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"captivate" poems
Photography, Photo journalistic, Everyday, realistic. Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic, Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic. Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer. News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser. Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman, Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman, Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti, Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi. Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser, Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe. Where did they go: Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess, C-type, digital archival, Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival. Image addict, Image taker, Image maker, image seller, image buyer. Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads, TV, dreams, even the trash. Billboards, subways, phones and buses: Utopia: Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes. Modern ideal. Surface manipulator. Brain conditioner. Consent manufacturer. Oh Photography, I got you in my eye. A few thousand dollars, A BFA, A critical scholar. Or maybe a nerd, Just boys with toys. Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action. Studio lights, umbrella traction. Oh Photography, You proprietor of obscene. Detailed, de-sensitized. Court ordered, jury analyzed. Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post. Myfacespace, twitter, flicker, An internet media overdose. Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances. Parties, picnics, reunions and shows. Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes. Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs. Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss. Exacerbate: Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears. Devour and captivate society for years. Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires, Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
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Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
On Photography
Photography, Photo journalistic, Everyday, realistic. Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic, Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic. Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer. News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser. Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman, Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman, Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti, Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi. Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser, Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe. Where did they go: Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess, C-type, digital archival, Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival. Image addict, Image taker, Image maker, image seller, image buyer. Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads, TV, dreams, even the trash. Billboards, subways, phones and buses: Utopia: Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes. Modern ideal. Surface manipulator. Brain conditioner. Consent manufacturer. Oh Photography, I got you in my eye. A few thousand dollars, A BFA, A critical scholar. Or maybe a nerd, Just boys with toys. Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action. Studio lights, umbrella traction. Oh Photography, You proprietor of obscene. Detailed, de-sensitized. Court ordered, jury analyzed. Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post. Myfacespace, twitter, flicker, An internet media overdose. Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances. Parties, picnics, reunions and shows. Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes. Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs. Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss. Exacerbate: Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears. Devour and captivate society for years. Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires, Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
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56
In a world of millions, In a place of thousands, You are one in a billion. You say you are nothing much. As simple as pen and paper. As plain as the ice on those frostbitten days. Though you don't seem to know... Pen and paper, though they appear simple- are something I have always adored. You are something I have always adored. And as for those frostbitten days... Those days when my fingers go numb after the seconds outside. Those days where my whole body is cold. I cherish those days; As I am grateful that I have a warm place to return. I am grateful for you. So my love. The one with the deep brown eyes. The eyes captivate me daily. You may think you are plain and simple- But you are so much more than what you see.
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Nov 29, 2020
Nov 29, 2020 at 8:17 PM UTC
So Much More
A blank page waits for words that it will never see Created from the head of someone writing a story Characters, plot, setting, theme, are central to the tale Without them every narrative is simply guaranteed to fail Stakes and consequences must exist for someone to pursue Whether treacherous of heart, or noble, brave, and true And if these traits stand not alone but mixed in with the rest That simply adds more intrigue to the outcome of the test Will he get the girl?  Will she rise above her station? Can a rags-to-riches fable captivate the nation? Who done it, where and why?  Are three questions most effective But often ****** requires the help of a detective These may seem like idle, fragmented bits of a much larger whole But actually they’re not; every type plays a role For you see, “someone” mentioned above is not a professional writer But an individual on a journey, and we all must face it like a fighter Characters are those you know and love, plot is what you choose to do Setting is where you live, theme defines what is important to you So why a fighter you may ask, someone who faces pain and strife? Because we encounter both good and ill as we write our book of life
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Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Freedom
The only thing keeping him sane and taming his demons, the only thing soothing his pains and vaporizing his worries was the night sky... He knew, he was falling hard for night sky but could do nothing about it.. As Love has its very own strange ways to captivate a Heart !!
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Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
Night Sky !
With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper. Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning. You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ****** In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot. She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness. You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator. Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze. Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you. Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal. Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk. You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic. Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings. Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine. You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced. Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms. You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.
