Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Emi Jay Aug 27
you and i are not puzzle pieces
not two halves of a bigger whole
and if there is a key to my lock
you do not have it, but your smile
makes me want to open up anyway

the deft way our fingers interlock,
this digital embrace, isn't perfect
due to a higher being’s design;
no, it comes from the days wishing
i had the courage to hold your hand

but while we’re alike in many ways
your body is still foreign, changed;
a language i’ll spend my life learning
by your side or pinned under you
(any which way that you will have me).
I've always thought the love you choose has more meaning than anything destined ever could.
eleanør Nov 2017
Every SunDay
I sat acRoss from him
watching as he mIndlessly grabbed
for his black pen
out of his flannel shirt pockeT

Every Sunday
we walkEd to the
corner stoRe Across the street
from our small
picket Fence and grabbed
a Sunday paper from
the bottoM of the Stack.

Every SundaY
He wore his glasSes
instead of his contacts.
"It gives me better brain function"
he said Every Sunday

Every SUnday
he asked me the strangest
questions imaginable.
"WHats a 4 letter word
for 'In times past'"
to which I would respond
"once might fit,"
or whatever tHe answer
could be.

Every Sunday
we became an
invinCible team
a word fighting Duo

Every SuNday
we defeated the
greatest villain to
newspapers everywhere
the NY Times

every sunday
i fell in love
more and more
a never-ending crossword.
8:00 pm
Atul May 2017
"I will take you higher,"* he had said.
"Where will you take me,"* she demanded.
"Beyond the stars & nebulae," he professed.
"How will you take me there," she whispered.
"Come down on me as I sleep," he paused.
"And what will you do," she continued.
"Then I will take you higher," he gabbled.
"What is going to be your next move," she moaned.
"Land on me subtly, my lover," he invited.
"Oh sure, my fomenter," she groaned.
"As my rocket will launch," he gibbered.
"Oh yeah, my crazy tormentor," she cried.
"On a higher level our happiness will be."* he splattered.
My HP Poem #1536
©Atul Kaushal
Remi Leroy Apr 2017
I lifted my head to face the drizzling rain
Little streaks in the background
Wetting my cheeks, damping my hair, soaking my clothes

Rain clouds overhead
Grey cotton puffs in the vast and wide sky
Shielding the light, bringing the cold with them
I stood in the pouring rain, letting the chill sink into my bones
Like needles boring into my joints
Do I have an umbrella?
Yes, yes I do.
It's in my hand, waiting to be opened.
Do I want to use the umbrella?

But the rain makes me feel
Even if the only thing I feel is pain
I'd want to feel alive
17.04.05 prompt: unconventional love
Dawn Treader Mar 2017
Anybody who knows her
Understands she's not like the others
Head in the sky, feet on the ground
Detached when she speaks, cold she sounds,
But her heart is a warm place,
For those she lets in,
The select few see her distant but gleeful grin,
Aware she's different and that's alright,
Because this Nefelibata is always in flight
Head in the sky, feet on the ground
A nefelibata's mind knows no bounds.
Nefelibata: A cloud walker; One who lives in the cloud of their own imagination or dreams, or one who does not abide by the precepts of society, literature, or art; An unconventional, unorthodox person.
Melanie Kate Feb 2017
You rebel
Unconventional to your own standards
Of what being means.
Because its the only freedom
You can believe
When you're binding yourself
By all the rules
And guilt
Given to you by society,
Religion, elders and facts.
Where's the questioning,
Where's the daring to be,
The test in your own limits
And the push against your own conformity that you refuse to see.
Where is the open mind
You claim you have?
Who are you without it all?
Who are you without you?
Can you push the boundaries
To greet yourself on the edge of reason,
To love yourself on the cusp of unconditional adorations.
Can you?
MOS (c) 2017
Atul Dec 2016
There was a girl named Nancy,
Her habits were all outgoing.
Once she became too busy,
Directly for nine months.
Thanks to all of her habits,
Blocked're all the incoming.
She did not want PregNancy.

She was impregnated by a boy,
His hormones uncontrollable.
Worked not any of the Pills,
Now busied for 9 months.
Used to each 1 of the thrills,
But none of it was avoidable.
Thanks to her being a tomboy..

Nancy was the girl in pregnancy,
Her repentance was no point.
Old habits are hard to go,
She may not be loyal.
Now she hides it,
For avoiding it.
The insult...

As for the boy here,
Aged just 15 like her.
He fumbled to suicide,
And she was destroyed.
She can't name the baby,
Not now, not now at all.
How will she name the baby?

As it was supposed to be,
She will behave a virgin,
Will she name him Jesus?
Such things happen when even The Pill won't work.
Practice maturity and patience forever and ever.
An unconventional poem by my standards.
My HP Poem #1357
©Atul Kaushal
i've never fit the standard
i've always been quite odd
and while i know that makes me different
i'm not necessarily flawed
because it's always for the wrong things
that the world tends to applaud
though i swear it's not intentional
i've never been conventional

my behaviors have no pattern
my colors have no scheme
when i'm asleep i'm thinking
and when i'm awake i dream
while the rest are all so silent
something inside me screams
i'm more than three-dimensional
i've never been conventional

you may find me confusing
you may not like me very well
that's something i understand
i'm a hot pink among pastels
still i think, no i believe
that eccentricities propel
the reason i'm ascensional is
i've never been conventional
neha Nov 2016
he watches her with him
it's a tale as old as time
except this time
he wants him
not her
Next page