"diaries" poems
Sometimes you open yourself up to a person because you feel and believe that they're different and maybe this time they won't break your heart and that your love will be requitted. So you go out on a limb and open up so much of yourself to this person. Things that you're afraid to tell others about because of fear of being judged or rejected. But there's just something about this person that allows you to tell them everything. You become so comfortable in the presence of that person that you openly admit your flaws, you don't hide it. You just completely lose yourself in love and in the thought and concept of being loved, of being in a relationship and of being with someone that you can be yourself with. The idea of that person just completely excites you and everything about them makes you happy. Seeing them and hearing their voice just helps you in an inexplicable manner and being with them is an emotion of complete comfortability on its own. You learn to love this person and you accept their flaws and differences. You accept how they might not necessarily love eating McDonalds as much as you do or they are crazy about sci-fi movies where you can't even get yourself past watching a chick flick.
But that's just it, you don't mind.
You don't mind because love is about sacrifices.
Its about sacrificing your weekly episode of The Vampire Diaries to watch the most recent sports updates.
Because you'd rather lose the argument than to lose the person. You'd sacrifice a part of your daily routine all for love. The worst part is that nothing is guaranteed. You're not guaranteed how long you will be in a relationship with this person. You're not guaranteed complete happiness and you're not guaranteed that things are going to be perfect. You just have to trust this person and have faith. Believe the best and hope that everything will work out for the. Best. Believe that even if you break up with this person, that you're going to be ok. Everything is going to be ok, and that new beginnings are perfectly acceptable. Believe that you're going to overcome heartbreak of any kind. You just have to believe that someone out there is looking for someone like you.
What others see Wrong in you just might be the exact thing that will make someone else fall in love with you. And you need to be realistic. Not all relationships last forever. Some relationships are there for lessons and experiences. So that very person that you completely open yourself up to, can break your heart. It could be during or even after the relationship.
But its all part of life I guess. You'll never know how to love someone wholeheartedly if you haven't been hurt before. You just have to turn your heartbreak in to something positive, make the most out of your situation. See the light in the darkness. But learn to deal with things too. Find closure in what happened to you and don't leave a relationship with unfinished business. Because unfinished business will have to be finished sooner or later, and I think sooner is better. Allow yourself time to heal too. Opening yourself up to someone that much can hurt you a lot, and everything you had with that person will be completely lost in an instant. And you're gonna need to come to terms with that. Remember that what's meant to be , will be.
Love, is a complicated thing, and you're never quite sure how things could possibly turn out to be. You're just gonna go out on a limb each time hoping for the best and patiently waiting for your happily ever after with a special person.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Most humans drink coffee and wine
They consume television and mainstream novels
They feed their souls with popularity contests and safe relationships
But poets
We could not survive without passion, intensity, and meaning
Everything we feel is felt to the depths of our souls
We are the ones to put into words the unspeakable pain of heartbreak
The incomprehensible joy of falling in love
We are the ones brave enough to say out loud the diaries of a thousand souls
Us poets
We drink tea and whiskey
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,
or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,
or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******
as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.
Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.
or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments
from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.
Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.
“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
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QUIVER ALL-MAXIMIZING
SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
3:38 AM (56 minutes ago)
to Daniel
SOAR OWNERSHIP
/ UTTERANCES OUTLABOURED PILGRIMS/
By the creditor at cyprus and on other grounds:
The counter-cedar Venice much unparalleled ever pursuant kindly indigenous street streams far above strange beneath the string ...' Dream castle before the 'Requiring much quill 'Peanut lieutenant great ones of the machinery citation / Worth pillow following purposes invasion with a rainfall bombardment epistle the pearl earning era: Closet by sessions pursue arithmetician diaries ' anchor calculus cumulative arrows propellant / Squadron in the field-refueling ' division visions ...' Upswing within the meaning axle conversion processes proofs / ' Electron icons ' Creation wireless reticence circles: Moon ship's amnesty crest reckon 'flaskbone SpurZebra...' Preferment goes by relieves and affectionate 'Oil The Self-graduation Outpouring / Vagrant above ant strides : Rodrigo peculiar ends demonstration/ Forego the-Outward acclimation : Upon all civility citizenry civil-rises other low less losses below yonder / Phrase of prose -possessions cuss ion syn chronicutensils 'asylum systems beyond stems : Preeminence blown 'being ht-thence quarries hijack travels history/Wherein of plant hours ' spicily spoke ***** Pilgrimage dilutes noble companies 'ago-maximize promptly alacrity; Exhibition the underrating besought levels- of quarry / burden oxidation immune slaughter
Cheap Hill Chips
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Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
sunrise, sunset
birds fly, land, and fret
doctors mend, treat and heal
write wake, write and feel.
