Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ilion gray Jul 2018
I hope you're there the day the rain falls down from earth to sky
and I hope you remember
that night we watched the ocean dance with the wind
and I explained
How the  waves
make love to the leaves
while they're
still holding the trees hands
You told me how
You counted
Raindrops dripping
On the wood
behind the window
Outside
In
The Wild
Of your childhood-
I fell in love
with the rain, with
You that night.

When I was a boy
I thought that I
Held all things-

                                        I did not.


Now that I am a man
  I know
How at times instantaneous...
mountains can rise
between a woman
And a man
That eclipse the sun
Yet sets fire to the sand!
That which I discovered a Beat Squire
A Potential who I Trust can be Friend
As sincere as the News he respires
Giving you Updates which does make us Bend
Kaibigan, should you show the Numb Male
Which Ingredients we are truly made of
He chose you. That alone should just prevail
And Rice the Staple makes your Friendship oft
I mean this Good Thing. Being at your Best
And Youth such Buddy could ever provide
Live out this Stage well. Far from what the Least
Full-Cupped Elders think they could just Advise.
My Part is done. Decisions are your own
This Future is yours; Make it well-known.
#jancarlo717
Mary Gay Kearns Jul 2018
The beginning begs to be noticed
Uttering simple syllable phrases
But you know those touches flow
Into the silent parts of me like you
And our ownernership is so new
The over folding of a pair of wings.

Love Mary  x
Love Mary, Grandma xxxx
Brooke White Jul 2018
**** the twin-size mattress,
that cheap indigo color.
Where my best friend’s legs,
her hands and knees,
were entangled in struggle.

**** his barbell body
heavy and cold to the touch.
She had been hunted  
by someone that she trusted.

**** the world that assumed  
she was kissed. Not gripped,
nor crushed under his pressing force.

**** the cinder block walls  
of that college dormitory,
where she stared and refused
to sleep in her own bed
After that night.

**** the catchy tune of breath
rolling over teeth  
that play in her head.
**** her father. He would say
he doesn’t approve of her *******.

So, she chose to stay quiet.
Forgettably quiet.
Kimberly Jul 2018
When I think of you
I feel butterflies in my stomach
I didn’t know those existed

And when I hear your voice
my heart beats fast
I feel my heart trying to tear my skin open and leave my chest

And the smell of you
it melts me away completely
I feel as if I haven’t smelled nothing in years

And when you touch me or hold me
I never want to leave
It’s like every time you touch me it leaves this burning sensation to feel more

And then when I see you
when I see just a glimpse of you
I know I am completely and utterly in love with you
The original “He chose her” poem is actually true, but what I didn’t know was that he loved me. I mean I knew he loved me but not in that way. He told me a while ago and now things are different. And as for the girl he chose before he thought she would be the one because she filled his head with plans on the future but she never reslly planned on making those her intentions, atleast not with him. And now she has moved away to live in a different state so he’s mine now and forever and I’m never letting go.- K.S loves N.R
Renea Feb 23
A single mother of 3
Is not the way she pictured her life to
  be.
Everyone wants to have the fairy tale life
But honestly She didn't
She only wanted to be the perfect mother
And an irreplaceable wife.
But 10 years of marriage full of every type of abuse
Finally the time came when she had to choose
To stay in the abuse, and be financially stable
Or take her kids and leave while She was still able
Her kids wanted for nothing
They could go anywhere
She could buy them anything
Shopping without a care
She grew up very poor
Happy to get just  a piece of gum
from the grocery store
She knew then if She had a kid
She would do whatever it took for them
to have a life better than She did
And so there She was
A mother of 3
Doing whatever it took
To make their life happy
As it should be
But She took all She could take
And couldn't take anymore
She couldn't keep fighting for her life
For the sake of being poor.
So She left her marriage
Took the kids
Walked out of their home
And shut the door.
Life since then has been a constant struggle
to say the least
But being a struggling mother
Is much better than being deceased.
Vera Jul 2018
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.


