I Felt●

How
You curled
Your hands from the heights

Did instigate●

I
Felt
I could fly and catch your smiles
I felt I could fly but to that mile
Just like the kites●

In
Endless fantasies
I clench myself like colourful crayons●

But
Someway,somehow
I felt each had a riven beak
And foil me
To print the picture of these delusions
So bright●

Now
I feel am right,and myself
Waving back to the same heights●

I Felt●

©Historian E.Lexano
I Was Waving At A Friend. from The Third Floor
Sad to say
Hope wasn't enough,
there was a thousand words battling in her mind
but her tongue remained numb
Deep into the late night hours
She hugs her pillows
and paint them wet
Realizing her existence in this world is inane and all her ways are complexed
Yet,
She was forged this way
An unbalanced scale of life
She was forced to stay
Agony of her loneliness brought penetrating pain
She cried even through the sunshine
Lived depressed during the rain
Whips from life's battles instilled on her frame
Perfectly tattooed on her skin
Innocence robbed from her before the age of ten
Those hands exploring her body never got approved
Scars and words of abuse was all she was accustomed to
From minds of the ones she loved
Grew extreme curious
Too see what lies inside of a woman for deliverance
Nights she cried tears that refuse to come
Glands denying the tears and sufferings that attempted to form
Rejected
The torture and sorrow in the glass of her reflection
Taught her venom which she perpetually spat at the girl in the mirror
Her thoughts was her MRSA, constantly eating her away
Rug burns implanted on her knees from all the nights that she prayed
Her life felt more painful than being engulfed into flames
Disgust boiled in the bottom of her stomach, just from hearing her name
No one* understood her pain
No one even knew
Of all the dirt and infidelity her poor soul was drug through
Knives met her hands
Many nights she felt tempted but was too weak to stand
She'd rather fall
Full possession of her extremities but,
She rather crawl
into a deep dark cave
Than to reside in this World and become its slave
She was just a little girl
Dwelling in purity
A lost wandering soul
No form of security
For those who are believers and have even only a mustard seed of faith
Please
Pretty please
Remember her in your hearts
When you go to God and pray



                             Copy Right 2013
                                    ©Patty Ann
Peter Watkins May 2014
The word tender,
so soft and peaceful.
As smooth and warm,
as felts welcome feel.

Mothers and lovers;
also warm words.
All send comfort;
warmth to your mind.

To hold and love,
take refuge in euphoria,
this is tenders touch;
so relaxed giving much love.

A hand strokes your cheek;
you blush as skin ripples.
Only it's a small plop
in an ocean of  beauty.

This hand is caring,
softly stroking and welcoming both
your pleasant skins feel,
and your tender loving smile...
This is a nice short and sweet poem for you guys. Also, watch this, it's 100% worth it if you are a useless procrastinator like me. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agx4re1_rWk - Peter
Patrice Jones Jan 2014
My life in a different place
Young and full of bliss
Never again would I feel the same
For my heart would now stand still

Years crawled along
Caring only for myself
Not a second thought given
I felt without feeling

Memories were drowned
Forced away to the bottom
Little did I know
That I would soon feel again

Appearing ahead, a woman
She brings me my heart
I resist with all my soul
For fear of the tides of loneliness
The waves of pain
The knowledge to gain
The feelings to be slain
Why am I afraid

She's in that same place
That I once was
Torn from the honey breeze
And thrown to the bitter cold

I have lived here long
In this moment bleak
Then she appeared
And put a smile on my face

I feel lucky
So uniquely lucky
And yet not so
A taste of things to come
A morsel of feelings
An apprehension
A longing wait
I'm ready now

She has much to learn
And I have much to give

Why must I continue
Wasn't all before now enough
I have been alone
And known to feel nothing
But again my heart sings
For I am alive again
And yet still alone

I feel my hopes are folly
I should just stop trying
She doesn't want my heart
Just stop
Emily Nov 2014
I wasn't sure
I wasn't sure how
  I wasn't sure how you felt
   I wasn't sure how you felt when your smile made me melt
   Your smile made me melt
  I wasn't sure how you felt
I wasn't sure how
I wasn't sure
937

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—
As if my Brain had split—
I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—
But could not make it fit.

