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Ivana Rodriguez Nov 2018
w e  a r e  t h e  o c e a n . . .

      y o u  a r e  t h e  s u n s e t . . .

                        I  a m  t h e  s t a r l e s s
                                                         s k y . . .
Personally, I hate this type of poetry, and don’t even find this poetry, but I had a thought and thought it should go on here for aesthetic purposes... yeah... this does not make sense, but hey, it’s all about aesthetics, right?

Update: honestly, this was made as a parody on those Rupi Kaur type of “poems,” and it really concerns me that this has more views than some of my actual poetry...
Arianna Jun 12

Humidity coats my limbs with desert rain
as June unfurls in jasmine mists
the stench of summer
about the fragrant bed
where I have tasted draughts of Eternal Slumber,
and drunk my fill of half-dead visions.


Indigo night settles vulture-like
over the silver plains,
swallowing the horizon beneath its wings.

Delirious in the face of Death,
I trace life lines through the stars;
but no path presents itself from the torch-obscured darkness.

Thus, choking on the fuming heat,
I succumb once more to leaden sleep.


Recollections seep from deep-sea marrow,
flooding eyes wide open behind their lids
with blurred impressions, vague distortions.

Bound up in turquoise silk of the Nile,
the slightness of a blink
sails Time and Space
from silken bower to moonwashed grave.

Leopard without spots,
I shed my myrrh-oiled skin upon the banks:
gossamer crumpling into lotus waves,
summoning surrender
slick and serpentine.

A persuasive lover, the River clings
effortlessly along my sinking frame,
dropping gently through the currents
to plumb the peace of still waters
and quiet, spellbound dreams.
A(nother) devastatingly hot day.

Daemonia Nymphe - "Dios Astrapaiou":

Paintings: "Girl in Yellow Drapery", "Dolce Far Niente" (1897), "Dolce Far Niente" (1904), and "Dolce Far Niente" (1906) by John William Godward.
Finnick Oct 2018
So much to say,
So few people to truly listen.
Their eyes were like the stars—
But stars are not blue,
Nor green,
Nor the deepest shade of brown.
**** watch people not read this note section, but this is another parody on those wannabe poets that think by making prose aesthetically arranged and making it look like a stanza is poetry. If you know, you know.
Also, watch this trend because it’s “aesthetic.”

Also, Shakespeare’s sonnet gave me the idea for this ****. Hence the title.
Mae Jan 20
What a simple and plain day.
A cloudy day.
Hoping my pain will go away.
Wishing on the plane, up away.
Gazing and wondering.
Watching the kites hovering.
As the clouds are moving
A smile on my face is forming.
How wonderful it is,
To live a life like this.
The pain didn't exist.
In this dream that I insist.
Traveler Sep 2018
I wouldn’t dare to guess
The whole extent of
The adolescent mess
  Left upon the first broken heart..

Certainly you are one of those
Who have overcome
Those common blows
    That tears a first timer's world apart...

Or even luckier yet
Perhaps your soulmate
This time around
Is who you met
   Reflected in the passion of your art....

Being a poet
Can be quite telling
Aesthetically rebelling
Sharing all the secrets
   Of one's unique solitary heart.....
Traveler Tim
MARGA Jun 2018
your precious smile,
that never failed to shine;
a heaven-sent beam,
that made my heart your realm.

2. your tenderness,
that gave me bliss;
how could someone be
like you, so dearly?

3. your good vibes,
that surpassed all tribes
in giving off the positivity
i need for my stubborn reality.

4. your talents,
that awakened everyone's hearts;
you are my significant inspiration,
you give life to my life's ambition.

5. your humility,
that's filled with sincerity.
while everyone else is toplofty,
you remained lowly.
not everyone as wonderful as you,
could show meekness too.

6. the happiness you shared,
at times when smiling is something
i never dared;
darling, it meant everything.

7. for your meaningful silence,
that gave me a better comprehension.
although your stillness was tense,
i knew in my heart it was never a rejection.

8. for your music,
that never halts to flourish.
music, your depiction of aesthetic;
through you, the melody will never tarnish.

9. for being your genuine self,
you gave me potency to do the same.
shamming is no longer something i'll play, for you taught me how to
end that witless game.

