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Ady Jan 2020
what was i supposed to be?
imploded stardust, floating aimlessly across
the universe expanding, never minding
cruelty escaping, dissipating,
evaporating,
but i can't be nothing if i was something,
laws of conservation of energy rejecting
my lack of preservation.

i want liquid gold inside my veins,
ruptured mind, kaleidoscope bones
creaking in the night.

i'm lost, florescent daylight  
cold and grim, fabricated and burning my retinas
an eight hour parable trying, to stay afloat
but coming home and wishing dark behind
eyelids; burnt.

what was i supposed to be?
sunshine reflected on flowers
warm and liquid, amber in the windows
dripping, pain immersed in honey
making the best out of a leak flowing
endlessly through the tap,
my kitchen sink old but practical.

i was supposed to be me,
whatever that may be.
Brianna Dec 2019
There’s something nocturnal about our love.

The way I sit awake at 2 am dreaming of the perfect sunrise to paint you.
Or the way your lips always taste a little sweeter after 3 am.
It could be the way your mouth moves a little lower when we get closer to 4 am.
But maybes it’s the way you look when you fall asleep around 5 am.

I guess the simplicity of our relationship is what kept me around for so long.
But now I see the flaws and the possibilities of us never growing and it’s making me want to run.

Find someone who wants me at 7am when they just finish breakfast and are headed to work.
And they text me to check in by 8 am just to see how my day is going.
Or they sneak home on their break to kiss me at 9 am and whisper sweet nothings before leaving again.
It could be the way they text me again by 10am and tell me they love me when I head to work.

Maybe I just need a love that’s a bit brighter.
Colm Nov 2019
The real question
Real struggle of life
Is how
You will live
With it
Whatever IT May Be
Mark Toney Nov 2019
have you ever been picked last?
because you're not as fast?
or maybe not as clever?

whatever...
6/8/2019 - Poetry form: Free Verse - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
TheSaneSaloon Nov 2019
Words are nothing.
To the blind I say the same.
In action truth is realized,
In tongue merely shaped.

Both sides lived-
With sight and without.
Words have their appeal,
Zero comparison to heartfelt zeal.

locked-in syndrome-
the ending to conundrum.

senses are endless,
The confusion shows they're senseless.

Let the "ending" perpetuate,
In circles lie the debate,
No resolution to celebrate.
All the while, the "Locked-in"
May have a real chance,
at finding the voice within.

Words are empty,
Being can simply-
The way to attain,
A truth fanned into flame.
Where skeletons in the closet, may now meet their slain.
J J Oct 2019
A series of poems
        That range in quality
And seem to be done in freeverse
Until you step back and connect the dots

Your mileage may very, the metre is open for interpretation.

A series of wordsalads,repetition
And screetch-
ing derivity.
Poems do not ask to be wrote
But it is a blessing that they are.
Just as the sun can't help but shine
A poet must write--

Your mileage may vary, your poem is seperate from mine.

Poems do not kneel to time. The reasoning comes
As you go along and is almost always both right and wrong.

But
             Words
Set an
Unrealistic

Standard.

Write your poem the best you can and try your best not to intercept
Or compare
To the works of others. A poem is just a reaction to the world
Going on around and the other poems that inhabit it.

Collages are a necessity, no poet
Is original, and

A poem is only finished when the poet is dead and buried.
Write kindly, write smart, write of art for the sake of
Writing for art. Write free, write based, write loose,
Write dumb, write alot, write nothing some days,
Write because you love to write, write as if one day
Your tongue will be mute and your hands broken

Write in the manner that suits you best.

Life is just what it is
And you make the rest up
As you go along.
Caroline Oct 2019
I don’t care if you think I’m beautiful

                                                 Whate­ver



Am I beautiful inside


                                              Yes you are
Zane Smith Sep 2019
what to think
anymore.
I want to write
my brain won't
create
poems like before.
this is ******
****
what a pity.
I think
I'm trying to hard
i sit down to write but nothing flows
I guess my feelings
don't want to show
Ike Sep 2019
The chill of the twilight starting autumn creeps in

My mind has been filled with terrible sin

I fell to my knees and preyed in the dirt

The worms and the Gods will feed on my hurt

I hear all the whispers I'm feeling the fright

My call has been heard by the abominus night

I'm the void that you see when you ask from above

Mankind has now seen, and will burn from my love

I've become the darkness that looms in the sky

My wrath is upon you your people shall die

The time has come for carnal feast

I make the change from man to beast

Fangs and claws and unholy fist

Everyone's blood explodes into mist

Delicious are these broken guts

my power feeds on tender cuts

Messiahs bane at midnight hour

Lords of evil grant my power

Look up to the sky and see the moon red

now that I'm god, everyone's dead.
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