The thought behind, I strove to join
Unto the thought before—
But Sequence ravelled out of Sound
Like Balls—upon a Floor.
Church Rowe Jun 2014
Part of me doesn’t want to write anymore (or is it anything?).
Am I just afraid to drag my emotions across this page?
My words tend to come back black and blue,
misunderstood from the most ridiculous points of view.

Should I end communications?
Though the shadows in my closet offer no verbal retaliations.
For better or worse, at least my ego’s not hurt
from a mad world’s projections.

But I don’t want to be the lonely one
hiding along the edge of the room,
surely looking broken to some,
while others wait for me to come undone.

Give me a minute and I’ll return to center ring.
Maybe it’s just the thought of a crowd that I find overwhelming.
597

It always felt to me—a wrong
To that Old Moses—done—
To let him see—the Canaan—
Without the entering—

And tho’ in soberer moments—
No Moses there can be
I’m satisfied—the Romance
In point of injury—

Surpasses sharper stated—
Of Stephen—or of Paul—
For these—were only put to death—
While God’s adroiter will

On Moses—seemed to fasten
With tantalizing Play
As Boy—should deal with lesser Boy—
To prove ability.

The fault—was doubtless Israel’s—
Myself—had banned the Tribes—
And ushered Grand Old Moses
In Pentateuchal Robes

Upon the Broad Possession
’Twas little—But titled Him—to see—
Old Man on Nebo! Late as this—
My justice bleeds—for Thee!
Lily Pandera Aug 2011
I felt it buzz
between
my fingers.
Tiny vibrations.
Throughout me,
it lingers.
I wanted to befriend
––not to fear
the baby bumblebee.
But instead,
it buzzed.
And I panicked,
surprised it had scared me.
SRS Jan 2014
Magic and lies
I don't want people to see it either

I read a play
about a woman
who was slowly
being drawn into insanity
Called
A Streetcar Named Desire
her name was Blanche Dubois
pronounced 'Dubwa'

and I could relate
to the way she swayed
between reality and fantasy

how she felt
when she said
she wished to give
magic
to people
and that was the only
reason she lied
so to cover up the darkness
the unaccepted insides
the parts she knew
nobody would like

the way she craved
to fill in a space
which she deep down knew
would never go away
I was in her shoes
I heard the polka music too
and the BANG
I felt the pain
in my own way
through this women
who was made up
for entertainment
who doesn't even exist

and I'd never tell a soul but you
will you keep my secret?
I based this off of a play *A Streetcar Named Desire* By: Tennessee Williams. We took it apart in my English class for school...and I felt so drawn to this character. She's one I will always remember. I highly recommend to read the play, its amazing, especially when you get so deep into the characters.
Aaron Blair Nov 2012
I crawled naked
through the fires of redemption
and I felt nothing.
I felt nothing,
with blood running down my arms,
and tears carving canyons
through what was left of my baby face.
The river ran through me
the same way the blade ran me through.
We wrapped our hands around
each others’ throats,
and together, we felt nothing,
but, for a moment, nothing we had ever felt,
had ever made us so alive.
Kittu Mar 2013
Felt made from wool,
Wool comes from sheep.
Made by layering and compression,
Much like traditional education.
Acid used for bonding,
Water used for washing.
To remove the hate from felt,
The soft then beaten to make it stubborn.
The non-beaten remain soft,
like sheets and rolls.
They are unmarred by society.
Some get dyed in colours,
Some retain their purity.
The coloured cut,
Considered waste.
It’s the beaten that suffer all through,
But with each process  becoming stronger.
To face the world,
when the time comes.
Finishes bring out beauty
Shedding the unwanted part of themselves.
They walk on to guide and polish others.
Stand out
Yet blending in nature.
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