10. for bringing me daily sunshine,
for setting the moon & the stars aligned;
my everyday became better,
and i will treasure you forever.

there are way more reasons
on why i love you for real.
through the passing seasons
i could slowly & slowly reveal
and show you how i truly feel.
as time passes us by,
i would no longer hesitate
and keep my sentiments ensconced.
through the coming weeks, months and years,
as long as we have all the time
i would dauntlessly lay out to you
that the way i feel for you is true.
written with whole heart for my dearest .
let me tell you
that i am true
ㅡ and i always will be.
Jaxey Jan 3
A rainy day
A dead rose
That picture on the wall
My little sisters test
Hanging on the fridge
The project I used to stall
My Polaroid camera
A broken mug
My mom's excuse of fun
A walk outside
A kitty in my lap
The trophies I forgot I won
A forgotten poem
A silent scream
A whisper of the untold true
Little things
Little dreams
All ending with you
You were my untold story
no longer will i live ashamed
of the love i have for the beauty of ***
it leans so closely towards the soul
resting upon its aura

Until proven otherwise
i will continue to live alone with this newfound
pride and fortune
for it will never end this bold admiration i have
for the human body and the many things it creates and devours within itself
all for the purpose of pleasure and satisfaction
i cannot help but be deeply inspired by it all
feel overwhelmed by its thunderous aesthetic brilliance

We breathe into fear
we grow into darkness
and out of a primal and immovable void
as if it was meant to be left unknown
and stuffed into the dark

Often ruined by our tendency to overthink
often degraded or stolen
misjudged and maltreated
no longer is *** ethereal at heart
it now comes with intentions we dig to find
and learn to detest, intensely digest, or ponder
wonderfully and soulfully until it is all rotten

I hope to one day witness fearlessness
and untouched salvation  
beneath the spirit of an *******
a moment unfolded and left unstretched
by time and heavy worries committed to by energy and time
I hope to one day become unburdened and understood
left unspoken for
for these are my words on S E X

One does not have to participate to appreciate its effervescent presence in spaces
it is eternal and wonders like God amongst men
We were blessed and we shall be thankful
for when it is felt in full
by as many as necessary
don't know where this came from honestly but i really like it!
c Oct 2018
Painting me
Like one of your French girls
Is a little worse than cliche.
Paint me in your mind
With rose petals for hips
And the most divine night sky
Beneath my lashes.
Speckle pigments across my skin
Freckles like wet sand, stuck.
Color my scars brightest
Impure veins like that of a leaf
Carrying stories, not water.
Paint my smile most of all
Paint it weighed down by stones
Too many for anyone to remember
Yet stretching, brightly
As if to reach the moon.
Above all else, paint me yours.
Ivana Rodriguez Oct 2018
Autumn has nothing on me now;
Summer has changed me as a whole.
But winter is coming soon, I fear,
And I'm afraid by spring I'll have no soul.

Spring: a season's anticipation,
Awaiting the exciting summertime...
Crashing down comes ice and snow,
And brings me to the winter-rhyme.

Winter, bearing **** days––
To bring out nips upon the skin,
And tears to turn to killing hail,
And morals to turn to bitter sin.

Autumn, so full of nothingness:
Empty, and dead, and decaying-brown.
Leaves that swarm the dried-out air
Like clumps of ashes falling down.

Summer, the warm, and lovely season––
"Hurry up," I say, "and run, run, run."
I'm missing sun in every corner;
I'm missing freedom; I'm missing fun.
I don't know about this poem... comment, please...(?)
I did not want to post this at first, but it gave me a decent reason to procrastinate and not do homework.
You can call it an aeshetic,
Or call it a ruin-my-life.
But you can't take
Who I was away.
Sometimes I wish
I hadn't changed back then.
And that I'd still have
The past in my hands.
in my backyard
with alluring flowers
wild flowers, purple haze
green, with a shade of russet

Nature at it's very best,
the visual perception,
of my garden
to the mind and soul
a great aesthetic rapture!

This is my pagoda
I come here to meditate,
in the spectre
of beautiful  aura
and to be at peace with nature,

Amidst my temple
a spliff I shall spark
with a profound  purpose,
to bless my mind
and to bless my soul
with sagacity,
from the universe!
SteamPhunk Aug 2018
Dusk, old perfume bottles,
Cotton sheets, dried rose petals,
Handwritten letters, cobblestone streets,
Ballet, copper, dark lipstick,
Melted wax candles,
Grand architecture,
Rivers that run through cities,
Women in silk dresses,
Ballrooms, lavender,
Gold jewellery encrusted with pearls,
French tipped nails,
Glasses of champagne,
Harps, long lashes,
Lipstick stains on blushing cheeks,
Marble floors,
We are dancing in starlight tonight.
I've started writing " aesthetic poems " where you just create a visual aesthetic using words.
Finnick Dec 2018
You have so much potential.
So, So, So, So much.
And whenever you put a blade to your skin,
I watch the universe leak from the scars on your wrist.
AestheticAbi May 9
Aesthetic I wish I was
Pathetic I am now
Putting myself in misery
Hurting myself constantly