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Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
Scarlet
TRIGGER WARNING They met at a dance recital. His eerie blue eyes watched her, stalked her, riveted by sinewy skin and the way her legs stretched and parted skillfully, seductively: she knew how to captivate her audience. They had mutual friends. Her curiosity thirsted for more, for she had been taken over by an empty lust, broken by another, but the way he spoke: she felt as pretty as his charms sounded. They went on a date. He kissed her, pinched her, and spread those legs that comprised his fantasies, not caring about the bruises he left when he took off her lacey coverings, pinning her to the floor. They learned more about each other. She saw the empty, carnal look in his eyes, but her pleas and shoves were not enough to lessen the weight of him, to push his hands or his hips away, as he broke her over and over again. They ended the night with a kiss. He grabbed her face like a starving man grabs his first meal, forcing an intimacy she could never get back, but he said, “You liked it, didn’t you.” They kept in touch. She tried blocking his calls, his messages, asking her if she’d come over to his place. Like the continuous force he prodded her with, the pounding in her head beat out a thumping heart-line of no’s.
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Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Acquaintance ****
my heart doesn’t feel things the same way it used to. i feel so… that feeling you get when you take a photo with someone you don’t know very well and you’re unsure if you should put an arm around them or not. i used to FEEL EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE, now i just feel… stagnant. no tragedy, no infatuation, i’m over you, i’m moving on, i’m not drowning in any sea of emotion. i’m stranded in an apathetic desert. i need SOMETHING. ANYTHING. captivate me, break my heart, i don’t like this silence give me something to write about.
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
uneasy
when i look at myself in the mirror i see something blue, something dead-eyed. she looks at me and sees something more, something brighter, worth loving i look at her and i think of the ocean eternally beautiful, endless depth sometimes i think i'll drown but she keeps me afloat, makes me swim we could spend hours talking or not speak for a whole day; no matter the number of words exchanged not a minute goes by that she isn't on my brain being with her feels like promise, like an apology from life it says, "here, this is your happiness" i know i don't deserve her but i'll never take her heart for granted it's been five months but i already have our one year marked on my calendar and i can count the days passed by the number of smiles she gives me emotion was never my thing 'til an angel dressed in humanity showed me what feeling could be like, what love could be like without pain the clouds are mostly grey in england, the sky muted by dreary weather but these days i find myself looking at the flowers instead and she is sunshine lighting my every step you're enthralling, the way you captivate me less than half a year but already you've changed so many things you are my most extraordinary experience you're the constellations in my night sky and the petals blooming brightly in a once barren garden you make me see more; you're the pastels lightening my art there's a spark in me and now i know warmth if you could only see yourself the way i see you, life is no longer just grey and blue i need you to know that i love you thank you for bringing colour to my world
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Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
thank you
when i look at myself in the mirror i see something blue, something dead-eyed. she looks at me and sees something more, something brighter, worth loving i look at her and i think of the ocean eternally beautiful, endless depth sometimes i think i'll drown but she keeps me afloat, makes me swim we could spend hours talking or not speak for a whole day; no matter the number of words exchanged not a minute goes by that she isn't on my brain being with her feels like promise, like an apology from life it says, "here, this is your happiness" i know i don't deserve her but i'll never take her heart for granted it's been five months but i already have our one year marked on my calendar and i can count the days passed by the number of smiles she gives me emotion was never my thing 'til an angel dressed in humanity showed me what feeling could be like, what love could be like without pain the clouds are mostly grey in england, the sky muted by dreary weather but these days i find myself looking at the flowers instead and she is sunshine lighting my every step you're enthralling, the way you captivate me less than half a year but already you've changed so many things you are my most extraordinary experience you're the constellations in my night sky and the petals blooming brightly in a once barren garden you make me see more; you're the pastels lightening my art there's a spark in me and now i know warmth if you could only see yourself the way i see you, life is no longer just grey and blue i need you to know that i love you thank you for bringing colour to my world
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40
They say a rose by any other name will still smell as sweet But what about another color Will a black rose still captivate the heart And remind you of love? Or will it be ****** doomed and cast away Its aroma enchant you and fill you with lust or will it remind you of death and decay This ***** is strong Its stems carry the burden of people forgotten This ***** is dangerous Its thorns stab and ***** In the name of vengeance Vengeance for every rose cast aside for its imperfections This ***** is beautiful Its petals flawless and noble A red rose thrives in the sun and wilts under pressure But the black rose Grows in all conditions Plants strong roots in concrete and despite the odds I rise!
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May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
Black Rose
It is possible. To leap beyond where fear takes us. Surely so many things happen. By contrast We stand still. Wound up in total curiosity. To dream in wonderment. With each twirl we captivate the essence of someone else. A sort of inspiration that convinces us that we are more than what we believe. Beginning to walk, Our other functioning parts come to life. Embraced in true courage. Spun around and round. This huge metal behind it's back. Suddenly this obstacle isn't what it seems. First finding what is important. The touch of someone else Through encouragement. The wind-up doll begins to move No longer incapable by what we define as fear, But enormous faith. To place all of it's self in another Without fear of adding another chip to it's face. It waddles along. Moments later, Pride interferes. It's movements stop. To be spun up again and again Falling to the floor Seconds at a time
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Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
Wind-Up Doll
*There are a few things in the world That wave between light and darkness. Such things allure me I've some unknown hunger for them Like a monster It's neither an angel Nor a devil But it still is Like a black rose Rose is a symbol of goodness Yet its stained in darkness And it blooms as black These things captivate me Like a charmer captivating it's prey I wonder about them all the time I guess after all I'm like them*
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Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
Monster
I love villains in fiction The ones that captivate you From the moment they strut onto the scene Who drives the plot better than the hero The type of villain that can turn the story on its head And shamelessly hurl it into chaos Villains who are smarter deadlier yet somehow More charming than the main character Making you feel guilty for loving them Their electricity surges through you Their presence echoes long after the story has left them Searing your memory and leaving you begging for their return
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Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC
Stealing The Spotlight
i miss you even if you are just meter away and i miss you more when you will gone far away i miss the way you smile that light up my way and the way you laugh at your childish play i miss your giggle that captivate me and your smirk that mesmerize me i miss the way you frown and the sweet scent that you own i miss the way you walk and your crazy little talk i miss all about you i miss you Because i can't have you ©IGMS 2014
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Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
missing you
She watched as the predator made his move, Red flags of caution flashed in her head. She knew his feelings wouldn’t be true, Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him as she lay in bed. She had seen far too worse in the name of love, But something about her predator seemed to captivate her. She promised to be careful, that was her vow, But every time she saw him she knew they’d end up together. A glance turned into a chat and a chat turned into a touch. With every passing day he stopped being a predator. She told herself she'd be stubborn and not budge, But she was breaking and his affection was her sedative. It wasn't long before their hearts bridged the gap, It wasn’t long before their lips met for a kiss. It wasn’t long before she fell into the trap, It wasn’t long before she couldn’t resist. She was finally being accepted for who she really was, And could bid her insecurities farewell. She allowed herself to move on from the scars, And cherished being the girl who fell.                                                               -Wayward❤
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Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
The Girl Who Fell
Looking in the mirror is like a death wish A glimor of hope before the horrid thoughts cime floading in Screaming at the top of their lungs. And the tears rush to the surface as I pinch my skin Grabbing it tight Pulling at it with all my might Wishing Wanting for it all to dissapear just like myself As i slowly turn and turn that small glimor of hope gone Flushed away by the rotton words that captivate my body Screamimg for me to                      "STOP EATING" I walk away woth a heavy heart sinking down to the lowest part of me Hiding away frim anyone Ignoring every word spoken to me. My mind My body My whole being has been captured by those fithly words and throughts which are tormenting me and eating me alive Without a word Or A thought i move on frim the plate of fruit and the bowl of chocolates Swinging with a heart heavy, Yet filled with nothing I act like it has no effect on me Like it doesnt hurt at all
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Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
Helpless
We rock together in the chair- your morning tempest nestled into the crook of my arm. I wait patiently for the edge of your storm for clouds and cries to ease away and my coffee to cool. What do you think about in the quiet calm? Do you think? Or do you simply feel? Comfortable and complete, I wonder about you and the person you will be. What do you see when you stare at the wall, the window, the side of my face? Colors, shapes, shadows, light- captivate you. I enjoy watching you try to figure it all out. Everything new, nearly too much to take in. Slowly- the sights, warmth, and motion overwhelm you. Your eyes close- although you fight it. We breathe together. I hold you close, lost in the wonder of your face- so familiar and strange.
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May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Saturday Mornings
I'm writing the story of my life,   and I'm not letting anyone hold the pen.       The pen is mightier than the sword.     I'll write out all my pain, damage, fear.                 I'll shoot for the moon,      even if I miss I'll land among the stars.   They all told me that because of my past,      I could never become anything great,               that I'd never have success,                   never be good enough,    that what they did to me was my fault.                    I wanted to grow up.                           I finally did.                  I excaped their torture.             Now, I keep writing my story.              Write. Edit. Change. Repeat.         I'm not even completely grown up.                                  2 years.                  But it's happening now...          I've started toa ture into an adult.                      Frankly, I'm scared.            I'm not exactly sure what to do.       I'm taking over sooner than planned,               I'm working a real job now,       I'm responsible for sisters well being.                        I just don't know.                           But that's ok.         I have my faith and I have my pen. I don't want to miss out on the people who                 have me mesmerised... But how can I captivate them and weave                        them a story?        I don't know. I don't know if I can.       My rythem and rhyme is so unique,           there's no hope in attempting      to intertwine another beautiful soul.            I'm sorry. I just don't know.                       All I do know is       The pen is mightier than the sword.
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Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
The pen is mightier than the sword
I'm writing the story of my life,   and I'm not letting anyone hold the pen.       The pen is mightier than the sword.     I'll write out all my pain, damage, fear.                 I'll shoot for the moon,      even if I miss I'll land among the stars.   They all told me that because of my past,      I could never become anything great,               that I'd never have success,                   never be good enough,    that what they did to me was my fault.                    I wanted to grow up.                           I finally did.                  I excaped their torture.             Now, I keep writing my story.              Write. Edit. Change. Repeat.         I'm not even completely grown up.                                  2 years.                  But it's happening now...          I've started toa ture into an adult.                      Frankly, I'm scared.            I'm not exactly sure what to do.       I'm taking over sooner than planned,               I'm working a real job now,       I'm responsible for sisters well being.                        I just don't know.                           But that's ok.         I have my faith and I have my pen. I don't want to miss out on the people who                 have me mesmerised... But how can I captivate them and weave                        them a story?        I don't know. I don't know if I can.       My rythem and rhyme is so unique,           there's no hope in attempting      to intertwine another beautiful soul.            I'm sorry. I just don't know.                       All I do know is       The pen is mightier than the sword.
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39
I am utterly convinced that my spirit is a ten-cent ***** letting any passing nemesis **** it in the mind with almost no tension. It must enjoy the sensation as its host clearly shows in the streams of tears that flow through the eyes, the spirit's *********** It must moisten its knickers at the viewing of torture, as its host sits in an icy stupor, with the times of grotesque spectacle-sobs on tile flooring, nicks on the wrist, what have you- the only times of breathing. My spirit must have stolen all the charm it takes to captivate the enemy into arousal, as the host stumbles awkwardly in public, pushing all potentials away with vehemence and convincing itself of its inferior quality to even the vermin of the sewer. My spirit has made me the loathing host to the parasite of my own being, my mind the main casualty, ridden with **** from villainy both outer and inner, decay from traumas more persuasive than the tongue of Casanova. I hope it's happy.