My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.


III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
—V.H.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
Our cycle of grit and grind
The brutal societal kind
Left the warm insides dry
To want ***** on the fly

Stretch the muscles sore
Yet he runs back for more
Forget the need to vent
Boy, you need to pay rent

Those arms toned healthy
By street dancing and Tai Chi
Are used as gears of machines
Or to wipe **** ***** clean

Those great young Picassos
Or those potential Platos
Have their way to top so steep
Since ideas and art are cheap

Those beautiful people
Paid to lend their *******
To wolves of superior collar
Proudly sorted by the color

The herd united in this song
La la la, there's nothing wrong
We are all numb as hookers
The system—the avid customer
In the New Forest my Base had discovered
The Rites of Pannage those Back-Breakers do
Sows and their Cousins their Instinct recovered
Took a Year's Break from Storage and Stew
Which Proud Members chose Estovers on-edge
Then for Dessert from their Month's Turbary
A Better Concern than Motors bred at-stake,
A chance for their King to pay his Duty
So, my Conqueror, tell me that Ballad
Or must I force that Verderer to Sing
With Acorns, Truffles and all Nuts at-hand
Till he spits out the Seed which bore my Ring.
Tell you what. This Porker you just provide
I'll relish its Pudding and wear its Hide.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now ***** and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted chemical organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Promises made by mortal man
Are rarely met by mortal hand
For though they strive to win your heart
Such passions land far from their start

They'll paint, so clear, a future bliss
And draw you in with blinding kiss
But just when you have bought the dream
Man finds pursuits more worthy to deem

Ambition, sport and other girls
Whose flattering words and smiles like pearls
Will tempt a fellow to leave his nest
And lie upon another's breast

'Tis pain so sharp you think you'll die
And tears aren't found enough to cry
A torture rack would be better friend
With all its tearing limb to limb

To have your innards disemboweled
Or face the fiercest lion's growl
Would be kinder punishment than this
From one who knew your ****** kiss

And yet within this darkest night
A hint of moonbeam's softest light
Might rise upon such blistered soul
And shine into its gaping hole

For romance still may spark a flame
And whisper to your heart by name
To woo you in your bleakest hour
With promises of healing power

Promises unlike the others you've known
Whose good intentions were quickly thrown
Away by the frailty of human flesh
When sin's entanglements did enmesh

No, this One's words are wholly sure
His heart and mind and will are pure
His faithfulness cannot be shaken
Nor His covenant love ever be taken

He chose you before He made the sun
And said to the Father, "I want that one!"
He searched you out through all your years
Through all your joys and pains and fears

And now He waits for you to grasp
That deepest pleasure lies in His clasp
That His own kiss brings highest delight
That His face is eye's sweetest sight

It's He alone Who can fill you up
And saturate your empty cup
When life has left you hollow and dry
And numb to further wish to try

When memories lie tarnished with stains
And not one worthy dream remains
He reaches in with perfect hope
That pulls you up like saving rope

And as He wipes tears from your eyes
He says to you: I am the Prize!
Take hold of Me and drink My love
Come sit with Me in realms above

For I have blessings prepared for you
That you've never imagined, but oh it's true
I long to give you all of Me
To draw you close and let you see

That in your pain you know Me best
That heart's rejection finds its rest
In this sweet fellowship of intimacy
Where you are made to look like Me

I'll give you love like you've not known
Enough to see your will o'erthrown
Enough to pour it out upon
That very one who did you wrong

For that one, too, knows thirst of soul
And needs My love to fill the hole
Which, though he's tried hard to ignore,
Pleads, "More and more and more and more!"

