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 Nov 2017 Mars
Matt Perkins
Untitled
 Nov 2017 Mars
Matt Perkins
Take the time to calm your mind and choose your next decision
Some will lead and some will follow make sure you know your place
The only one responsible is a reflection in the pond
What I do is all for me and I still call the shots
The many people that I know I care for very much
The mind is always mend-able until it turns to dust
The best advice a man can give is not to give advice
Let the people find themselves let the people fight
Things always escalate with emotions in the way
But take them out and find a life in black and white and gray
Felling mad or sad or good they're feelings all the same
Just another part of life that no one can explain
Trust your gut emotions, you've had them since day one.
Don't take life so serious lets just have some fun.
I wrote this about 2 years ago and just remebered i had it. This year is the first year ive been really writing a lot, but ive always loved it.
 Aug 2017 Mars
Akira Chinen
She was made up of earth and poetry
a silk garden of flames
that bloomed flowers of soft lust
the sun had adorned her skin
with small kisses that stained her face
with stars shaped like freckles
and the moon wove its magic
from the colors of her eyes
she was goddess and muse and woman
and all the things that made life feel beautiful
her blood ran with the indigo rivers
along the mountains of eternities horizon
and she hypnotized with slow poison
from the drunken haze of midnight ***
and her velvet lips could mend the broken
and raise the dead with just a dream of a kiss
and she only had to show the skin of her neck
to make fools out of mortal men
who let prayers of sin seep from their hardened
and wanting desire to know who she was
under her jeans and shirts and nakedness
when she unfolded and dripped and moaned
and took and gave and offered and devoured
from light morning kisses and drowsy eyes
to bending over the kitchen sink
with just enough skin exposed
to plow and grunt through the day
and fall into frenzied sheets
of ***** deeds under the moon
and exposed secrets of lost pleasures
only known by those that have swallowed
the fires of sin and the blood of honey
and in the aftertaste she lingered
with a hint of her earth and poetry
 Aug 2017 Mars
Akira Chinen
You are so beautiful that I want to lay down and make love with you in every possible way and write poorly written poetry to you and you are so exquisitely perfect that I want to ******* in every position and place until I'm beyond exhaustion and near death and have no choice but to write you even worse poetry and then I want to watch us fall so madly in love that we become each others skin and thoughts and you become the only good poem I will ever write and your kisses become the stars of the night and your eyes become the light of the moon and your heart becomes everything beautiful in the hands of eternity and there is where I want to stay under the night of your stars and light of your moon and the truth of your love for always and forever
 Aug 2017 Mars
Dakota
Hazy Grace
 Aug 2017 Mars
Dakota
my clothes smell like
****, cigarettes,
cheap perfume.
my breath smells like
smoke, beer,
boredom.

i want to spray paint
a list of everything I hate
on the side of a Walmart.
i want to tattoo
a list of everything i love
on the palm of my hand.

i want to stop rolling joints
on my Springsteen 45
but I also want
someone to ask me about it.

i want to keep sitting
on the ***** behind the bridge
smoking out of plastic bottles,
inhaling the desire
to stay young like this forever.

i want my hands to tell stories.
scars, tattoos, glitter, pen ink.
i want someone to turn
those into a poem,
a far better one than i could ever write.

i want to be lethal
but i’m coughing up my lungs
and the chemicals in my blood
will keep me alive just long enough
to let me watch myself fall apart.
 Aug 2017 Mars
Dakota
I’m old enough to buy a semi automatic
but not old enough to buy a forty.
That’s okay, my dad drinks enough
that he doesn’t notice when a beer
or glass of wine is missing.
I drink to fall asleep, drink to wake up,
drink to write. They say alcohol doesn’t
make you any more creative, but I don’t
buy into that when I’m four beers in and am not
just another suicidal kid on the internet.
He doesn’t care that I hurt myself,
just that I cry around him. I’m not
allowed to be angry, but he sure as hell is.
He knocks over my mom’s organization
and yells at me as I tremble, scared as hell,
ready to bleed to be forgiven. My therapist
says he’s an alcoholic. She’s probably right,
but admitting that would be admitting
a predisposition that should keep
me away from bars and liquor cabinets.
To be sober is to be vulnerable
and I’m sick of being scared.
The title is taken from the Janis Joplin song of the same name.
 Aug 2017 Mars
Charles Bukowski
Sunday, I am eating a
grapefruit, church is over at the Russian
Orthadox to the
west.

she is dark
of Eastern descent,
large brown eyes look up from the Bible
then down. a small red and black
Bible, and as she reads
her legs keep moving, moving,
she is doing a slow rythmic dance
reading the Bible. . .

long gold earrings;
2 gold bracelets on each arm,
and it's a mini-suit, I suppose,
the cloth hugs her body,
the lightest of tans is that cloth,
she twists this way and that,
long yellow legs warm in the sun. . .

there is no escaping her being
there is no desire to. . .

my radio is playing symphonic music
that she cannot hear
but her movements coincide exactly
to the rythms of the
symphony. . .

she is dark, she is dark
she is reading about God.
I am God.
 Aug 2017 Mars
Charles Bukowski
safe
 Aug 2017 Mars
Charles Bukowski
the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.
 Aug 2017 Mars
Charles Bukowski
I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,
and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew
my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying,
and I pick
up her lovely
dress,
all her loveliness gone,
and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods, Christ-gods,
chips of blinking things,
idols, pills, bread,
fathoms, risks,
knowledgeable surrender,
rats in the gravy of 2 gone quite mad
without a chance,
hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of this
and I know:
her dress upon my arm:
but
they will not
give her back to me.
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