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Winter Frost Nov 2018
Lying on my bed
With a phone in my hand
And the notebooks that I held
Filled with words of color
But my papers bled
And the words that come out is slur,
A struggle inside
A rollercoaster ride
Of words that wants to come out
But only a few survived
My desire to lock my mouth grew,
Locking myself up in a cage
With bars made of rage
And floors of a history book page
With the girl inside
And the need to keep and hide
The sadness in her eyes
With a hint of annoyance,
Not to others
But hers
"we will never be okay
And we continue to be lonely
Because the attention you seek
Will never look to your way"
Mr Morningstar Nov 2018
There's a body in my bed but a whole in my chest, I try to spit it out yet I always digress cause I can't focus on it for 5 seconds without dying, a little inside like a bird who can't fly or the biker who can't ride. My mind is a war zone but I'm a battle hardened vet, hell won't claim me and heaven doesn't want me yet. My  body keeps fighting with a need to survive so out of this dark hole I will try to rise, more pain less pleasure a gruesome endeavor but necessary for my life to get better, a freed mind ravaged and robbed blind stripped of his rights by my emotions all the time, there's a body in my bed and a hole in my chest sorry I just noticed I digressed
-VNC
Purcy Flaherty May 2018
As I enter the arena and the blood sport begins;
I gaze around the room, at the fighting *****, all dressed in battle trim.

Angry eyes telling tails, chests puffed out,
**** and ****** feathers scattered to and fro, spurred on by spite...

Amidst the bitter cries; and angry beaks;
talons rip and wound again and again until the match is over
and everyones a loser;

Even the hen!
Inspired by **** waving & cockfighting.
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
With the red lights in my eyes
And the gray haze in the sky
With the fire red reflecting back
The neon skin distracts me from where I am
And where I should be
In the winter clear, I sit
And I'm sick of it

As the snow falls on cars
On pedestrians and bars
Wrapped in pea-coats and ***
Under the foggy winter sun I slowly stroll
With a woman in my soul
Like a gypsy king and queen
In a lucid fever dream

Up in the offices and desks
With stress in their chests
These people think of home
While their lovers are alone and stuck with screens
Like windows into scenes
They thought money could buy
As they drift and die

Pouring out from the walls
Of worship chapel halls
With hands in their pockets
Stealing trinkets and lockets to give to the men
Who promise the end
But all will be right
If you pay the right price

From the streets of gods
That will one day rot
Under our wandering feet
When we longer speak but are just memories
Passed on like a disease
On death, I've made my peace
Until then, let me be free
touka Oct 2015
cemeteries worn
delicately fall on chests

like grandmother's old necklaces

and inscriptions from headstones
draped in cold bronze

bought and sold, their epitaphs

like grandmother's old word

her lovely verbs

swathed in gold,

and ever were costly rhinestones weaved in

until every meaning to her lovely words were lost.
bones Nov 2016
On the first hour of my first day
in the front trench I fell;

'Get up,' bawled Sergeant Major,
'and stand eye to eye with hell,

and look ye on the plucky dead
whose chests swell out with pride';

but t'was the rats that swelled them
as they plucked them from inside..
I wondered if I borrowed a line of poetry whether words of my own might follow after, the borrowed line is Mr Kipling's, from Epitaphs of the war 1914-1918..
PoserPersona Jul 2018
Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter
  For this I wish forever
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
  softer than touch of mother

Your eyes dazzle with no glitter
  For this I stare o're yonder
Locking jewels with coins of others;
  Leaves throbbing chests emptier

Your form flows as gentle rivers
  For this I grudge past swimmers
Glory bequeathed to the winner;
  drown will the losing suitors

Your voice humbles angel choirs
  For this I listen eager
Songs molding seraphs from satyrs;
  in harmony with nature

Your being stirs wildfire
  For this I bear the pleasure
Ethereal flames dance together;
  fueled by spiritual tethers

You are my love light of summer
  For this I waded winter
Glowing 'bove, spring was made greener;
  blooming nascent desire
Kara Jean Jun 2016
An eccentric free spirit
A major let down, no one understands the blunt sounds
A neighborhood built up by the ****** society, half naked puffed out chests
I'd rather pick my lilacs and dance to Joan Jett then deal with their meetings
I will celebrate my homemade life with a button stating,
"Save the wine who cares about the rest"
Freedom from the voices that screech
Yes I know you're  not quite sure what I'm saying
Bison Apr 2016
There's no heart left in Los Angeles
All those screaming ascendants
Living with Beats around their necks
But nothing beating in their chests

They got beaches, buried toes in the sand
Can you feel the heat yet, fire from your hand

Yet

There's no love left in Los Angeles
gracie Mar 2018
Shake me

Til the sad falls away
Til my heart breaks so cleanly
That you can staple it together
With love or
Some kind of metal
That won't melt in the scorching
Heat.

