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Jack Jenkins Jan 15
What is there to write
when the heart knows neither love nor heartbreak?
//On love//
Angela Moreno Oct 2016
She was gone before the sun arose.
I don't know when she left my bed,
But I know that she was here.
For though her imprint on my mattress
Has cooled and faded,
Her lipstick stains show bright on my pillow,
Two ******, mirroring arches
On a field of snow
I clearly recall
Her icy, cold fingertips on my spine
Waking me up twice in the night
Before I found the morning
Without her there.
Sebastian Macias Nov 2018
Looking around the room
Buttoning your jacket tight
Feeling the frustration in your palms
As you try to write,
Is the same as it is in life,
Clawing at the brick walls
With your delicate fingers
Hoping to find a way out
And you bleed and cry
An aching body is all you own
The room is dancing a waltz
Not much you can do
Then, the air becomes thin
A loud airplane flies over your head
The only thing you can do
Is just walk through it
Hoping it survives on the other end
Your only tool?
Is remembering everything
You have taught yourself up till now
The uniVerse Jun 2018
Beauty lies bereft and bound
it cries for help but utters no sound
mascara kisses fade from your lips
etched by lovers worn fingertips
purple rings around sullen eyes
the broken skin it never lies
fists of thunder make not the man
nor the swift strike of back of hand
a thousand apologies can never repair
the displacement of a single hair
for she is not an object for you to own
she is a Queen that deserves a throne
and if she allows you to enter her chamber
it's also her decision if you should remain there.
her beauty is boundless
and cannot be tamed
all those who try
should be shamed

***** I have shared my poems on this website now since 2015 and this is my first daily, it has been a privilege and I appreciate all the lovely comments <3 *****

https://www.instagram.com/p/BpaxPgdFnQu/
Celeste Briefs Dec 2018
What is your name, sweet lady?
drips of river rain from your fingertips
fall upon my warm face
fragrance of potent blossoms sorrow
follow when you leave this place

Here to watch over me in sleep,
protectress of young girls' dreams
I felt you in the stories I tell my daughters
unborn and ever ascending
from some dark place of deep despair

Illusion proclaims your presence
night and day hold you in their hands
songs of warmth and water cold
alight upon your tongue like snow
from the stone faces of drowned angels

What is your name, sweet lady?
I burned to know since I saw your face

She speaks,
I am Ophelia,
the dream that you cannot escape
Katie Miller Mar 11
3/11/2019
Hold my hand
Holding a whisper against my palm
Tracing my life through your fingertips
Listening and hearing from the very beds of your nails
Keeping a secret wrapped around your fingers
Intertwined with the sweet company of your voice
Biting on my nails from the nerves of your touch
Nerve endings connect to reach a secret coded love story
The same love story I've dreamed of for years
The same love poem that I've written without your name
That now, I whisper without a doubt
That you hold my hand and I see you for the first time
One hundred days go by and you hold me closer still
Fingertips on my palm, following the lines of my doubt
And trace them right back to my heart
Where they dissipate with the will of your whispers
Unearth the broken secret that my hands hold
Erase the vestige of hesitancy in my voice
And sketch scars that line my wrist, writing a story between them
Silver fingertips that line my face and drum on my heart
The beating beats of bliss against my fingers
Brushing your thumb against the side of my hand
Soothing the rocking unrest inside of me
Your hands hold mine
And cradle my palm
And everything is okay
Gemma Jul 2018
Place your head between my chest
and your hands on my hips
and your innocence in my veins-
Your vulnerability dances around on my fingertips
but would I use it against you ?
No , because I would never play with fate
plus you're too good to be true.
mjad Apr 28
and just like that
his fingertips know
after two years
they are back home
Shadow Dragon Nov 2018
Your fingertips planted trees on me.
You left a forrest
full of life.
But with no rain
there was no healthy leafs.
So the forrest crumbled.
And I cut the tress down
for I did not wish
to have a memory of you
on my body.
Yet, roots of the forrest
remained deep beneath my skin.
And I will now forever,
if I wish or not,
have memories of your fingerprints.
Azurel Mata Feb 7
Running along the precipice of joy
Clouds of seagull feathers
Stuck between my toes
Her salty blush
Flushed across my lips
Living breathing divinity
Right at my fingertips
Heart of gold crashing on the reef
Seaweed leaves swaying in her eyes
Waves lapping at her curls
Watching as her wild unfurls
Lighthouse in my storm
Stay with me
Oh untamed beauty
Stay with me
Deep sea of pearls
Dani Nov 2018
Water on my fingertips
Slowly it drips
Like watching leaves turn color
In the Autumn skies allure
Drops on the floor
Never as they once were before
Dripping from me, I wait
For time to pass, so innate
As ticks tocks and water drops
Play a familiar harmony
Heart pounding adds to the symphony
Like how the ocean sang and danced
As waves crash over the wet sand
Or the way birds chipped with buzzing bees
As the wind rustled the feathers of a thousand trees
Understand this beauty, holy matrimony
It is a perfect harmony
Hold on to the lyrics sung in the skies above
Listen and hold the music of truelove
Water drips from my fingertips
And all I do is watch it fall as my heart skips
For nature’s beautiful music is hidden
Taken from me as if I am forbidden
Forbidden to love or feel the peace given
It’s return I await, then all can be forgiven
Inspired by the memories of a river bed I used to visit often. I spent much of my time there listening to the music nature would create. I miss it very much. Now my life is too busy to enjoy much of anything.
He held lightning at his
Fingertips, glowing up a page
In his poetry, every time his heart
Sparked the imagination
In his skull-
All feedback is appreciated.
In the digital l-and
We l-ive in
Mistakenly automatic
One pointing at a chest of tools
Eyes on i
No soul can tell a part a weakling metal


Robots robbing robbers rich
T-error terrifying t-errorists
Artist gods and goddesses
Sharing platform to unleashed gifts


Mint hue bubbles squeak
Fizzy dizzy violet haze
World head to toes spins
Any day it spins coins in change


A quiet girl is sinister
Siren of mystery or future
Robot is your mirror
Peach chin with teeth filter
No innocence and glitter litter
Guilty until proven the latter


A quiet girl a terrorist
Error mouths terror twist
Terrorist from the orient
They hide in between every end
Disguises they cover in
Racist as problem solving


Smile girl watch
A fake smile and eyes
Skin of steel so is her
Heart made alloy
How it blazes to the touch when heated
Oh it bites fingertips as it's cold
Hair resting on the curve of her spine
A woman's hair only breaks if it tries to grow


What she said
Tell me if you can tell us a part
Warning tears borne from her crooked eyes
Robot and soul
Terrorists from t-errorists
No soul knows either
Tattoos or memory shall identify you
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
mt Feb 2018
i want to be able to see my heart in word-form, all of its callouses and scars spelled out in strings of the alphabet
i want words to flow off of my fingertips like the drippings of water droplets into a sink from a faucet closed only half way
yet i've found that the four-letter word i've been feeling
can only be expressed as it is
numb
i want to be able to express myself but i feel as though i have nothing to express anymore
my fingertips
stained red
trying to paint a future for us
why'd you have to leave
-broken promises
He still lives with demons
that once held him tenderly
when no one would
be able to find the words
to say that fill the glass
as it is tipped back
and slowly emptied
of the liquor that stirs
memories from the headwind
that blew the lovers' hair back
on the drive through autumn
windy, windy mountain paths
as another Queen song plays
on the radio and the raindrops
on the windshield tap along
with fingertips against the steering wheel
to Freddy Mercury and shared heartbeats.

The truth is he is lying
there like an open wound
as he begins to measure self-worth
with texting tempo and memories
of last summer being too hot
to cuddle with one another
though it was more than enough
to hold feet under the thin sheets
that remember the glass
once again filling with words
as another drink is emptied
and his head burst through clouds
leaving him to hydroplane
through windy, windy mountain paths
as the raindrops on the windshield
applaud with the demons
that beckon tenderly for his return.
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