept
what’s right in front of us.

Our excuse that
We need to wait for film
To develop.
lazarus May 2014
fingertips breed restlessness like lovers breathe music
faeries are alight within the dust caught in a sunbeam
the wind sing-whispers to the quivering blades of grass, melodies
one, two,
easy words leak from wind-kissed lips
nail beds caught in hesitation
what a revelation, nettles turn their stinging ****** up towards the expression
towards the sun.


i revel in this daydream like a kitten in warm milk
easing, reaching, yearning
hold me closer than you hold each breath.
May 20th, 2014
Charles Barnett May 2014
1) 12 thousand tweets and none of them are substantial. They're becoming less and less about you though. Maybe that's what is substantial about them.

2) Something in the way you wrap sin in worship.

3) I'm an arson waiting to happen, is the funeral pyre really necessary?

4) Writing about you angrily isn't doing it anymore. I want to smash bricks through windshields that used to hold flowers I bought you.

5) Looks like you're not at the bottom of this one either. ****.

6) My love has always been leprosy.

7) You're the interlude, not the chorus. But, that's okay I'm a terrible vocalist anyway.

8) She wants to date boys that are self aware and boy did she hit the jackpot.

9) You smile with the grace of grandmothers and I'm a bad boy like your grandpa after the War.

10) Can I cut out your grin and put in on the wall next to my framed poster of Bob Dylan and Charles Bukowski?

11) Trace my outline in chalk when I finally drink myself to sleep. I'm euthanizing the pieces of me that belong to you.

12) If I find you in Heaven won't you be in his arms? If I find you in Hell won't you be my torment?

13) You make me feel as insignificant as God does and I think that says something about prayer.

14) I quit paying my phone bill so I'd quit dialing your number like a suicide hotline.

15) My teeth are rotten like the lies that spill out of my teeth. You find me beautiful and I've never been more self-conscious.

16) Your silence fills my abdomen like daggers and words clot where crimson should flow.

17) Loving you is *******.

18) My heart is at a crossroads and you're drowning in dust in the rearview mirror.

19) You prefer the subtle burns. The flames so hot they sever nerve endings when they lick your fingers the way I imagine I would.

20) She sings the body electric and I'm forced to worship her through computer screens and the scratch of needle on vinyl.
Anna Elguera May 2014
Substituting communication
for mere contact.
Self image produced with every shared post.
Basing your worth
on how many tap their finger.

When people become numbers
and reading someone's tweets
is enough to count as friendship

Convincing ourselves that life should have an edit option

Have we forgotten the tangible world?
real and uncut
above the square illusions residing in our hands
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