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Leah Oct 2019
Give me your sunsets
                                         my love
and I will paint every one of them.
Bring me your faith
and I will  m o v e  
                                     t             /\
             /\                n    a.      /    \
           /    \           u           i  /        \
         /        \     o                  n          \        
       /              m                         s        \
                                                      for you.
Share with me your darkness;
and I will leave the lights on.
Tell me about your dreams
and I will grant your every wish.
Bring me your sorrow,
                                        your pain,
and I will hold your hand through it.

Share with me your forever,
and I will promise to love you
I love you.
dmperez Jun 2016
Imminent grainy current
constrained in flight
a pile of past moments

message me for comments, concerns, conversation,--anything :)
Gerry James Jul 2018
He was a nineteen year old high school dropout.
He was black.
He wore his hair in dreads.
He had a few nose rings.
He wore gold chains and expensive clothes.
He went partying every night.
He got drunk on alcohol but his drug addiction was the biggest problem.
He had a lot of friends.
Because he was ‘cool’.
He was the ‘man’.

He was 18, finishing his final school year.
He was white.
He wore his hair very short.
He had large round glasses, sitting lopsided on his nose.
He wore a long sleeved shirt and trousers.
He studied hard, and he got good marks.
He played the cello in the school band.
But he was gay.
And so he didn’t have any friends.
But he had his family who he loved dear and who loved him back.
He was happy.

The differences between the two are unbelievable.
They are nothing alike; they are complete opposites.
Yet, they are human.
They walk the same streets, at different times.
They both live on the same planet, if not the same world.
They both have a right to live.
They both have people who love them, despite all they are.

It’s their differences that make Jay and Gray human.
Both of them.
Until Jay raised his gun and fired three times at Gray.
That’s when Gray was lost to humanity.
And Jay had lost his humanity.

Coz Jay shot in the chest a boy named Gray
Killed him without giving him any say,
The boy who did no wrong, but was gay,
With his life, he had to pay.
His family cried in despair and dismay,
For their loving son had been taken away,
And now they all sat in silence,
For Gray would never see another day.

For souls who have had their lives ripped apart, and those who rip their lives apart, we pray.
Martin Mikelberg Jan 2018
.       e     w    o  
  h                    r    
t                       d
d                       g
n                       e
u                      t
    o   r    a   s
Just having fun with art and words
Martin Mikelberg Jan 2018
          L I N E S
  H O  R I Z O N T A L
            E                       I
            V                      N
having fun with words and art
Bibek Nov 2017
Revenge itches, where love never reaches,
It itches in the shared cups,                          
                in the shared beds
                in the shared bodies,
But never, in the shared hearts,
For these days, they are not shared

All love is today,
Is a folkdance in a folkworld,
With folks one will never truly love,
But pretend to be loving, Living
How lively!

The roads, the parks, the brothels,
All flood with bodies, not souls
For the vessels are empty,
staring at each other's empty faces,
Prizing empty words to one another,
And mocking anybody different,
How lively!

And in such fragrance too,
Some bear to protest,
The lively call them dead,
In which case, dying is more beautiful
To every human existence that points out the vague fullness and life in it
sunshine Oct 2017
they say that they want


but all they want is the


they tell me that they're


but quite honestly I know they're

elizabeth Dec 2016
My mind is too full of my thoughts...

                                      Sinking deeper into the abyss.
                             My thoughts swallow me up and then
                         I am consumed by the everlasting darkness.

                           I am sinking deeper into
                           The death of my
December 2, 2016
b e mccomb Jul 2016
At nine p.m.
      they roll up
            the crooked
                        like they're
                              fabric bolts.

And every neon
      light in the diner
            window flickers
                  in commercial dim.

When winter comes
      sometimes i drive past
            the closed ice cream stand
                  and think about what i never did.

At nine p.m.
      they shut off
            their overhead
                  living room lights.

Every dog is
      in for the night
            and only the cats
                  are crossing the street.

Small town
      cozy village
            happy people
                  normal sleepers.

                  so incredibly
      stability's key
Not like me.

                             at nine p.m.
                        they roll up
                  the crooked
      like they're
Fabric bolts.

                              but i've always
                        felt the need to
                  walk the streets
           around ten p.m.
      pretend they're
Still concrete.
Copyright 11/26/15 by B. E. McComb
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