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' Inborn Poet ' - Poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Inborn talent
bards have
to express
Innate drive
intuitive mind
intimate feelings
All these
are factors
poets possess
To inscribe
poetic phrase
describes life
Poetry writing
is only an instrument
composing it is inborn
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
You cannot be what you want to
You cannot stay who you are
You'll never get there from here
You'll never get that far
The loop goes round and round
The sound on autoplay
The noise is loud inside my head
I cannot get away
Who do you think you are
Why do you even try
You came into this world with nothing
And with nothing you will die
The loop goes round and round
Plays inside my brain
The loop is a noose around my neck
And around my ankles its a chain
Don't believe it don't recieve it
The loop is a deadly lie
Meant to put you in the ground
When you should spread your wings and fly
You are precious beyond measure
You're a priceless gift to me
Break through the loop inside your head
Let love set you free...
TL Boehm
02/05/06
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
orange tinted bottle
poses on its shelf
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autoplay
auto isolation
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dulce de psyche
locked in cylindrical plastic
across a carpeted sea
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existential
educational
static rooted legs
cowering elastic comforter
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cranial jolts crest
water not drunk
and it will remain
needs dip
jewel hovering over head shifts to crimson
"go here"
X
"go here"
X
the great salt lake
was formed in a bed bound state
notification reminds
yet opportune remains deceased
an eleven pm google doc
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next stop
early morning
Sep 12, 2024
Sep 12, 2024 at 12:25 AM UTC
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O lovely moon, how well do I recall
The time,--'tis just a year--when up this hill
I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:
And thou suspended wast o'er yonder grove,
As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.
But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared
Thy countenance to me, because my eyes
Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed;
For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome,
And _is_ so still, unchanged, belovèd moon!
And yet this recollection pleases me,
This computation of my sorrow's age.
How pleasant is it, in the days of youth,
When hope a long career before it hath,
And memories are few, upon the past
To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
This user is loosing interest in everything
like tabs left open, forgotten, buffering.
Notifications blink like dying stars,
but none are worth the effort of looking.
Conversations feel like code
written in languages I unlearned.
but mean none of them.
Even the mirror loads too slowly,
and when it does,
the face looks like someone
mid-update,
stuck.
The days autoplay.
The nights glitch.
And somewhere in the background,
I hear the soft hum
of systems shutting down.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 3:13 PM UTC
But look where the ocean meets the skyline,
And we're not so different,
Because as long as we're under the same sky,
I think we'll be okay.
Take up the orange-red of the sunset,
And soak in the sun drenched yellow
That makes up the sidewalks I used to wait around on,
And the colors of a sea and sky I've never known,
And together,
Almost overwhelmingly so,
It'll make something beyond compare.
I have been told bravery has nothing to do with
A lack of fear.
Bravery is being afraid,
Acknowledging the potential for danger,
And going in headlong anyway.
So I guess it makes me brave,
Getting back up,
Moving forward,
And holding your hand.
Do not rely on patterns,
Or mathematical probability,
Or scientific fact.
Patterns **** up.
Mathematical probability can be miscalculated,
And scientific fact can be proven wrong,
Upon another finding.
I close my eyes and I see storms rolling in,
And ignore the smell of rain on the wind,
Because I could be struck by lightening a thousand times,
And I'd still rather that than
Losing
You.
And suddenly there's a song in the background
(Thanks, autoplay.)
That makes me realize
(Ever so slowly, as my fingers slow in pace on the keyboard)
This isn't just my being lucky enough
To have you.
A life without you
Seems a lot less vibrant
As I struggle to picture
The juxtaposition
Of a life by your side
And a life without.
And maybe the fear
Of becoming yours
And becoming attached
Is more like my fear of heights
Than my fear of the dark.
It isn't heights I'm afraid of.
It's falling from them.
I'm not afraid of being part of your life,
Of living a life with you by my side,
I'm frightened by a life without you there.
I'm a whole person,
Don't get me wrong.
But there's a part of me
That's easier to show to you
Than for me to see,
And I like who I am
With you,
Better than the person I am
Without you.
I am a better me,
Because of my Bluebird.
I know I'm a little disjointed,
A little matter-of-fact,
Not too swift on the uptake.
Part of it could be repressing the good parts of life for so long,
The other part could be being blind to them,
For so very long.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
Falling backwards through an ocean of absences
with the quiet grace of aimlessness
together we have known each other's empty
we've learned about the small moments and the envy.
Traced our history and discovered little sad pieces of you or of me
and wondered if it was actually an ocean of absences or sea.
Spellcorrected sentimental nothings and autoplay left on throughout the night.
Towers of hopeful maybe and pillars of might.
Alone together all these many years and deep in study
until we've been kneaded smooth like so much putty.
I know you better than I know myself, she purrs in his ear
Ditto he whispers with new oceans of absent fear.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC