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laura Apr 2018
Fell in love last friday
with a non-binary star
woke up and brushed my teeth
with sunglasses on thinking
of them

white shots of hail and the windows
jeweled from the rain
a hot week and hot nights
followed by a hot star
and sheets of rains from grey clouds
they DJ’d at a party and i got rly drunk kayyyy

edit: thx angela for lighting this one up :3
Jerry Apr 2018
She’s a Poem
He’s an Invisible Ink

She’s a Love Ballad
He’s a Vocal Less Echo

She’s a Soothing Lullaby
He’s a Muted Lyric

She's a Warm Breeze
He's a Whimpered Wind

She’s a Wished Rain
He’s a Thirst in Desert

She’s a Flying Dream
He’s a Falling Demon

She’s Nourishing on Pages
He's Dissolving into Ink

As if, Final Chapter of His Book in a Making?
She May Breathe Forever in His Silent Echoes...
for you dearest 'Lady of the Sea'
TheRhymeRenegade Jul 2018
I guess it is a comfort
where I'm supposed to be
I always wanted a forever
and the pain it follows me
If I can't have it one way
I can always have another
And I can share with others
And be sure to pull them under

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I just entertained a fantasy
and set that thing on repeat
My eyes started to water
at all the things you said to me
I fed you all your lines
and gave you cues and clues
only for it all to leave me lost and so confused
I rip out all the pages
from that day and back
so I don't have to focus
on everything I lacked

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I hope you believe me but I have nothing to prove
I hope you are certain in your next move
I hope that I feel so good to you
I hope that I feel so good to you

Making sure they're next to me
Whether physical or memory
I am not too good to beg
for accessory

As I live and breathe
I wear it all upon my sleeve
I put my insides on display
slice and cut and cleave
My very own defense
against my emptiness
I'm broken but I'm open
and full of tenderness

I hope you believe me but I have nothing to prove
I hope you are certain in your next move
I hope that I feel so good to you
I hope that I feel so good to you
Do I feel good too?
Do I feel good too?
Do I feel good too?
do not expect me
to pay you back
a garden of sunflowers,
if you haven't
given me
a single seed
even just for once.
daily poems! ♡
Cheighny Jun 2018
It was only a kiss.

This I must repeat,
As I feel my own selfishness,
But also my guilt.
Like a monster from a fairy tale,
It crawls from my stomach
And into my throat,
Clawing its way out.

You wanted this.
The truth.
Instead, another monster came to you.
One with green-eyes and
I should never have made you read that play.
The one I wrote
To push my fears of you away.
But alas…
The past and I aren’t friends.

And soon--
Neither will we.
Bianca Reyes Apr 2018
I have been living within storms
But it's over at last
Petrichor forms
I have fallen for April weather
With sunflower eyes
The warmest of smiles
April sounds like Spring
Sounds just like you
I never thought of life
Being easy as it is now
All rights reserved under Bianca Reyes
Skaidrum Apr 2017
I was born into this shadow of beauty we call the American dream, but I was raised in foreign silhouettes. The same exact silhouettes that raised my mother. My first memories were of her forest gods and alpine stories that have taught me how to write spiderwebs into the hearts of the miserable so my words could hold them together. My deadushka's magic could turn monsters into swans with a wink because his love was so contagious. My babushka's, on the other hand, showed me how to howl like darkness so even the wolves would know silence. I was born as spilled as it comes; as ink.  I now understand what tragedies look like at first;  ("Blessings")

As my mother picks her way across a war with me in her arms, the world catcalls that I am a half-blood puppet. The daughter with Russian strings and American footsteps. I arrive in America where I am reminded I belong here, but that was the first lie that my mother ever fed to me. To this day, it still tastes like expired love.

As my father spent all his kindness on me in the earliest years of my life I was given an English tongue and it bullied my Russian one into suicide. That is the only thing my father ever planted in me that he wanted to grow. Those seeds of words I would later bear fruit as ripe poetry.  Those fruit of the novels I will someday write as fiction into flesh. However, what is written beneath our skin doesn't necessarily always fit in our mouths. My father's greatest mistake was beating me into a ghost, but giving me the power to write about his hauntings.  His abuse moves into our house shortly after he realizes I am a tragedy, not a blessing.

As I write myself into the moon one day I will become, I meet a boy who's laughter makes all the planets look dull.  We learn to not walk like apologies, but like young legends. He was my first real taste of sunlight since I was brought here, and he spoke heaven into my eyes until I saw it. We loved each other like Peter Pan and Wendy did; deeply, cluelessly, and forever. Our immortality was a toy in the eyes of those who envied us. Yet he summoned the fires we should have feared as kids, but instead we stared into them and smiled. We were happy, and we were never sorry for that.

April 3rd, 2007. He died. That was the day I was old enough to grow out of a blessing and into the clothes of a tragedy. That was the day the heaven spilled from my eyes like the great flood and went with him. My mother theorizes that is why my eyes aren't as blue as hers anymore. The sounds of bullets hitting bodies today, even ten years later, between then and long ago, has the power to create painful afterimages of him. The post traumatic stress unfastens my blood from my my body and the poetry reacts by shutting me down all at once. Death asks me to write a spiderweb into his own heart, but I refuse.

I adopted grief into my family and he got along with abuse pretty well. To survive, I've left the nostalgia of that boy to hibernate deep in my bones.