sunrise, sunset
the fish swims while the parrot pecks,
the bees nestle back into their hives
as the moon lifts, and the sun dives.
sunrise, sunset
the diaries cease to forget
when all go back to rest
with the sunrise, sunset.
so as the babies mumble and the children cry,
the world lives and nature thrives.
the mother yawns and resets
with the sunrise and the sunset.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
A petal haired army saluting the call of the skies
- it made my heart go to her
until I hope her into being
and I look into her eyes -
eyes that shimmer with every shade of springtime
with frolicking lambs and trumpeting daffodils
with the glint of her chocolate stained Sunday dress,
dancing and whirling with the matriarch blues of six generations
to know our dance, but to write her own song -
a song composed of notes she will fashion for herself in
flower petal perfume and dirt and birthday cake tummy ache
and she can write them in gummy bears or wiggly worms
in any way she might choose, on bill boards or in locked diaries
but it will be beautiful beyond words because its her way -
her way - choosing to skim cliff edges over mama's apron strings,
tearing frills on tree branches and turning back her watch to arrive home late
and you can bet when she dreams him in her sleep she won't be feeling that pea.
But so long as she takes her dreams to heart and cuddles them to life
and knows that she is perfectly imperfectly beautiful and remembers that -
that life is lived as much on cliff edges as it is in your own home
that dress tears and stains speak joy every bit as much as a photograph
that mama's apron strings stretch far and wide,
and that though the shades of seasons change, she must sing her song
and dance.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
All winter the fire devoured everything --
tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers.
When April finally arrived,
I opened the woodstove one last time
and shoveled the remains of those long cold nights
into a bucket, ash rising
through shafts of sunlight,
as swirling in bright, angelic eddies.
I shoveled out the charred end of an oak log,
black and pointed like a pencil;
half-burnt pages
sacrificed
in the making of poems;
old, square handmade nails
liberated from weathered planks
split for kindling.
I buried my hands in the bucket,
found the nails, lifted them,
the phoenix of my right hand
shielded with soot and tar,
my left hand shrouded in soft white ash --
nails in both fists like forged lightning.
I smeared black lines on my face,
drew crosses on my chest with the nails,
raised my arms and stomped my feet,
dancing in honor of spring
and rebirth, dancing
in honor of winter and death.
I hauled the heavy bucket to the garden,
spread ashes over the ground,
asked the earth to be good.
I gave the earth everything
that pulled me through the lonely winter --
oak trees, barns, poems.
I picked up my shovel
and turned hard, gray dirt,
the blade splitting winter
from spring. With *** and rake,
I cultivated soil,
tilling row after row,
the earth now loose and black.
Tearing seed packets with my teeth,
I sowed spinach with my right hand,
planted petunias with my left.
Lifting clumps of dirt,
I crumbled them in my fists,
loving each dark letter that fell from my fingers.
And when I carried my empty bucket to the lake for water,
a few last ashes rose into spring-morning air,
ash drifting over fields
dew-covered
and lightly dusted green.
5.8k
We are polar opposites
You are West, I am East
Our views always contradict
You have a sweet tooth, I don't like sweets
You are white, I am black
Not literally, but just in life view
Sometimes you're ***** white and I'm clear black
It varies from half empty to half full
You are an extravert
While I am an introvert
You like being surrounded by people
I'm fine being secluded in the darkest corner
You're frank and always true
I lie so no one will have a clue
But you always know what I hide
While I am oblivious if you're really fine
You are a cat-lover, I am a dog-lover
It rain cats and dogs when we're together
You sing the sweetest meow at my whimper
I happily wag my tail at your purr
We both like music though
But we listen to different genres
We never even shared on one earphone
So sometimes we just endure the silence
You are a sadist, I am a *********
You leave bite marks on my skin
Whenever you're overwhelmed
But I'm really fine with it
You like Vampire Diaries and Victoria's Secret
While I like TVXQ and anime
We'll never agree on a TV show
Now who's gonna hold the remote control?
You are a clean freak
I am not that very clean
You're probably next to Godliness
While I'm second to the last in that list
You are very hardworking, I am lazy
While you are being busy
I'm being a potato on the couch
"Sweep the floor.", you said as the broom flew on my face, "Ouch!"
