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 Dec 2018 Elizabeth
simone jewell
we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die
anonymous avengers
 Dec 2018 Elizabeth
MicMag
sometimes you just
gotta sit down and write
just grab the apple
and take a bite
just take a leap
into the dark night

if you want to be a poet
you gotta write poems
let the words go
wherever the wind blows em

sometimes your lines will ****
other times blow you away
but stay firm on that writing path
don't be led astray
by laziness and perfectionism
saying you can't do it
don't give in, knock em down
push yourself right through it

let the poem be what it is
let its rhymes ring true
knowing as much
as you're writing the poem
it's also writing you
success comes
through failure
improvement comes
through the grind
go ahead
write bad poems
they'll make you better
in due time
 Dec 2018 Elizabeth
Alex B
Someone stole my color
And threw it to the wind
Scattered like ashes
I don’t know if I’ll ever find it

Someone stole my color
From the face I know so well
I saw it in the cotton candy clouds
And the teal ocean swell

Someone stole my color
I guess that’s where it went
The world looks so much brighter
Like something heaven-sent

Someone stole my color
And that’s what no one knows
Depression isn’t black
It’s the color of a rose

It’s the light orange in a sunset
And the yellow of a peach
Light blue, my favorite color
So simply out of reach

Purple like my favorite eyeshadow
No, lavender, I’d guess you’d say
And my favorite music artist
Although he has passed away

Someone stole my color
Now everything’s too bright
I suppose sometimes darkness
Isn’t the opposite of light

Someone stole my color
So I’ll wear grey and black
As if in mourning
Until I get it back
 Dec 2018 Elizabeth
Safira Azizah
people say you die twice.
once, when you stop breathing
twice, when someone says your name
for the last time.

I fall in love with a poet,
and she never stop carving
each letters of my name
Ink seeps from veins and arteries
she pours the warmth of my blood
drawing a line between real and fake

shamelessly, to remember
her name is encapsulated
in eternity, through her words
you
i find myself thinking of you
i find myself dreaming of you
i find myself talking to you
i find myself crying for you
i find myself wishing of you
i find myself wondering about you
i find myself going crazy over you
why why why
do i feel this way i never wanted to
i don't want to feel anything but i do
i know  you don't about me but a girl can wish
i wish you cared
i wish you would
i wish you lay next to me
i wish you look at the moon with me and the stars too
Dry
.
It
is
true,
you are
totally right.
I'm as dry as
a desert, I'm a dead
empty land. I used to be
a  jungle  when  the  clouds
where by my side, and now that
they are gone, my trees, my dreams
they dried and died. Because of this,
nothing grows inside of me, there is
only silence and despair. I can't feel
what  I  write,  I  barely  feel alive
I want to feel human again
Oh god, I really miss
the rain
Es frustrante tener  las palabras pero no el tiempo y luego tener el tiempo y no recordar las palabras

— The End —