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Malia Feb 21
i have words inside of me
and i can’t say
any of them.
i don’t even know
what they are.
what happened to my voice?
it feels like it’s been a while
since i had something to say.
living underwater, living like a corpse.
i wake up and then go back to sleep
because “awake” is not “autopilot”.

why am i so tired?
I have been feeling…slow, lately. glitchy. staticky. stagnant.
Nishu Mathur Feb 21
Like a cup of coffee
a perfect brew
you are my morning cuppa 
I am addicted to you 

Or Darjeeling tea 
for which I pine 
aroma in gold 
you're always on my mind 

Like watermelon juice 
a sumptuous burst 
pink and sweet 
you quench my thirst

Or a bottle of wine 
red or white 
you tickle my senses 
in fermented delight 

Now of course 
there isn't much I can do

Dear poetry
I am addicted to you
Another repost
Francie Lynch Feb 21
My words are hard to handle;
They shift and shape in time.
It's  cool to be rad,
To chill and veg sublime.

Some just reach and grab the crotch,
And twerk while in their ******;
Majorettes smile in knee high boots,
Flirting with the lenses.

Some other words come easily;
The ones used every day.
Texting's being phased out
With a smiling yellow face.

I have fewer words today;
This makes life hard for me;
The many times I write Love
Is nearing Eternity.

Yet isn't this all I need-
That one Eternal chord;
Love is love forever,
Never ending as the Word.
And what is "The Word"?
What can a man alane do?
What can he say? But company costs.
Not dollars nor cents. But recompense.
The cost is oftain high and makes nai sense.
If you think I've made errors it's Scots not that I'm dense.
Heavy Hearted Feb 18
Me n mangoz are heading west
Spontaneous with serendipity,
Expressing isn't easily found
When ones pretentiously profound,
Thinking of all the words
But they won't come out
So let's type them together, here
in the cyberspace let's shout.
Did the guy stay- no, the MANGOOOOO
i saw no point in telling
all she meant to me
of how i loved her
and of the dreams i had
as she never believed
those words for long
simply wouldn't accept
their true meaning

instead i bought
flowers and chocolates
and wrote a card
for her to read
over and again
until she might finally
see what i see
and fall in love
irinia Feb 5
a soul history is like the caligraphy of dunes
the psyche toiling its dark materials
sketching shadows from imagination
the cabaret of desire contemplating all the wonderful trivial terrible beings you can be. a wave in my mind you are
between the visible and invisible man the wisdom of the shamans

I walk on streets, I see things, I touch hands suffering from imagination deficit disorder. sometimes I have thoughts in reverse
but I cage my heart in this shrine of memory while
I am looking for you dawn by dawn, bird by bird
SANA Feb 2
" why can't I breath
even though there is air
why do feel suffocated
even though I am free"
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