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lola Dec 1
A box.
Like water, we fill the shape in which we fall.
In a box too big, water seeps in, grasping and waiting to hit the edges.
We are made to think we aren’t enough—our box may be too big.
In a box too small, we drip over the edges, losing pieces of ourselves.
We are told we are too much.

But make your own box. You’re perfectly enough. You fill its every corner.
Others may have bigger boxes.
They may be shaped oddly—round, curved, sharp—
but the only box you will fit in is your own.
Dear me,

STOP writing poetry as songs

NO ONE can hear it except you.

It sounds weird
And leaves the reader confused.

To you, however,

If read in this specific

Imaginary ***

Sing song way,

It sounds delightful
To ears in the 4th dimension.

Sadly,

Most people still live in first one.
And yes,
That makes you very unique, but you still have to follow the rules.

Sometimes.
Jay Oct 31
Two poets, each with a distinct soul, shape similar sentiments in different forms. He dreams in paragraphs, broad and expansive, like clouds stretching across an endless sky. His words dive deep, exploring the hidden caverns of life’s stories. She, in contrast, dreams in lines, each one crashing with the precision of a wave. Every word is chosen with care, her stanzas offering brief yet vivid glimpses of a heartbeat. Her verses flow like a gentle whisper, artfully capturing emotions on display. Their forms may be distinct, yet their themes converge: love, loss, and longing, woven into words. They share their work openly, baring their hearts in a space where emotions find resonance. Each sentence pulses with passion, laughter, and stolen glances, their connection sparked from the very beginning. Together, they transform the stillness of night into shared moments, each word a bridge into the other’s world. As they read each other’s lines, each word becomes a cherished fragment. Their hearts, poured onto the page, collide and merge within the ink of their souls. Two poets, entwined, seek to understand the intricate design of love, its gentle, complex beauty. Each line written, every paragraph crafted, reveals their shared exploration through the labyrinth of love and uncertainty. Hand in hand beneath the starlit sky, they craft a story uniquely theirs, blending two beautiful voices into one. Who could have foreseen it? A poet of paragraphs, a poet of lines, falling in love with a beauty all their own.
MetaVerse Sep 22
Emily shmemily,
Emily Dickinson,
Recluse and poetess,
Rendered her rhyme

Idiosyncrously,
Much of her poetry
Reading most cryptically
Much of the time.
idiosyncrously – like "idiosyncratically" but doubly dactyllic
kel Sep 14
is it wrong to want a bit of attention?
all I want
is a unique kind of connection
where I'm the only one in their eyes
eyes that are filled with dedication
towards me and me only
I wish somebody could give me a redirection
because I'm starting to feel selfish
and that's becoming a distraction
to my insecure lil brain
so I guess I'll just wait for my destruction
as I wonder what it takes
to not worry about my emotions
just to feel okay to feel selfish
with not even one restriction
Heavy Hearted Jul 16
sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;

we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.
I'll jus leave this here...
Sally A Bayan May 18
☘️☘️☘️

It's wonderful to be
a freshly blooming rose,
seen by everyone's eyes
given special names,
and compared with other
grown blooms.

But...

I'd rather be free from
everyone's attention,
i prefer to grow, to bloom
without much effort,
to sprout amongst the grass,
on some random garden spots,
to persist to exist, to breathe
even among crevices.

I'd rather be a wildflower
unannounced, unmaintained
yet, beautifully unique,
and with much freedom.

Upon me, others may tread,
but, i don't die easily,
i persevere, and then
in due time, i rise again.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
MAY 16, 2024
a relationship
can't mask
what you fail
to love within
yourself
Mark Wanless Jun 2023
unique spectrum of
genetics is all in all
no not really
Anais Vionet May 2023
I snuck into the party with an ID I hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.

In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.

In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.

I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
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