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ryn Jul 2022
Bent to a slouch,

That we walk
never unladen.

And perhaps only later,
by the wreaths
around our necks.
Man May 2021
are water on the rock
rust on iron
a match to nitroglycerin
it's love undeniable
minor indiscretions unbeknownst to you
picked apart
it's having someone reliable
to leave you stranded and alone in your moments dark
joy undescribable
when you're stabbed in the heart
ninacrizelle May 2019
Check the mirror
And see for yourself
The image you see
Maybe different from ours

You may see scars
But we see beauty
You may notice the indifferences
But we can’t t deny the perfect curves

You might have appreciated the beauty of others
But how we wish you see the angle from ours
Though sometimes you wish to have their features
Know that we certainly wish we had some of yours!
To the people who wish they were someone else, know that others wish they were like you, too.

I made this poem for a friend who always think that she have gotten too fat or that she may not look good on pictures and was too hesitant to have her photo taken because of her own depiction of herself.... but in reality, she’s actually, really really  gorgeous! She just doesn’t realize that.
natalie Jan 2018
i want to get out
but there's a frog in my knees
that won't allow me to move,
it won't allow me to leave.
i feel it in my throat now,
and im all choked up.
oh no its in my brain now,
im waiting to erupt.
imagery? personification.
Cat Luna Mar 2016
I can see people move fast
But she was in slow motion
They're talking out loud
As she walks to my direction
She gave a lingering stare
With her deep brown eyes
And the stack of books she carries
Tells me she's wise
Her cheeks are painted
With a light blush of pink
Her sweet looking lips
Made me hard to think
An unbeknownst beauty
Who could she be?
I wish she didn't have to...
Walk away so rapidly.
Kurt Schneider Jul 2015
Man needs to reconsider his place in the universe. Upon my morning awakening, while enjoying a cup of coffee(another one of man's creations although albeit simply refined and utilized by us), I closed my eyes and heard not the sounds of nature, as one might assume would be the ideal, but the sound of a pneumatic air-pressure nailgun stapling shingles on a roof. Then, in sequence following that in a crescendo of sound I heard the distant lawnmower native to this local urban habitat, feeding on grasses. This was only soon to be followed by the wind-like sound of nearby automobiles slowly passing by. All of this muffling the sounds of the morning flyers (winged creatures of an inferior design unknown to us) presenting their songs, but falling on deaf ears . That's when I realized we are a product and slave of our own creations, when we should be a slave (or close sibling rather) to creations unbeknownst to us.

— The End —