Today is April 3rd, 2017.  I stand before a headstone that exists only sometimes in my head. I kneel before it and leave the skeleton of my love like a bouquet of roses. The shadows and silhouettes align, and I hold hands with both of them.

I weep as the odes of "it's not your fault" fall onto my ears like they do every year. From friends, lovers, and family. They mean well. Who knows, maybe someday I will have what it takes to believe them.

But he never grew up, so guilt still ***** it's wings here.

---"Sermons with a colorblind priest."
© Copywrite Skaidrum
@April Prayer Day
Sing, sing,
Sing ditto to my heart
In tune, tune.
Are you losing your voice?
Voice, voice
It’s all repeated
This way, way.
Rolling in the forrest—
The world’s opening
A bit, a bit
When rounding up
Cheek, cheek
Where becoming pointed
Your fingers,fingers.
@ April Prayer Day
Struggle, struggle
Volatile the heart’s
waves, waves
Volatility struggle
Wings, wings,
Smash the star
lost, lost
I’d pray you in my
Heart, heart.  
I’d sing you in my
Soul, soul.
I’d put my chest
Put, put
On the lightened

@April Prayer Day
Shed tears from my eyes _
The life peace
In high, high
And hero in the beauty of
It, it,
heavenly,peace, peace
By Angel. XJ/04/04/2019 Our deepest condolences to the 30 Firefighters who Killed in Huge Sichuan Forest Fire
will19008 May 12
Mom's birthday, dermatologist's appointment,
and a philosophy test on Descartes, Berkeley, Hume,
Continenetal Rationalists and British Empiricists.
(Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume)
Banyascki has on the ugliest vest I've ever seen in my life.
His hair is getting long, too. At least ⅜ of an inch. Wow. Freak.
Esse is percipi... To be is to be perceived.  Yes.
Notes in my spiral-bound Intro to Philosophy notebook on April 17, 1978, in West Chester, Pa.
zo Apr 2016
words that descibe the aftermath of hearing the news
a boy and a woman
a brother and a mother
at the hand of the eldest son
a victim himself, of a poisoned mind, trapped in his own body, forced to watch the destruction the dark side inflicts
i'm going to change that one day; no more lives will be at the mercy of a mental illness they got doing what they loved
i have the will and i fill find a way, their deaths will not be in vain
he deserves to be here, to make it to eighteen, to make it to his graduation
they deserved more time than they were given and they will be a driving force for saving countless lives beyond the horizon
Rest easy
I'll always be your Mrs. Bennett Jo
L B Apr 3
The wind is up and roaring mad
Birds and insects fly between its gusts
There is no other way
to get around
They can hear it coming
Between the crying aching limbs
and begging chimes
The wind is having at it
tossing trash cans down the street
Robbins grounded to the lawns
The wind will have its say
or pitch them against the buildings
like a threat
Levi Sharpe Apr 28
I was lured to the garden by the scent of fresh berries

With fruit so fresh as if it tended by faeries

I plucked a morsel from an extending branch

And without hesitation, put the pome to my lips

Savoring it for a sweet moment before devouring it whole

Eagerly lapping at my stained finger tips

So enamored I was by each bright sensation

I was unaware of the nettles, whose spines creeped and settled

Sinking into my flesh, and poisoning the bone

First there was an itch and then a sharp pain

As I was torn away from what I couldn't lay claim

And what at first seemed a garden was but a damp grave

The plant tags were tombstones

Of others who’d strayed

And as I fell prone from my festering abrasions

My eyes becoming dark and my senses dulled

I realized I was but a number in the faeries' death toll
Marla Apr 5
We met years ago
On this day,
the 365th to pass.
Our love a most epic affair
Like a beautiful film
about some noble's past.

My mind swirls with reasons why
We were drawn to first kiss.
I guess the thought of it
Was just too much to resist.

I said "I love you",
Then your face turned pale.
My eyes saw yours hide,
Your fear the heart's veil.

But twenty years
And eleven months later,
Your skin glows like I know
Your soul does within.
I'm so glad we're together,
My most precious diamond.
Khoi-San Apr 1
Blessed rice on rivers of love
confetti danced into the ocean
salt preserved the truth with consummate glory
Dean and Anthea and Dean and Anthea and Dean and Anthea:)))))))))))))))))))))))))) wise man say only fools rush in.........
helenbreeden Jun 2018
I needed you to catch me.
You took your life while drunk as hell.
I ******* miss you.
Are you ******* happy now!?
You took your own life.
You took my soul with you.
My heart aches at the thought of your name.
You were my best friend and I couldn't save you.
Where are you?

I saw the regret in your eyes,
And for a moment I hoped you understand.
You pulled the trigger!
You pulled your life strings,
It wasn't your time!
You promised to be there for me everyday of my life!
You were my everything and you just killed yourself?
I loved you.

You began to crumble in my hands and fade away.
Did you hear my cries for you?
Your blood scattered all about that abandoned barn.
I ran at the thought of you taking your life.
I wanted to wake up from this dream but
I was already awake.
And it was a reality I couldn't live with.
Reality crashed down onto me and I couldn't breathe.
Someday I will wake up and realize you are gone.
Gone for good.
This poem is about my cousin and best friend who killed himself on April 13th 2015. I will always remember our times together. You were my world and I just want you to know that you would be proud of where I have come to today. I am living my life for you and I wish you were still here. .
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