With two pigtails and a waist the
Width of 30 inches
I lay in my bed waiting to
die before these *******
The first word in each line rhymes. I think.
K Balachandran Nov 2018
A coy spice hill breeze,
Passes subtle hints on it;
Poet knows the rest!
agnes Mar 29
oh the feeling of your hands as they graze against my skin
how protected I feel with your arms around me
my legs will wrap around you
and my toes will curl with every move
stay with me like this forever
or at least for as long as you’ll have me
you’re like sugar coursing through my bloodstream
and suddenly I’m addicted to candy

you’ve got me wrapped around your finger
but baby, for once I’m not afraid to trust
I will dare to say that you’ve given me the greatest gift of them all
for you’ve made life a fairytale and I still can’t fathom
how my heart doesn’t just beat for survival
it beats for you

my lungs will fill with the air you’ve exhaled
and I will cherish every breath
my gaze will settle onto yours and I swear I’m close to drowning in your eyes
this must be what living feels like
my heart doesn't have to be aesthetically pleasing to you,
you have no idea what it's been through
Bee Dec 2017
Pathetic parasite
of a woman
love indefinitely,
a plague
upon hopelessly
romantic people.
A performance.
Smiling, always.
good news and
sleeps around,
in black light.
Wearing sunglasses.
Her day is
She breathes
instagram posts
to survive.
But thrives, only.
The numb gummed
princess cries
every day and
yes. She said it,
a hundred times
proves flexible.
Same words mean
different things
and we
obviously don’t
speak the same
I meant mine.
I didn’t know
she’d sell hers
for snow.
Attention from strangers.

Welcome home.

Winter came and stayed,
love never lived here.
leah snyder Oct 2018
staring out at the rushing creek,
standing on the edge,
crushed leaves beneath my shoes.
i toss my phone on the soil;
i don’t need you right now, devil.
instead i focus on the passing water,
on the ongoing march of time
thrusting us forward no matter how hard we try
to make it stop for us.
i sit down.
birdsong fills my ears,
joining the creek
as it glides smoothly over its bed.
leaves brush against each other
as a spring breeze picks up,
rustling their way into my mind.
the gentle wind smells of flowers,
of soil and of memories.
i close my eyes,
allowing myself to forget everything.

free verse
leah snyder Oct 2018
a twig snaps beneath my shoe,
the sudden sound shattering the calm atmosphere.
sunlight dapples over my skin,
rippling across my clothes,
pooling in my cupped hands
as if i were holding it.
delicate leaves rustle overhead,
my attention to the emerald glow above only broken
by the hum of a bumblebee
buzzing its way to yet another flower.
trees, seemingly protective,
surround me,
their trunks a shelter for such a variety of creatures.
sweet birdsong echoes above.
a woodpecker taps a home somewhere to my left.
a chipmunk skitters across my path
and into the still ferns,
causing them to shudder.
the scent of soil, of leaves, of nature, floods me.
i wonder about the world,
about the mountains and about the sea.
about my friends, my family,
about strangers with lives
just as complex and unknowing as my own.
i ponder myself, my life,
where will i go?
what will i do?
will it all be worth it?

free verse
leah snyder Oct 2018
i step outside, the sky above gray as slate
petrichor seeping up through the grass,
engulfing my state of mind as i inhale
and guiding me into a place of hushed abstraction.

petrichor: the pleasant, earthy smell after rain

free verse
Zeyea Jul 2018
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.

