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Semerian Perez Aug 2012
Beautiful artist
Why do you dance
To entertain us
With a world shrouded
In mystery

Beautiful artist
Men awe at your beauty
As you dance across the stage
Movement flowing
Like water

Clad in layers of silk
Beautiful artist
You capture the facination
Of those who visit

Beautiful artist
Paint your face
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Wife to a secretive world
Both fragile as it is beautiful
So wear the name proudly
Beautiful artist
From now on you will be called
Geisha.
ashley Mar 2013
you know,
when you're younger,
you think boys are icky.
mean boys that push you
in the sand on the playground,
stupid boys that call
you names
and make fun of you for
being a '*****.'

when you're younger,
you think girls have cooties.
silly girls that play
on the swings
and talk about
the wind,
girls you try to avoid
at all costs.

but once you grow up
and stop being so small,
you come to realize that
boys are far from icky,
except for the fact
that they still pick their
noses and chew
with their mouths full;
and girls are far
from having cooties,
unless you consider
STD's as cooties, these days.

now,
girls and boys
are attracted to each other
by an unmistaken force,
one that's so strong
it feels like a magnet
is conjoining the both
of you.

or at least,
that's what they claim.

but really,
our generation is
obsessed with the
facination
of being rebellious,
of not caring about the rules,
or doing what they want
whenever they want.
we're obsessed with
the motto that
having *** at 16,
getting drunk at parties,
and doing drugs
is okay.

the problem?
we'll never know.
everyone will always
have different thoughts,
views, opinions
on how our generation
came to be as
disasterous as it is:
the media: music videos,
movies; the music,
what kinds of messages
rappers are conveying
in their songs;
but no matter
what we think
or what we say,
we'll never know.

we're the kids
your parents
warned you about --
or rather, didn't.

nowadays,
losing your virginity
is becoming something
of a contest to see
who can lose it first,
who can get this girl
laid, who can
sleep with the most
girls in their entire school.
today, girls are willing
to lose it, all because they're
under pressure, or being
influenced by the wrong
crowd.

nowadays,
going to ravid parties
and having
'a few drinks'
is something to celebrate.
"come on, have a drink,"
and even if they don't want one,
even if they don't want
to accept,
they somehow get convinced
otherwised.
then 'just a few drinks'
turns into a rollercoaster
that gets you spiraling
out of the earth's
gravitational control.
your mind goes haywire
and you might even do
something you never imagined
you'd do. all because of
'a few drinks.'

nowadays,
rolling a blunt
and smoking ****
is something
everyone does;
if you don't smoke,
if you aren't a stoner,
then you're considered
'abnormal,' or 'odd,'
or even 'weird.'
roll a blunt,
pass it around,
take a hit
or two
or three,
until it feels like your
soul is being detached
from your body,
floating into the
horizon,
being swallowed by
darkness,
vanishing into the
atmosphere.

nowadays,
everyone's
trying to **** themselves
from the harsh words
being thrown at them
like daggers to the heart.
everyone's
cutting themselves,
a temporary way
to solve a problem
that seems
incapable of living through.



nowadays,
no one has any respect
for themselves.
no one cares
if they don't get into
a decent college;
most don't even go.
no one cares
if alcohol is
causing them to become
addicts;
they disregard the signs
completely.
no one cares
if smoking ****
or doing drugs
is illegal;
now, they'll
expose it in the open.
no one cares
how their words
can affect people;
"fat," "ugly.'
they'll call people
***** that are still
virgins.

nowadays,
our generation
has turned into
something to be avoided,
an example of how bad
the world can become.


a.m.
Geno Cattouse Mar 2014
From love's facination the joy and pain of it all they slowly pull their questing hand away from flickering flame away from love or loss.

Frisky and coye a first then they quickly see the spectre of past demons of bloodied hearts ..deception then they recede and begin to dance ..
As
They turn their minds away to  havens built from the rubble of yesterday..fall away.

To bastion and barricades they made from fantasies of the highest grade "  my heart of heart cant take the chance of another love found and another love lost"
SO..FALL AWAY THEY MUST.
The clock ticks forward
Never back and so the dance proceeds
A dirge as understudy seeking solace centerstage seeking. Wanting.desirous. envious and confused.

An ember still seeking air it sits hopefully in hearts all dressed up in pounding chest.
Again the moment sits there the tick the tock from love's timekeeper time reaper and so the the moment passes as she turns askance with fears well justified.
She turns the lock as tumblers catch the safety latched.
Dreams at bay.
Hopes astray
Needs neatly wrapped and tucked away.
Love, love go.away come again some other day.
Sweet nothings how they capture.keens to rapture
Just love me please for what I am,love me with no reservations . See deeeper than my fears. Take my hand and lead.the dance but love past all other. The silent request.
In the moments heat turned slow deception. They learn to
Fall away
The snows across your broken heart
are the ashes of mine
cremated in the fires of abondon

the cozy embers
behind your gaze
flicker in deaths breath
and Ignite me
with a longing facination
Your snow owl eyes
Hunt mine by the winter moon
Inviting me closer
and closer

I will not look away...
skaldspiller Aug 2016
I wish i could bleed this
I cant make him real on paper
The way he stands
Or smiles
or speaks
Like the impossibly red necesity
Of the blood that flows through my veins
But shows blue through my skin
Not exact
But close
Like my facination with his hands
And that they make art
And that i just want to be close
But cant explain
How that feels
There are no words
In any language
There is only art for this
And that is still impossible to read.
Jeffrey Robin May 2016
(  <> )

/\
/    \

:::::::


....

Tree






River




"""

Human  being


)(


Somewhere there is


A real story


A real poem



Love


Beyond the facination


With misery


.
Eshwara Prasad Jan 2021
I focus only on empty spaces, everywhere,
for objects cause facination or repulsion.

— The End —