But if he never should respond
Still, that pure love will seal the bond
That ties you to My own heartbeat
For then you'll see My love complete

For though the world resists Me still
I love them fiercely and always will
I've known rejection like no other
From bride and kindred and friend and brother

And when you love through hate and scorn
A jewel within your heart is born
For then you glimpse My own heart's breaking
And learn My secrets of rarest taking

To rejoice in the face of bitter spite
Requires sure death but will invite
Your soul to dance in gardens of bliss
Where you will know My Lover's kiss

So come and dance with Me, make haste
There's no spare moment left to waste
Abundant life waits through this door
With thrills and pleasures evermore!
~~~
Skywlkr Feb 7
Anger Becomes you Very Well,
Anger Becomes us All I will Tell,,,
But For it You Shunt Me Down as if I was Acting a Clown,
But upon your Head is that not a Frown.
Why Not Slap me for Being Happy theese are all Normal Feelings.............
Don't you see Its what makes all us! ..................
*HUMAN BEINGS
So Many emotions I know I can't pick and choose mine mabey you can?
Sara Kellie May 2018
Kiss my bloodied lips before you go.
Remember darling, you reap what you sow.
I gave you that warning a few years ago.
So what's coming to you, you already know.
Now close your eyes and hold on tight.
I'll make it quick when I put out your light.
When you are gone, I might shed some tears.
Remembering back, we had some good years.
You chose a new ally, you made a mistake.
It won't take you long to realise he's fake.

Poetry by Kaydee
The bloodier the poem the better the therapy and yes, she's still alive.
In fact, the poem titled 'Natalie' is about her. We are also still married!
You see, therapy through poetry really works.
Written in 2012.
From Potent Treasures despite Five Months past
The Sixth Great Angel suddenly appeared
Reminding my Lost Voice which Virtues last
And preached the Sermon of True Self revealed
How Wonderful must your Header advise
Being the Younger of your Sister's sprite
From there Unknotted Loyalty devise
Though snubbed by Pink Dandelions in spite
Now I can see why he chose over you
His Charming Sense knew your Heart was that Pure
And please keep on; Keep that Silver Disc blue
Coat them with your Wings from being demure.
Yes I Agree. Of your True Coating's stand
Thank you so much for reminding me at hand.
#daleysangels #katierobsonx
Often does your Purpose seek to Belong
Thoughts your Rebellious Clouds can independ
But just recall your Coins; And after long
You'll realise the Worth which you will spend
Maybe you Decided; Or maybe not
Plans which the Architect will rennovate
It's clearly shown by the Jersey you got
How you love to be an Otaku's Date
I'll complain to the Pug; And must he snub
Even if his Language you will confuse
And why he chose to reissue a ****
When all he could do is ask for a fuse.
Still a Nice Wear you so haply display
Hoping such Good Colours will never fade.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Lily Flower Mar 2018
How does it feel, walking the rainwashed streets without me ?
I hope your hand is comfortable in your pocket,
Or a hand you chose over mine.
On the dining table we never dined
"together", its warmth froze in my heart.
The soup always went cold
and I counted every single bean
Never seen, or tasted before .
I binned the beans and bid them farewell.
I went back to my cold bed
and felt my head explode
and felt my body twitch in need
Oh honey! Lest your soup go cold
Lest you count your beans.
I ate the trashed beans and beamed.
How could I trash the green of your eyes that spoke through the beans?
I think I'll leave the empty bed for sale
It's a free life in jail
without you in my veins.
With me in your dustbin
As the grey sky rains.
This hurts beyond reason. It hurts that I never got to be with the man I deeply loved, because of distance and disease. This hurts that everything's ruined..
r m Jul 2015
as vast as the galaxy
with stars swarming
like a blanket of cloth
with twinkling dots of threads
we roam the earth
gallantly
with hearts individually beating
with breaths individually taken
and in the middle of the crowd
is me, thinking of the statistics

seven billion people in the world
and i chose to love
the one
i
cannot
have
thinking of that one person, again and again, like an after-thought that lingers until i cry these feelings all out