Hold me

Til my hands stop
Quivering
Til warm clouds of
Breath escape my lips
And drift up into the
Smoking atmosphere
Between our
Chests.

Shatter me

Til glass scatters across the
Concrete
Til no amount of superglue or
Soft words
Can fix the wonderful
Damage you leave
Behind.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2015
Time: 7:30 pm
Temp.: 68F

~~~
overlooking the runways,
festooned by
accidental heavenly whimsy,
or humanistic whimsical inten-sity,
all the the planes and trucks are flashing
electrifying speckles, of eclectically synced
red and green

it is not my holiday,
but no matter,
like every New Yorker this day,
I am happily celebrating its
double U,
unique, unusual

"record breaking warmth"

yes, the Fahrenheit is outtasight, and by the dawn of
early eve~night,
the Centigrade is spiraling in reverse retrograde,
as the temp eases on down, just below seventy degrees,
on this dewinterized twenty fourth day of
December, two nought and fifteen

traffic is light, the terminal, an unbusy, slim shadow of itself,
the maddening crowds gone, now all are among
the dearly departed and either/or, the newly arrived

so composition of the observational, brings cheer and smiles to my faith,
(I mean my face),
the crowning quietude of clear skies, the absence of street smart
city  bustle and hustle,
the languid atmosphere at the gates,
(where seldom is heard an encouraging word)#
makes me reconsider the true meaning of
the au courant phraseology of this day

"record breaking warmth"

for there is indeed
a calm invisible warmth suffusing all tonite,
chests glowing from fireplaces within,
contentment chamber containers in both hearth and heart,
and I am thinking
miracle,
about all the human warmth
on this celebrated evening,
holy night

indeed,
it is breaking records of
recorded human fusion,
the united commonality of millions warming
his and her stories world-over,
that your personal poet is
warming to record
# but not tonight, as I am
unbelievably,
upgraded!
Joel A Doetsch Aug 2012
When I look at you,
all of my
logic
common sense
appropriateness
seems to evaporate
as my primitive brain
takes the wheel

We won't take our clothes off
We will tear them off.
Rip them off
Ravage them
Destroy them
We will brutally punish the fabric
for getting in the way of our sins,
it will fall tattered to the floor
as we don new clothing
made of our sweat and fingers

Our lips will find one another
then they'll find our necks
then our chests
then our stomaches
then....we'll see
We'll draw maps of our bodies with our fingers
and then we'll explore them with our tongues.
Nothing is sacred
Nothing is off limits

I want to make you feel ecstacy
I want your legs wrapped around me
I want your fingernails digging into my back
Leave scars, I insist.
Our bodies will press together
cause fusion
cause confusion
I don't want to know
what is mine
and what is yours
I want to be
so hopelessly
lost in you
and you in me
that we might never find our way back
Why would we ever go back?

As the rhythm becomes more staggered
I want to be looking into your eyes
We're seeing stars and we're relishing
every single tiny little moment
every feeling
every fleeting sensation
until we collapse into
eachother's arms
too tired to move
swimming in a
river of passion

You still smell delicious.
I want you again.
Uzzie Jan 2018
I’ve stripped in front of mirrors
Poles on the side
Legs loose
Insanity.
I’ve closed eyes to kiss
Opened my mouth to twirl with tongues.
Nose against his
I’ve smelt his scent, took it to have.

Before bottom lips were felt,
I’ve laid against chests
Heartbeats whispered in ears .
Desperate for changes to cease the moment.
These lips have bled,
They have laid lives;
One in caskets
The other living to tell the tale .
My canvas rescued in fairytales.
He dug in these cherry lips
Threw uncaptured souls on my covers.
I’ve spread wide in these sheets
Dripped with Pit-bull drools
These hands have raised
Have nurtured
Have done hand jobs.
Black roses I’ve blown for.
In my high
I’ve read minds
I’ve been Queen
Dressed in feathers
Crowned with featherless pigeons.
1,2,3.
I slipped out of my fantasy
To be laid yet again on this bed.
Another one night stand to hold on to.
Only these walls will live to tell the tale
Of my devoured bottom lips.
Jen Snow Jul 2018
So
Keenly
Aware

Like
A
Lost
Limb

Can’t
Be
Found

Asleep
Or
Awake

My
Eyes

Search
For
You

Every
Crowd

Every
Stranger

Every
Place

A
Familiar
Touch

Pressed
Against
These
Lips

Hearts
Trapped

Inside
Bone-e­ncased
Chests

Lonely
Souls

Come
Into
View

My
Love

I
Miss
You
For Matt
venn Jul 2015
Poets, the disciples of the modern world.

Followers of the great Almighty Lord of
Alliteration and symbolism

Their eccentric natures make them the pariahs of this world.

We cannot wrap our minds around
The words they artfully speak,
So we refuse to accept them

Their eyes burn like fire in their skulls
As they stare you down from a podium,
In their hands they hold their own hearts
Which they have ripped out of their chests,
Holding them out as if asking for you to accept it from them, Wanting you to understand what every beat means

Poets are misunderstood beings,
Tortured creatures,
But they are far stronger than any others,
because they have the gall to speak their minds unforgivingly,
Bare their most inner secrets and struggles
To an audience of strangers

They are the quick of tongue,
Speaking faster than one's ear can hear,
But somehow they still manage to work themselves into your head With every word

They're parasites,
Infecting your mind and soul,
Tugging at you and driving themselves into your brain
Until their poems are all you think of

But they are not evil parasites.

They hurt us and make us feel to save us.
pitch black god8 May 2018