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Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
Cheap Biology
To captivate someone the way You do Is an art form many never learn to master. With eyes deeper than the Marianas trench Your being Just draws me like a moth to a flame. To make someone feel the way You make me feel Makes me wonder how many ages You've experienced. A soul so ablaze no person would know you and not be warm. The strength of nations upon nations To carry the weight of the world and You still grow. The confidence and grace that You move With, can't even be challenged by Aphrodite herself. With cheeks if crimson and eyes of ice Your joy Makes the rest of life seem baron. Leaving me wanting Craving Thirsty Starved And lucky To know a woman of your sheer Prowess.
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May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
I, Captive
I want what you have I want your dreams; the ones that scare you shitless I want your secrets; the ones you can’t share with anyone I want the thoughts that keep you awake at night; the ones that excite you I want the ideas you want to share; the ones you know you never will share I need what you have I need your arms around my waist; the arms that will never be there I need your lips pressed against mine; the lips that mine will never touch I need your ***** smile smiling at me; the smile that will never look in my direction I need your stupid ugly khaki jacket around my shoulders; the jacket that will never be near me I wish that I have what you have I wish I had your idiotic confidence; the confidence that I will never get back I wish I had your insanely smart brain; the brain that has put up barriers against me I wish I had your annoyingly inappropriate jokes; the jokes that you stopped telling me I wish I had your ability to captivate the world; the captivation you no longer use on me I yearn for what we could have been I yearn to have an unconditional love; one that will never break I yearn to have uncontrollable kisses; ones that we are unable to stop I yearn to have cheesy promposals; ones that make everyone jealous of us I yearn for extravagant valentine's day gifts; ones that make me want to scream and cry You don't want what I have My dreams; the ones that will never happen My secrets; the ones that will tear people apart My thoughts that keep me up at night; the ones that can even terrify me My ideas that I want to share; the ones that would wreak havoc on everyone You don’t need what I have My thick messy hair; the hair that constantly falls in my face My ***** brown converse; the ones with the laces falling apart My empty grey eyes; the eyes that stare straight at you watching you ignore me My annoying voice; the voice that says ****** comments to protect herself from your friends You don’t wish to have what I have My brutal honesty; the honesty that burns bridges My crazy distrust; the distrust that worries my mother My unbelievable pessimism; the pessimism that causes people to leave My need to control everyone; the need to control that consumes all of my thoughts You don’t yearn for what we could have been You don’t yearn for unconditional love; not with me You don’t yearn for uncontrollable kisses; but with her You don’t yearn to give cheesy promposals; you would do anything to be with her You don’t yearn to give extravagant valentine's day gifts; you would give anything to be with her No matter how much I want...need...wish...yearn for you You will always be wanting, needing, wishing, and yearning for her more She is the pulsing red dot you are moving towards I am barely more than a blip on your radar.