// july 2015
One year ago the 23rd of December I stood at the crossroads to life having
just lost me
wife
and with no place to go with and very little prospects of surviving my
loss
But one year on I've come back to the crossroads to find my chosen road
and
to where It will lead me I've made my choice and
I'll stay
on that road till I come to the end
Losing my wife I felt like I was stood at a cross roads to live four roads but only could  chose one, I think I've chose
the right one
julia rose May 2018
she had flaked away her memories
and stepped up
with a ponderous heart,
held by two gentle hands;
and saying goodbye, did she,
as she slipped off her skin,
for the moment blood stains
the kumari's tender soul,
bereaved, will she become,
for a goddess never bleeds.

her feet shall never touch
the tattered, ***** ground,
for it engulfs and devours
and burns off the kumari's flesh.
holding her pure spirit, and
  accepting a cruel death sentence,
her quivering soul
cupped but a glimmer of hope,
as the fire would flicker
and lash and whip
as her skin flakes again,
and the kumari vanishes.

but, if she remains unscathed,
blood shall be drawn,
and the gods will tremble and
her body will collapse.
the world will consume her
once again.

a kumari's blood,
drawn, now at death,
trembling and alone,
had she sobbed tears of joy,
for no longer the weight
must she bear in her heart,
of being a kumari;
but a kumari is she,
and the world has not chose her,
but she has chosen to be.

she had withered away,
heart no longer ponderous,
she stepped up.
and her wishes from within
passed on to the fearful others,
held by two gentle hands, and
with a gentle flutter of her eyes,
next to her charcoal stained skin,
had her heart stopped;
for her bejeweled crown had been stained with blood,
and the kumari realized that
she had died long ago.
i worked really ******* this
Nicole May 2016
A teacher and a student,
A mother and her son,
A paint brush and a painter,
A bullet and a gun.

For you, I am the sun,
and I, you are the storm,
And while I'm the rose,
you are the mighty thorn.

And with this I have sworn that love will always win the fight,
and conquer what is wrong,
for you and I, for what is right.

I shed the light,
I guide the way,
It is I,
who chose to stay.

I am empty. I am still. I am none.
© Nicole ***
H
Both starts with
H .
Yet gave totally different
meaning.
One is the best thing that
you can ever think of.
And the other,
a total opposite.
Luckily,
you can choose
where you want
to go.
**** or Heaven ,
it's all up to you.
Think about it...
Eryri Oct 2018
The idiocy,
Sheer insincerity
Of political apologies.

It WAS meant to offend.

You chose the words carefully.
A dog's-whistle in your mouthpiece.
Your career is your priority.

You are a glorified carnival barker,
With a reputation as an intellect,
But many do detect ******* in your overblown prose
(except those who are equally verbose).

Will your papa be disappointed
If you are never to be anointed?
Your education makes being PM a career choice,
So power for it's own sake should really be a piece of cake.

So how about it, Boris?
Will we hear more Horace?
How much do you want it?
Enough to blow your own Trumpette?
I really wanted to rhyme Bannon and Cannon after the last line.
Truth a Stinging Bee Compassion promotes
Was ever by Chance I try to Avoid
But asking for such from your direct Mote
Was in fact Soothing as much as a Toy
Shelled? Yes as far as I have just observed
Those charmed Somniloquies your Voice expressed
In Art, why not? Mosaics are much conserved
Though tiled in Paradise of Colours concessed
Calming this haply your Passion consumes
Amongst Events the Water soothes and calms
Direct Object Happy; Go put out the Fumes
Which blinds Good Fish spitting Coins for their Alms.
Still this Summary chose you for your Grace
For me, next Spell, will adapt to your Face.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Shaine Fraz Jun 2016
How fortunate
Our color blends unintentially,
Wildly with thoughts bleeding outside the lines what have we started: again

And again I ******
And again you absorb
And again this easel-- summoned
And again your vellum-- softened

Perched on a stool,
Vibrant as mangos --ripening
I chose you, the spectrum
Unknown to most

The only museum I go to.
© 2016 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Next page