Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I’m okay in here
you know?
she said
I’m writing my first novel
I get inspiration being
in a place like this
the drunks the ******
the junkies
all the lost and lonely are
washed in like rats from
the ***** city streets
she kept talking and I
kept listening
she was interesting
she had a cute lisp
and her legs where long
the lazy light caught
the curve of her smile
there were moments of silence
when she would write things down
take a sip of her drink
or to light a cigarette -
in this tortured place
she was like an angel
hope was still in her eyes
her skin had a healthy glow
she was unbroken by the world …
Clay.M
Sometimes
life feels
like a bird without wings
to fly high
sometimes
life feels like
a sunny day without shines
sometimes
life feels like bones
without flesh
like a corpse
that nobody
wants to be around.
sometimes
life feels like a last breath
like a fish  gasping for water.
sometimes
life feels
like it’s *******
fed up with me
and you know what,
I’m fed up with it too.
Like another dance
A man which is empty in every way
Tears keep on falling like parts of his soul
Begging all day to just slip away
Gave it so much that he cannot feel whole

Fading away and off to the wild
Finds himself in a peculiar place
The air had breath and land undefiled
Mountains they crumbled when seeing his face

Darkness crept in as a cat in the night
Flame rose around him but had not a word
Rocks fell to crush him and take out his light
He shattered them as his vision got blurred

Gentle appearance but hear his rage roar
In his soul are drums singing sound of war
First attempt at an english sonnet(ish), though not sure if the syllable stresses are true iamb
Virile salty drops fall on the hard gym floor,
    but the stud’s not crying
          among the 20 kilo plates and olympic bars:
    Andrew's sweating out one handed press-ups.
He might pull the wool over
    his bright clear blue red-blooded eyes,
          but this hunk’s core knows – he's lying.
Thoughts on toxic masculinity and male vulnerability.
Andrew is pretending that he is a hard man who doesn't cry but in reality the salty drops are tears not sweat, hence Andrew's he-man exterior is a lie.
Line 4 - Andrew's is a contraction of "Andrew is" and not the genitive case.
Line 6 Red-blooded is both the redness of his eyes (because he is crying) and a play on red-blooded as in macho.
The ambiguity of the poem reflects the disconnect between Andrew's inner feelings and external lifestyle.
Next page