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 Aug 2016 -df
N
Pollen
 Aug 2016 -df
N
You did not even have to ****
that pretty daisy
and watch as its petals rain
on the ground to know that
she loves you
not.
---
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZMVswfJjv0
---
 Aug 2016 -df
Stephanie Proctor
Sometimes I forget for an instant
who we are.
In those moments where:
I hold your head in my lap and brush my hands through your hair.
You hold me captive against you under the freezing stream of water in the shower.
I watch the lights dance across your face as we drive through small towns late at night.
You stand behind me in the kitchen next to the stove, strewing kisses across my back,
my shoulders, my neck.

In those moments you are everything. You are mine.
And she doesn't exist.
because my heart hurts. and because I ****. and because I’m stupid and I’m crazy about someone that isn’t mine.
 Aug 2016 -df
Bipolar Hypocrite
Cry
 Aug 2016 -df
Bipolar Hypocrite
Cry
When someone doesn't cry,
When they should,
They aren't strong,
But simply weak.
They are just so afraid,
Of showing their tears,
To the world
I miss him so much
 Aug 2016 -df
Bipolar Hypocrite
I'm scared of my imagination.

I hear, see and feel things I shouldn't.
It scares me.

You hear barking, I hear howling.
You hear chair scraping the ground, I hear screaming.
You hear snoring, I hear wailing.
You hear in between radio stations, I hear cackling.
You hear sliding, I hear snakes.
You hear buzzing, I hear a bomb ticking.
You hear church bells, I hear the call for death.
You hear chopping food, I hear execution.
You hear the waves, I hear the drowning of the unknown.

I can't stay in the dark,
It's what I imagine I fear for.
My heart runs for it's life,
But it's stuck in the same cage.
And it's walls are scraped,
With tally of the times it will never get out.

You hear a tap, I hear drowning.
And I am flowing with it. In it.

Shake my head away from the dreams?
It's not as easy as you think.
When they taunt you,
While you sleep,
You dream,
You eat,
Scream.
I do.

It's just a nightmare...
- No it's not.
It's real;
It's my imagination.

Telling me things it shouldn't,
Making me feel things I shouldn't.

The imagery is too much, I cannot see;
Blind.

The wails, howls and screams are getting louder;
Deaf.

I’ve run out of voice,
To speak, to express, to call for help;
Dumb.

They say your imagination cannot hurt you,
Yet I’m screaming, running away from it.
But I can't – it's stuck with me, 'till I die.
Die from the fear of myself?
I will.
It's not as bad as this, but for some it is. I AM scared of my imagination, sometimes. but then again, aren't we all?
 Aug 2016 -df
Bipolar Hypocrite
Happiness is...

Not being sad.
People compare happiness to many different things,
Then I forget what happiness means.

But I write the truth,
And I won't forget,
What happiness truly means.

:)
 Aug 2016 -df
Mike Patten
Attract what you expect,
reflect what you desire,
become what you respect,
mirror what you admire.
 Aug 2016 -df
Ravanna Dee
Underneath all the makeup
Behind all the smiles.
I’m just another person.
Struggling through their trials.
We all face things in life. Sometimes it seems as if we're the only ones who feel like failures; but sadly (and thankfully) we aren't. Remember that. We each fall, it's if we stand back up that matters.
 Aug 2016 -df
Ravanna Dee
How do you know
When it’s okay to let go?

How do you fly,
When you can’t see the sky?

How do you forget
When you’re always in that mindset?

And how can you still love
When you’ve already been disposed of?
 Aug 2016 -df
Nik
Untitled
 Aug 2016 -df
Nik
it was like a car accident- falling in love with you.
painful and unintentional.
i want reparations.
 Jul 2016 -df
tamia
he
 Jul 2016 -df
tamia
he
he's got slits for eyes,
they wander about, in search for something
to satiate his bustling curiosity.

he's got a thirst for life,
he is attracted to painted alleyways,
he listens keenly to anyone who speaks in the hopes of gathering a story to tell.

he's constantly moving around, speaking in tongues,
his breath smells like summer, his eyelids are heavy ,
his hands are ink stained and he is desperate to create.

and i'm not one to draw or paint; but to me,
there is artistry in the swing of his hands,
there is poetry in his stride, his kindness, in his mousy speech,
there is a story in his sunlit bedroom, his drafts and scribbles,
the type of spectacle worth capturing in a photograph.

his art is merely a reflection
of the beauty contained in his being.
based on Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets Of the Universe
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