Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Poetic T Apr 9
The restrictions upon my self
worth, never the right, write,
              wording, metaphor

of what I wish to show you, u, me.

That even though I don't cry or
                scream, I'm swaying

every sentence I write, right to  
the point that there was never
a chair to hold words.

Instead, I bleed my word, pain
with every stanza that collected
beneath holding me up.

Until I wrote so much that there
wasn't just air beneath me but solid
              meaning wanting to
hold me higher than that which
may make me fall...
Sandy Mar 9
How would you consider
Dark blue eyes
Colour radianting
Shining illuminated me

Those eyes were in search
Search of love and desire
I was not that's how
That's when things end

End in goodbyes, forever
Forever #poetry
Ibrahim Nebulae Sep 2020
ages ago,
god wrote a love poem &
it went something like this...
Ileana Amara Aug 2020
she wrote a myriad of poetry
like blood from the wounds
pouring down onto a deep, mystical art

she wrote a myriad of poetry
like she kept her soul in tune
with a thousand words and unfathomed thoughts

she wrote a myriad of poetry
like they were all for the moon;
a midnight composition that often ends in three dots

she wrote a myriad of poetry
like a seamstress who tries to have her heart sewn
from all the inevitable loss and endings that tore her apart.

nonetheless, with tired eyes and hands,
the poet writes, hoping someone would understand.

Destiny Feb 2020
today i wanted to be perfect yesterday i wanted to be perfect i always want to be perfect but if i was perfect what would god be.
Colm Jan 2020
The other day
A match struck my roughness
And anxiousness took me to be freed by fire
As I burned away all of your rusted memories
Which'd been stored for yet another day
Which turned out to be today
In ashes your words
Cast, burn and floating away
Just a song about old letters

Finally burned all of my own the other day
Maria Etre Dec 2019
I find myself
adding a lot of commas
in my poetry
Could it be
I need more
breathing space?
Irene J Nov 2019
the only problem that I haven't told you
it's because you are my dearest friend.
you probably already know,
from the words I wrote,
that it all meant for you.

I'm not ready yet to prepare myself to heart the truth.
Because I know it would **** me softly.
hopefully, you will read all of my poem to you.
we sat at a compete
the author knew that
there is a tie or secret
between us or our heart

he ordered to sit in wide
he ordered to tell what i like
to meet and talk and write

we took two parts of papers
she wrote
i wrote
he took
he opened

she wrote my name
i wrote her name

the attendants were so amazed
they cut thier hands for clapping
the love is a ray sending in equal between two hearts
Next page