I like food trips
But you are on a diet
You like to eat healthy
I like to eat anything but veggies
True, we don't have anything in common
Except for the dislike of the black part of the fish's meat
But we are familiar of our demons
And the how-tos for its defeat
Yes, we must be polar opposites
And yes, we're like magnets
Positive plus negative
To each other, we are attracted
I am salt, you are pepper
And we complement each other
We are each others' puzzle pieces
Completing each others' emptiness
We are yin and yang
We cannot live without either one
And most importantly, you and I
We rhyme
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Some blood, there will be
our skin, in these, left behind
diaries held true.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
I'm just a simple person, just like the rest
Well, not entirely simple, but nonetheless
It's like society and the media just say what they want
To create new forms of discriminations, that will forever haunt
As if the already existing ones weren't bad enough
They must make sure that you feel flawed,
and make your life tough
I'm just another person; I removed the word simple
People nowadays even get trashed for having a dimple
"HA, it's just a deformity on your face!"
Well, I hope you trip and fall on your own shoelace :)
I'm just another person, with a not-so-great vision
I need glasses, so that I don't squint at the television
It makes my life easier, but the media has made it tough
Their influences and the consequential societal mentality,
has made my childhood rough
Beauty is said to be in the eyes of the beholder
Yet friendship is considered beauty,
when it gives you a shoulder
To cry on, is what I meant
Not literally
I mean it could
Just didn't want to be misunderstood
Why are glasses objectified,
like in The Princess Diaries
Is it not considered dignified
to not want your eyes to get all fiery?
Trust me, I'm just another person;
who needs the help of glasses
Media's interpretation has ruined this too,
to profit their theatrical farces
This is not an appraisal piece
for the object that makes us see well
This is a shoutout to those,
who feel pressurized by this societal shell
To define beauty may be complex,
but it should not be controlled by someone's interest
You're beautiful the way you are,
to have you the world is truly blessed
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
Much too calloused,
I’ve become.
Throughout this endeavor
Obviously I must be strong.
Above most and
Only higher than some,
Despite attached strings
That drag me hastily along.
I must accept
What is to come:
The fall that is fleeting long.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 8:20 AM UTC
*Today I'm so happy
Know why
My mom and my dad
Are out this evening
They are eating out
I am all alone
At our home
I can do whatever i want
As much as i want
For as long as i want
But I'm lazy
All I'd do is lay and eat
They should have took me with them
Anyway I'm still happy
It's the first time
They left me alone at home
An hour have passed
Since they left
I'm not getting bored
Before it was fun
But it's so boring now
Without them
I used to share them
My stories
What i did in day
How me and my friends played
And some of my secret stuff
But now it got boring
And i am feeling so sleepy so quick
I heard two loud bangs
I was asleep already
But those loud bangs woke me up
I thought they were sound of thunder
But there were no clouds above
I was wondering where those bangs came from
But it's first time i heard those
Couldn't figure out
And I'm feeling sleepy again
I woke up at mid night
Again
I am feeling restless
It's so late
Moon is shining above
It's so scary
The closes are above
And lightening falling down
And its really so scary
Before when i used to get up at midnight
My dad or my mom used to
Get up for me and make me sleep again
They haven't come home yet
Why aren't they here
I feel so fearful
I feel so alone
The hooting of owls
The small roars
The buzzing of insects
I can hear it all
My body shivers with each sound
The darkness is taming me
I'm so afraid
Please come back mom and dad
And they never came................*
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
Writing is dangerous a sport
With far too many muscles left to pull
Not only in my body
Writing is far few abstract-I cannot think in words and I cannot label-the day I put it into words it's labeled
And that is dangerous a vote
Thinking is much cleaner yes, for now
They said that thoughts are safe
yet I don't think obscenities in public
And I don't feel obscenities in public
Two sane thoughts a day(required by law) they say will keep the writers away from Fitzgerald's and Virginia's-Poe is still fair ground
They said that diaries were safe, but we writers do not write in public
But sports are played to audiences and votes need to be a-gotten and we writers express our condolences for the death of writing and the birth of Athleticism and Campaigns
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
There's an architect designing the world from the skyline downwards, as he believes himself to be a God
The paraffin lamps on Victorian cobbled corners are as dry as the seraph in dust bowls over some arid sea
A portrait exists, of a town covered in mist and the orange cliffs are a thousand bloodied wrists
Somewhere music plays to ghosts, obtuse reverberations of some cave on a mountain... or something
and what a useless skill it is to be a poet, flouting fanciful words as if a single soul cared or could possibly muster anything more than unadulterated apathy
What a lonely life it is, to spend entire days watching *********** and reveling in dissociative stoicism
Watching cam girls for hours on end, swept up in conversation yet never taking part, only watching
They seem as lonely as anybody, holed up in crimson rooms as anonymous DJs play through laptop speakers
Fielding obscene questions with a smile and renting their body in timetables to the highest tipper
and some days the depression becomes so heavy that ************ seems impossible, though it's possible to blame such scarcity on the anti-anxiety meds that have ruined so many-a youthful folly
Is there a more flattering notion, than a story teller being commended for honesty when every word is a lie
Fictional accounts of melancholic lives told in a pulchritudinous verse or a prose of the most regal purples
Using nothing more than psycho-stimulants and a smeared bedroom window for inspiration
There's a writer sat at a desk, typing ridiculous lines of text, as he knows himself to be human
and in that humanity he strives to create a realists interpretation of existence through scattered memories
and derivative styles of his favourite authors whilst using educational texts as footnotes in imaginary diaries
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
There are boys that cry,
There are girls who have dry eyes.