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Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
I am The Invisible Woman
I want what you have I want your dreams; the ones that scare you shitless I want your secrets; the ones you can’t share with anyone I want the thoughts that keep you awake at night; the ones that excite you I want the ideas you want to share; the ones you know you never will share I need what you have I need your arms around my waist; the arms that will never be there I need your lips pressed against mine; the lips that mine will never touch I need your ***** smile smiling at me; the smile that will never look in my direction I need your stupid ugly khaki jacket around my shoulders; the jacket that will never be near me I wish that I have what you have I wish I had your idiotic confidence; the confidence that I will never get back I wish I had your insanely smart brain; the brain that has put up barriers against me I wish I had your annoyingly inappropriate jokes; the jokes that you stopped telling me I wish I had your ability to captivate the world; the captivation you no longer use on me I yearn for what we could have been I yearn to have an unconditional love; one that will never break I yearn to have uncontrollable kisses; ones that we are unable to stop I yearn to have cheesy promposals; ones that make everyone jealous of us I yearn for extravagant valentine's day gifts; ones that make me want to scream and cry You don't want what I have My dreams; the ones that will never happen My secrets; the ones that will tear people apart My thoughts that keep me up at night; the ones that can even terrify me My ideas that I want to share; the ones that would wreak havoc on everyone You don’t need what I have My thick messy hair; the hair that constantly falls in my face My ***** brown converse; the ones with the laces falling apart My empty grey eyes; the eyes that stare straight at you watching you ignore me My annoying voice; the voice that says ****** comments to protect herself from your friends You don’t wish to have what I have My brutal honesty; the honesty that burns bridges My crazy distrust; the distrust that worries my mother My unbelievable pessimism; the pessimism that causes people to leave My need to control everyone; the need to control that consumes all of my thoughts You don’t yearn for what we could have been You don’t yearn for unconditional love; not with me You don’t yearn for uncontrollable kisses; but with her You don’t yearn to give cheesy promposals; you would do anything to be with her You don’t yearn to give extravagant valentine's day gifts; you would give anything to be with her No matter how much I want...need...wish...yearn for you You will always be wanting, needing, wishing, and yearning for her more She is the pulsing red dot you are moving towards I am barely more than a blip on your radar.
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44
Trusting steady for flower petals floating on moonlit beams. Fractured cracks running into sewn seams of honey-colored threads. Layering sunlight of emotions, Rip-tide oceans hold your boulder heart open. Velvety warm blankets shimmering with lavender energy, Of a silence unspoken. A roar within of a constant fiery flame. A warrior armored with stars and an army of willowy trees. Song buds upon lip, striking a symphonic flowery melody. Eyes sparkling, you captivate with an alluring smile. Flowers intertwined within your raven locks. Summer night of fireflies and dancing bees, Forgiveness never a weakling of knees. Soft spoken heart beats. Sun-fire but shaded with purpling blues. Steadying hands even though your lips may frown. Ever present is the sleepy shadow of a sugared temptation, That only the befallen will know. A darkness muddled into the after-hours of dawn. Self-pity wars that your feet danced into nothing, no more. You let the colors become vibrant yellows, even greens. A warrior surrounded by atmospheres of light, Tinged with the milky blue hue of night. Oceans come and gone but forever in your heart is song.
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May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
Yellow and Green
The little life now grew and all things thought to him Of things old and things new the norms and laws laid on him And long before they know the little man on his teens In school and wherever he'd go his friend and him like wearing same skins The boy now has feelings inside of which his parents lack guide The feeling towards another lad of butterflies in the stomach he had Of his pink lips he keeps staring of the way his eyes can captivate Of his gentle giggles when laughing and his smiles all problem alleviate Of his contoured body figure chiseled like a statue in park Temptations he can't endure it makes his heart spark Then nobody surely knew that the boy whom they gave birth to Had grown and began anew of his life and his secret TABOO
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May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
The Larvae (Butterfly Series)
The wind moves coldly among the season beaten leaves Lives flourish and despair in front of me Cracked and sullen memories flood my mind, I look to the horizon and see the burning indigo sunset Gliding unto emerald grass, I see a reflection of myself leaking out of suppressed thoughts I see a lake full of sapphire stones, I stare at the illuminating stream I jump and dive into the crystal waters, the thoughts wash away And are replaced with all the beautiful things of this world The beauty grasps at me and covers the dark and hollow parts of my mind that have troubled me all my life, Clear blue waters as blue as lapis lazuli bouncing before my being I feel complete and whole as I leave the warm water Water droplets trickling between my fingers, The thick air of melancholy is gone and I feel light and swift-footed I make my way towards the already settled sun and now the sky is littered with starlight, Its rosy lights captivate me and I sigh and run towards the everlasting joy awaiting me The stars cry their approval and I fly again once more
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Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
Sapphire
"It is really beautiful up here" she whispered. Her skin brightened in the glow of the fading masterpiece of crimsons, yellows, and golds the sun had brushed across the turquoise sky "This is it, this is what heaven is like." I couldn't hear her, but I could read her soft spoken lips and study her face—which I always imagined as less of the cover to a book and more every word inside. There was not a greatness or a sadness that ceased to mask her portrait. She was all heart and soul, every bit of her. I watched as her bright eyes changed to become more glass than eyes. As if, for the first time, she was seeing life, love, and something more. Something so deep and beautiful that not even Hemmingway or Fitzgerald could even begin to put the prefix of it into thought. Among the dusting of the clouds and transparent sunset, I felt her heartbeat could silence and the lungs of which gave her the life I so cherished could empty turning her flesh a pale blue—and she would fade peacefully into the scene before me. This very thought frightened me. Too soon would her feet touch the ground—and nothing I was humanly capable of, or possibly godly capable of, would ever captivate and hold her so perfectly or turn her eyes as vivid—and there was nothing more I wanted.