are you generally happy?

a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously,  as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”

it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction

as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words  
  “The End”

a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read

the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -

the opioids of the mind offers are rejected

the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled

the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup  and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish  
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,

pitch black
ryn Aug 2014
Step into my universe
You'll see only words
In my mind, flurry of feathers
Hurricane of riled up birds.

They amass and circulate
Searching to break free
Storm of ink; doesn't abate
Bleed out for no one to see.

Hidden inside my heart
Forbidden words I long to convey
Teach me how to start
With you I foist to play.


Words veiled by silent secrecy,
Cloaked words I long to shout
Bordering the point of heresy
Tabooed words without doubt.

Almost an eternity I've whispered
With care and only hushed tones
Well kept secret undiscovered
Laying quiet under unturned stones.

Thought myself alone when I heard another
One that sings choral to my own
A mournful call that sang together
Grey melodies embodied in skin and bone.

The cravings of my heart
Your words I wish to fill
In my head occupies the biggest part
Our declaration's the only seal.

A vow you and I made
A love we wish to last forever
Dismissing that opportunities evade
Who would need a supporting paper.

Hidden softness within me
Only you can tap and enjoy
The only one that holds the key
Heart and mind meet to employ.


Our hearts, like kings, would've risen
Adorned and bejewelled on their crests
Let us sing in unrehearsed unison
Crowned words we've locked in our chests.



IamMsIves
rhymesmith
Written by Suckers for Rhymes - IamMsIves & Rhymesmith
Hillary Magee Dec 2016
Words are enough
to express the affections
of our love

Our rhymes touch
The happiness in our chests
Sound does
reach the max
of traveling potential

We decided to keep going
A long time ago
Because love always wins
That is how it is
we walk by sheer enjoyment

I must say
all the signs and progressions
adhered to
to be with you
are worth it to me
KM Hanslik Jun 2018
We were laying down our lives
from the beginning, but we didn't know
how cold the nights could be
or how heavy our feet would sound
on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built
for more than coughing up new ways
to pass time, no we were only
practicing for this,
we were only fighting for our lives,
we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with
our wrung-out hopes & dreams,
but those fell limp & we didn't realize
there was anything else
I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover
from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed
up and down my arms,
under my ribs, but I thought that was
a good thing, I thought
we're supposed to fight for what we love
we're supposed to feel the pain
but,
we are only a billion lonely strangers
laying down our lives here, I'm hoping
you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again
although we really do make the finest doormats
for feet heavier than ours, maybe
we will remain in the dust & the sand until
we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight
we carry today;
so come lie to me,
tell me that this all goes away
I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams
bigger things than childhood fantasies
they tell me I am only make believe
I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending
they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase,
the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury
the rot of older skins I shed on the daily,
we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere
hides the stars so we seek
open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking
they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be
caving in tomorrow
compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here
(we didn't know how cold the nights could be)
I'll be laying down my life over here.
Bison Mar 2016
Rough hands caress her soft skin
Lilac and lavender brushed against
Smooth lips so warm and wet
Perfect strangers still not met

And it's a fury, a madness in slow motion
Torturous passion of ****** oceans
And we cherish it in the worst way
We crave it even on our darkest day

To be returned brings fiercest joy
Gentle tears of your little boy
Unrequited it steals our quiet
We feel our chests become silent

But oh the world she runs on
Like nothing has ever gone wrong
But we're stuck in time, stuck frozen
Love is a drug best left never chosen
Elizz Oct 2018
Some say
That a picture is worth a thousand words
But what if each word
Was worth a thousand pictures?
That every single piece you write
Contains an amber memory
An emotion stained shard of glass
In the word "love"
An aching heart in the word restart
A laugh sown into the hollow of your smile
A desperate sense of awe and kindled fear
In the knowledge of what we write
Will out live us
That in a sense we artists
Who rip their chests open
Warranting our sorrows and joys onto the world
We bare our arms
We show our scars
Some of us to feel like we aren't alone
Others to be a light in someones darkest corner
A warm pulsating orb
To be here
To show
You aren't alone
That we're here
Bracing your heart against the hurricane


Some say that a picture is worth a thousand words
But what if each word
Is worth a thousand pictures?
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