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 Jan 2015 thommya
ThePoet
The more we're granted,

the more we take for granted.

©
The Creep That Loved You
Awesome to talk to, really cool person, such a kind and caring soul, great relatable and incredible poetic work, so interesting and great taste in music. ;) Yup. Lovely all around.
 Jan 2015 thommya
Sally Soe
I could learn to love you,
but that’s not the point.
It should burst out of my ribcage
With flowers and knives
Beautiful and bleeding
Singing with joy and
The pain of bullet wounds.

If we learned anything from love,
Maybe we wouldn’t love at all.
 Jan 2015 thommya
Joelle McCook
What colour is beautiful ?
        
         Beauty is a kaleidoscope, yet black is
         the ostracized shade.
         My skin is like a stretched canvas, exploding
         with hues and tones of blackness
         Swirled into one beautiful ...
         me.
         Why does the vibrancy of my essence have to be
         tamed into bland bite-size bits to be
         swallowed up by society.
         Is the flavour of my skin too rich and sweet
         for you to bear?
         Well, if you cannot handle the bitter sweetness
         that makes me a dark berry, then
         Stay bland in your conception of blank beauty.
         I am not one shade too dark for beauty.
         Black Is Beautiful.
         I Am Beautiful.
 Jan 2015 thommya
antxthesis
And if someone asked me how much I miss you, & even though words cannot formulate how much my being aches for you I'd say:

"I think I miss him the way how the football field misses the knees of men, as they kneel in victory.

Think I miss him in the way how a child misses her mother's breast, as she has gotten too old for that now.

Think I miss him the way a mother misses the bulge in her belly, after she has given birth.

Think I miss him the way how the playground misses the children, because they're on summer break.

Think I miss him the way how a druggie misses the smell of *******.

Think I miss him the way how a stripper misses the pole after work and the way how a ******* misses being penetrated.

Think I miss him the way how a mother miss her cold blooded, murdered son

Think I miss him the way how the sheet misses lovers after nights of *** only to find out they're lovers no more.

Think I miss him the way the trees miss leaves during fall
And the way how the ground misses the leaves during spring.

Think I miss him the way how the sky misses the moon during the day and the way how it misses the sun during the night.

Think I miss him the way how my lips misses his, and in the way how my finger misses his skin."

And if they ask when I miss you the most:

"I think realize I miss him when the most, when days get rough, and the days when forcing a smile just isn't enough."
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