(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)

she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Mae Jan 13
Problems are here and there.
They are everywhere.
Making our minds full and aware.
Her soul to dispair.
Death is nice.
But suicide is not her option
Cause she's not a sinner with delusion.
Has faith without solution.
Reading a collection.
Full of sacred texts.
She has a book in her hand.
Bible is the name, written inside her heart.
Her name is Rose.
Full of Prickles.
She is reckless.
But not faithless.
Cause God is within her
And she will not fall
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Hella business
Got hella *******
Poppin double bottles
With a couple of mistresses
Stellar mistreatment
Here's the key
Lock em in the cellar
Forever their memory lies
But a troubling mystery

Hysteria erupting
Like waves gushing
From the tip of my *****
My genius is better
I'm the King here's my scepter
Now watch the teeth
You worthless Queen
Or I'll stifle them screams

I **** ******* on trampolines
Motion sickness?
Overdose on Dramamine

Slave to the magnitude
Of my impressive **** munching
Exploring deplorable nether-regions galore;
Can't touch me you got nothing
Broke *******
Grind your brain like morning coffee beans

Shame is a word just outside the boundaries
of my fabulous vocabulary

Oh, am I contrite?
How trifling
Check my charm I'm enlightening
Enigmatic and igniting sporadically like lightning
Magically radical voyaging down
                                                  down the rabbit's hole
Inciting excited riots to light fires spark fuses and chew on live wires
You do not frighten me.
Delivering excruciating asphyxiation to every pwn'd n00b
Is my modus operandi
And this is my magnum opus

I have Tourette's

Conceive these merriments of abhorrent mental abortions
Precisely concise and incisive concocting incoherent comatose monstrosities to flatten your lifelines
Conduct these ensembles of debauchery and narcotics -
I'm fascinating;
Crippling your mind like a lobotomy and tripping the light fantastic through bombarding planes of consciousness
I'm on acid thraxXx'd the **** OUT and faded
Levitating fading and oscillating in time while inflating my ego

But lets be realistic
the caliber of my linguistics is intrinsically aesthetic
but none too altruistic
Be reasonable lest I demand be-headings on grounds of treason
Its not hard for me -
It's profound, the sound of suffering;
I'll swallow your soul
'Tis the season!

Inference for instance -
****-hand upturned to oceans of incessant peasants
Pestering to ****** and fluster your festering ****-hole
Exact my revenge; begin phase mayhem
initiating total brain annihilation
interring bodies posthaste with skilled persistence
And sporting in poor taste

You who peers through eye of the pyramid-
Would you be so kind as to interpret my footprint at face-value?
Do you take me for a fool yet seek prophets reaping profits?
Listen to them sleep, baaah-ing away like flocks of little sheep
My hearts not on my sleeve but I have a trick or two up there;

Now bow before my marvelous flow
As I behold my throne whilst throwing bows and exposing hoes.
agnes Jul 15
lighting is dim but defined with a flash
her fingers reach to put her bra into place
she bought it a week ago and it’s all lined with lace
she fluffs up her hair with a strand behind her ear
she remembers when this moment brought her fear

it’s 11:00pm and the bra will stay on until 11:05pm
her makeup is long wear and it starts to hurt her eyes
but she knows her eyeliner will paralyze glamorize and hypnotize
obligation or free will?

her body sheds the last piece of clothing
she knows now’s the time to start moaning
they won’t notice how forced it feels
she’s already got them head over heels
their mind stops working or at least that’s what they say
what’s more important than their lust?
project your important with every ******

she’s a product of their imagination
she’s an object
or at least that’s what they make it seem
she’s to do whatever they dream

***** talk, slow blinking and a kiss
soft caresses or hard slaps
soon they’ll line her arms with straps
tied tied tied
or free free free
what’s control and where does it end?
was this ever a way to mend?

I’m *** *** *** *** ***
is my worth portrayed in the pleasure?
is there any other way to measure?
how should I view myself
if all other people see is themself

support but never consider
all the ways in which you hurt her
don’t come around and don’t touch me there
don’t rip apart my underwear

I still touch and I still come around
I’m your personal little playground
How does music posit itself,
Beautiful, sublime?

What of the listener, attentive,
An aesthetic individual?

How does pulse, pitch and timbre affect us?
What colors a melody?
Why should such arrangements please us?
starsnwaves Mar 4
at the edge of humanity’s consciousness
a river flows through guitar chords of thoughts,
rocks and
stones caught in its
winding depths

the river drags seafoam upstream
gently claiming it
as if that which it touches is it’s own
and always has been
the foam only shrugs shyly,
an awkward smile slipping over its face,
that adds salt
in pinches
turning to idle sugars

-would anything-

the river responds to the projected call of a sand dollar
one that waters could never have dreamed of holding
so serenely
and it’s
like the world is beginning
all over again

that’s how it

the sand dollar answers in sweet
lightly clinging to
the pull of the waves
and it would be perfect if not

-have happened-

heaven’s reeds are
the root of heartache
and they drift down the Lithe
pulling everything

-if I didn’t-

-reach out-

-my hand?-
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