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Elsie Plum Sep 14
The more lyrics the most words the better
So someone one time may read more and more of someone they get
They’ll get me and I’ll get them my friend my comfort is being all alone with so many people like me alone away from me theyll love to hear me say my lyrics because it’ll be like I’m pulling those words right from their mouths which I am right
from
The
belllllllly
Of the kind of mother we allllll cameeeeeee frommmmm then one way or another all ended up alone and away from eachother
All my friends in a make believe room we don’t know eachother but we all know something on one thing sometimes
I’ll keep this one short only because they’ll get it and take it from here
20:55 pm
Words never said
Only written down
Never seen by anyone
Never noticed
The smile on my face
It's only fake
My happy attitude only comes from force
Leave it to me
To see a tool
A box cutter
And only think about stealing the blade
Not for cutting a box though
Written words
Words unspoken
Silence is the loudest scream
Tell that to everyone else
Written words
Not on paper but skin
Written words
Not with ink but blood
Scars forming
Never to go away again
Don't forget to purchase your very own copy of my book, "Digging Graves in Flower Beds," by Alexandria Grigsby
Link in Bio!
In the last few years
I have written
My thoughts and the many emotions
Sometimes I have let them flow
in words I know
Other times have let them simmer and vaporise
There is Knowledge gained and wisdom too
Many times both evade, dimmed by hazy thoughts
Lessons that I have learned and try to implement
To never share the joys and sorrows
with people who don’t understand, neither
And that knowledge and ignorance can both be bliss
When gained
And when one learns to ignore
Him
Like looking for a song that hasn’t been written
I’m looking for a love that hasn’t yet existed
I don’t know who, how, or when
But I know I can’t wait to meet him
08.10.2020
Nylee Aug 6
Your words speak to me
They were never written for me
The feelings carved on the paper
It never had my name
but I'd have it framed.

But all I felt it was,
each lines bringing me to heaven,
and artistically genius
It was a nerve touched upon
so beautiful,
I envied the person
If only I will ever be that lucky
to have poems written for me.

The ones so full of passion
emotion, to be loved as gently,
patiently
where every verse turns immortal,
how could it ever be me
!
I have never written about you                                          
The bond we share,
The chance to be one, which I blew.
You mend us and tried to clear the air,
But I already accepted the fall which I knew.
I am responsible for every tear, I swear.
You were right and always true.
I regret but, to accept this in past, I scare.
never accepted my fault and never thought of writing about all your good deeds till now when you are gone...
lmnsinner Jun 10
you haven’t written me a love poem in so long


around midnight,
two too together,
climb in to bed,
covers tucked,
up to their chins,
happy old souls
settling in 4 the evening...

suddenly followed,
by a furious
sixty seconds of
running and rubbing,
semi-serious sinning,
hands up ‘n down
any part, nearest, handy,
public or private, dandy,
maybe even a minute moaning,
a simple reassurance,
a kind of insurance,
covering bases,
first, second and third,
yeah, he/she to me, attracted...

exhausted, contorted,
exalted, these two fossils,
rising like a holy ghosts,
from the dust bin of
a jointed storied history,
begin to race, who will,
be first to sleep-snoring...

yet

one of them thinking
in those waning moments,

you haven’t written me
a love poem in so long,


the other, thinking happily,

ha! finally learned to keep
poems, short and simple


and both of them
kaput, lights out darkened,
until coffee arrives by
seven thirty morn light,
handmade, by hand delivered...
I count the minutes
I count the minutes until we can be together
You are missed my friend
  My first love
  I knew it from the moment I first picked up a pen
You never judge me
  You seem to always love me
You make sense out of  my every silly thought
  In fact at times you turn the weirdest ideas
  Into an inspired work of art
  For these reasons and oh so many more
  I will love always love you
  I will come visit you soon  
   When  I get to take a  break because things are so hectic right now
   Hopefully soon for my sanity's sake
    You except me even with all my mistakes
   Lets plan for June
   I will meet you again soon
   I will bring a notebook and pen
   My love and friend
    Your name is like a sweet melody we all sing to your tune
     Hello Sweet
    POETRY <3  
I never want to say Goodbye to You!
This is dedicated to  ALL OF YOU< POETRY FRIENDS
Who also love the written Art of Poetry!!!!
Jay M Apr 30
There are stories
Written short to the naked eye
But to the eye of the poet;
There are potential volumes
Of verses and lyrics
Occasional verses and ballads

Hidden all around
Some at first so beautiful
Petals of a bright red rose
The color, fragrance, and corolla appeal
Then seen are the thorns
Sharp as small daggers
Some never to ***** flesh
Others bound to draw blood

Healthy presentation
Good taste and style
Sweet little smile
Glimmering eyes
Melodic voice
Thoughtful and observant
So why the hesitation?

Were those eyes truly glimmering,
Or were they swarming flies,
Hovering over a rotting heart?

That melody
Could it have been giving a choice?
Be wary and don't take the bait
Or be lured by a siren?

Was that thoughtfulness of pure intent
Or will it be a future lament?
Were they so observant
Because they were captivated by you
Or to use blackmail and make you a servant?

- Jay M
April 29th, 2020
The purpose of this poem is to sketch how there is a story in everything, and there is much more than meets the eye. Some eyes may see more, but never the whole entirety of what lies before them. The speaker in this piece is a person who speaks from experience, thinking they knew someone but only having scratched the exterior. When writing this poem, I had to consider how the speaker would be able to express their experience without doing into details (to be open for others to relate to and connect with).

*This poem is being included in my Poetry Portfolio for my Creative Writing class, and I really hope it's good enough.

**When I read this to one of my sisters, she said, "It's Twilight! It's all Twilight!" Well, no, but if you think of it that way it somehow makes sense.. Hah, I didn't see that one coming.
Nylee Apr 7
every word written
      neat, tidy and messy
leaves a feeling behind
      it fills the void of my mind
a great respite as any
      never satisfactory
it always ends way too soon
       it feels abrupt enough
the weather is not the same
       humidity is in the air
Hard to accept that this too shall end
         I keep the book back in the shelf.
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