There are boys that dance or play volleyball,
There are girls that wrestle or play football.
There are boys who drive VW Bugs,
There are girls that drive trucks.
There are boys that bake,
There are girls that shred.
There are boys that like the Notebook,
There are girls that like Transformers.
There are boys that are romantics at heart, looking for love,
There are girls that aren't into flowers or love songs.
There are boys with hair to their knees,
There are girls with shaved heads.
There are boys with diaries and journals full of memories,
There are girls who have no desire to write down all the details.
There are boys with names like Aubry,
There are girls with names like Sam.
There are boys with insecurities about their bodies,
There are girls who don't weigh themselves ever.
There are boys with eating disorders,
There are girls who work out for the ideal 6 pack.
There are boys that prep endlessly for a date,
There are girls who take 5 minutes to get out the door.
There are tidy, neat boys,
There are messy, whirlwind girls.
There are boys in dresses,
There are girls in baggy jeans and a pullover.
There are boys who shop endlessly,
There are girls who can't stand the mall.
There are boys that talk about their emotions,
There are girls who would rather not.
There are boys that look after the kids,
There are girls that work full-time.
There are boys who are nurses,
There are girls who are engineers.
There are boys who cook,
There are girls that change the oil in the car.
There are boys who are complacent and subordinate,
There are girls who are dominant and overpowering.
There are boys with no desire to get it in on the first date,
And there are some girls who wouldn't mind if they do.
And those are all okay. Gender stereotyping only limits what you can and can't do. Let the boys cry and write poetry and eat chocolate when they're sad and talk about their feelings. Let the girls be aggressive and wrestle their buddies and play ball and drive sports cars. Let people do as they please. You're born as you a are, you can't decide what gender you are. You can decide what you do with your gender though, or rather what it won't keep you from doing. Your gender is only an aspect of who you are, don't let it dictate your actions to appease a society that has deemed what is and is not okay for you to do simply because you're either a guy or girl.
There are boys and girls that can grow up to be what they please, do as they wish and speak as they will. Don't be the one to tell them otherwise.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
How do you prevent something that's already happening?
Death that has already taken a life?
Do you beg?
Do you plead?
No.
You prepare a coffin.
Just like someone's already done for you.
I love you,
And you destroyed me.
The Suicide Diaries
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Take your thoughts to the sink,
Pile them all up with the plates,
Grimy and greasy
Just like your mind
Which you can scrub all you want
With a sponge or a foam
Since there's no difference
Above sea level,
But the residues will remain
Staining your perfect little machine,
Robotic, malfunctioning,
Because manpower is always better
Than a cold bin
Where it is just you
Echoing your asking everything
Except for what you want
Because cowardice and pride
Are the oil of your psychomotor,
Running,
Missing,
Out on those
Who really don't need you in their lives,
Let alone
To do their dishes,
If ever, in case,
So what the hell are you still doing,
Waiting for the suds to drain,
Don't **** your brain
Like this,
Get a pen
And replace the dishwashing liquid
With real poison.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars,
diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray,
birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines,
occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures,
sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even
defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar
*not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling,
many voyages of indeterminate measuring length,
leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations,
each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated,
without critique or commentary, the numbers are the
gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination,
terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute*
a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced,
notated but not annotated, just numerical truths,
(sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie)
and today my calculator app informs, that I am now
19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected
naturally this provokes a natty,
spirited, self-inquiry, lessened,
lessor, for better or for worse?
have the physical alterations
accompanying this reduction
mean exactly what,
if, it should be, a greater lesser?
here is the hard part.