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May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
My thoughts on Sky Diving
Generations pass as autonomy eludes us denying us the opportunity to reach for liberality. Indifference, being a predecessor, digs shallow graves in so many ways, Watching heritage that once was become something uncanny, Unrecognizably lingering; lifeless. Racial force fields, forces fields of incarcerated thoughts to take root, Keeping us from seeing beyond ourselves, and The barriers built to keep those out, only keep us, from letting us, to allow others in, and trust is placed on trial, looking at a life sentence of death, unaware of its opportunity to freely avail or elude it’s predicament. If only it would appeal to the counsel of the majority. Stubbornness sometimes refuses to embrace what we know needs to be confronted in order to bring about change, unifying an outside world where life is not always fair and those around us calculate thoughts to hinder our progression. We live in a place of democracy and disdain where street corner pharmaceuticals ****** the weary, where adolescent girls are forced to become teenage mothers or prostitutes, where empty baseball diamonds and dugouts are replaced by thick scaling barb wired walls and gray barred cells, where young men and women trade their age multiplied for the number they will where in a system for life, and where the sound of a crying disappointed child is exchanged for anger and abuse, in the absence of a father or mother figure, figuratively disfigured and lost in translation; an abandonment of generations past. Who will lead and guide us? Who will plead and advocate on our behalf? Who will stand in the gap? Who will lead us past the captive mind to captivate hearts? Who will provide the keys to unlock and break us free? Free from the broken barriers that divide us? ~
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Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Dividing Barriers
Generations pass as autonomy eludes us denying us the opportunity to reach for liberality. Indifference, being a predecessor, digs shallow graves in so many ways, Watching heritage that once was become something uncanny, Unrecognizably lingering; lifeless. Racial force fields, forces fields of incarcerated thoughts to take root, Keeping us from seeing beyond ourselves, and The barriers built to keep those out, only keep us, from letting us, to allow others in, and trust is placed on trial, looking at a life sentence of death, unaware of its opportunity to freely avail or elude it’s predicament. If only it would appeal to the counsel of the majority. Stubbornness sometimes refuses to embrace what we know needs to be confronted in order to bring about change, unifying an outside world where life is not always fair and those around us calculate thoughts to hinder our progression. We live in a place of democracy and disdain where street corner pharmaceuticals ****** the weary, where adolescent girls are forced to become teenage mothers or prostitutes, where empty baseball diamonds and dugouts are replaced by thick scaling barb wired walls and gray barred cells, where young men and women trade their age multiplied for the number they will where in a system for life, and where the sound of a crying disappointed child is exchanged for anger and abuse, in the absence of a father or mother figure, figuratively disfigured and lost in translation; an abandonment of generations past. Who will lead and guide us? Who will plead and advocate on our behalf? Who will stand in the gap? Who will lead us past the captive mind to captivate hearts? Who will provide the keys to unlock and break us free? Free from the broken barriers that divide us? ~
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