your have always been a mirror~poet,
laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven
AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied,
the external never denying the interior “less~than,”
a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions,
counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections,
of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical
less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am
*gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue,
the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:*
I,
am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds,
my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices
and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter
many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man,
there, internal infernal
too…
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
crimson Poison Apples drop off Burning
Bridges into Murky Waters
red with rust swirling swirling
she cries as her father's fists curling
beat Seeds of Suspicion into
her Reckless heart
bleeding bruises art art
runs and hides but stands alone
pleading begging moan moan
her shoes are jimmy choo
she whispers secrets to herself
"I Just Wanted to be Me"
but the King of Hearts is Out for
Blood
scarlet laughter piercing darkness
growling stomach fight fight
tears flow and flood the night
and she is Shrinking away
Coming Out to the show
blinding bright in the glow glow
spotlit on a blackened stage
forced to perform Circus Acts
remembering when she was-was what?-nothing
Prom Queen twirling twirling
"Look" -hearts in a sea of ****** silk-
but the only one looking is
The Collector
hoarding up stories of rosy misery
Mean Colors dancing in cruel red eyes
sneer and cry and lie lie
their Psychic Powers forcing isolation into her veins
like a Blood Borne killer
she is just fading away until the Song in Her
Heart is just a hum of amazing grace
life thought gone forever
lives
on
as
the
tears
of
friends
remake
her
memories
she is buried in a glass casket under
grey skies The Red Dress she wears
without a care care
flashy crimson
sunset
ruby
apple
scarlet
blood
pain
love
life
soul
RED
vibrant in dead fields
life thought gone forever
lives
on
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
At least at work I'm creating memories
Dances and faces grinning across the stage
Watching and learning how to play the game.
Fears dissolving at what games girls can play.
To pay for phone bills and cat litter.
Teasing and flirting, but usually not giving away.
A little on the side money is always okay.
The odds go in their favor the more I pull on the handles.
Hands digging into back pockets, knowing just how to gamble.
But they say the house always wins...
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
1. If it doesn't take place at 4 in the morning, immediately change the setting.
2. You should center all your work. Centering makes the piece unique and improves readability.
3. You should invoke the idea of The Mask. Paul Laurence Dunbar didn't do it well enough.
4. One word lines improve readability and do a great job of making emphasis. Use them a lot.
5. On the other hand, really long lines explain points wonderfully. Feel free to be essentially prosaic.
6. The subject should be obvious and everyday, that way everyone can easily understand what you're trying to say. Subtext is dated.
7. Confessions and heartbreak are unique to you.
8. Not editing makes the work extremely human and relatable.
9. Emoticons and the ilk are the cutting edge of the English language. Feel free to use them without reservation.
10. Rhyme scheme doesn't need meter.
11. Making a word into waterfall letters tells the reader you're falling apart (See #3).
12. Journals, diaries, blogs and Tumblr are old news when it comes to venting. Write an angry poem about your day instead.
13. You're probably going mad according to the DSM-5. Definitely write about that.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
There is an entire world
Of mine
Waiting for another world
To combine
There is a huge list
Of to do things
But they can only fly
When I find the matching wings
There are empty diaries
To be filled
About that someone
Who would have my loneliness killed
There are journeys to be made
With romance in the air
A heart on my sleeve
Kissing away with no care
There are gifts and letters
Waiting to be found and wrote
There is a whole feeling of love
Urging to be expressed in my poems or quotes
Words are eager to be spoken
Mean and lovely ones
Those sarcastic comments
And intended puns.
There are plans
Expecting a change
There is a future
Waiting to exist in exchange
There is hope and belief
About my destiny
There is a prayer
For solving the mystery
I’m waiting patiently
And I don’t cease to live
Just need to find that one person…
In return, I have a lot to give.
-Zainab Attari
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
She mirrored the shape of a psychotic ******
Tattooed by hickeys and bruises
Written upon the pages of her *******
In lieu of her nightly pearl tuxedo
The teeth protruding from her ******
Began hissing and spitting at me
The war was far from over
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
ponder with me as I throw these diaries
filled with tales of ******* and burnt down cities
towards the direction of every ear
that had but a moment to listen to my plea
of how other lands hold the children of my sanity
of how in other lands I see decadent beauty
how I feel the gnawing tearing in me awfully
supernatural were the nights I imbedded in sultry
cringed smiles and listened to the forgein birdies
inhaled the fumes of gasoline and drowned in the glorifying sunny
wet my lips in salty water and enjoyed the stinging in my eyes
graced the cannabis valleys
and the meadows of sustenance and endless possibility
the waterfalls of magnificent hidden deep in the earth
behind the roses of my ancestors
speak to me my land
call on to me louder
hinder me away from this place
and manifest within in me your womanly power
seek me oh mother land
and cast me away from shattered lives
bring me back to you
and beg me todestroy this demise
I am toughly and sickly
at the same time
shower me with your graciousness
and devoutly banish my crime
I will wait for the thunder calling
and make excuses for this ****** place in the meantime
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 12:44 PM UTC