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September Roses Jun 2018
Why is everything so co.mpli.cated.
        Why is nothing how it should be

Nothing good lasts for ever
well it seems to me like nothing good lasts a ******* second

Everything is
         Everything was good a week ago
    A month ago
Ok maybe not good but better

         Because this ******* life has
        given me the ******* lemons
And although I'm used to ***** lemonade
it's like life still enjoys pelting me with the leftover ones
        I want
    To disappear
Go away
acacia Sep 2
WHEN I DRINK LEMONADE: If I could call you, I’d tell you we’re still friends.

INNER THOUGHT: I don’t think he wants me as he watches me through the window dancing; as he watches rain dance on me, tempted to be there: by the way, I will never be there.

HE SHOUTS: Will you come in from the weather outside? The leaves are drunk on absinthe again! You can follow me up the ladder and I will reel your hair in.

TRYING ON MY NIGHTGOWN: Draped in silhouettes, I am; made from fibers taken from the Holy Day of Martyrs. On that day, you can see Jesus walking in the parades: and I’d really want to, by the way, I’d really want to see Jesus there.

FINALLY: My whole room lifted with the Sun as it took downers through the night, helped him come up, helped him sink down in beds of cards—court cards, beds of Ace of Wands. Maybe if you pulled The Lovers it’d be better. Maybe it’d be better.

FLYING KITES ON A BEACH: Will we come back from feeling so drifty? Touring on a blade and I’m dropping the knife, right now, on your back.

LOOK AT ME IN MY SKIRT: You don’t even notice when we’re on trips: your eyes are always closed, and you’re always staying in (again). Tired of senses feeling so senseless, can’t you be more wary of where you are walking?

REALLY?: You walk into my room, when and where I am naked, and I am getting climbed over by rats—they won’t stop!

TRUST ME: I will break your heart again. I really want to. I’d eat it for breakfast, I’d take you for lunch, and I’d steal you for supper. Don’t you question me, I know how I am writing. Don’t feed me lemons, I am aware and sure of how I am writing.

LET ME: I thought I had bronchitis, once, when he told me to go away: I cursed at him. He said he was disappointed. Maybe it’d be better that way.

BACK IN THE DAY (I HATE WHEN IT’S A BIRTHDAY): Never whole or complete: always fragments! Unholy realization whilst only seeing reflections, and never the source—if my eyes are exclusive so is my heart, if my eyes are exclusive so is my light.
night night
Akira Chinen Jul 27
If you saw her heart
you might mistake it for gold
but I know it is the color of sunlight
lemons and tangerines
the sweet blood of honey
the song of the first morning bird

when god asked for light
it was her who split open her ribs
and it was the radiance of her heart  
that filled all what was once dark
and when god saw her
god trembled in awe
and wept the first tears of joy

and where gods tears fell
all the  dreams of love
and all the dreams of beauty
fell from those tears
and they swam out
into the empty cosmos

it is there in her chest
where the sun gets it color
where all light is born
from her heart
made out of sunshine
lemons and tangerines

filling what is empty
lighting what is black
giving dreams of love
giving dreams of beauty
giving meaning to everything
giving meaning to life
all life
I had started this poem once and forgot where I had been writing it (if you read "all life" before I took it down, that was put together from what I remembered of the first draft of this one, which is now a combination of both...
red door and lemon tree; breathe for me
my heart of gold is quite a
currency; can’t you see?
he was no dragon
flames sweep my icy mane but his hand felt the whip grow
oh-so-hot; I know that smell
keratin-laden lemons part the sand,
give you life till they’re
hollow, then we’ll go;
he was no dragon but a waking fiend,
growing ill; I’m
seventeen and searing still;
by day, I’m their lilac-eyed abolitionist, their metallic metonym,
their mother, and we all ache for redolent citrus;
red door and lemon tree; set us free
by night, all doors are black and my
tears crater the sand;
one day you'll
carry me home
dany's a mess sometimes but I love her so far.

I do not intend to add anything to the GoT universe. This piece was merely an analysis of Dany's story arc in the form of poetry.
All places and characters described belong to George R.R. Martin
Deen Apr 16
You tasted my fruit and decided
you didn't like sour things.
You thought you liked the taste of lemons,
but soon found it left your tongue bitter
and tough.
I thought your sweet would meet my sour
and would leave me licking my finger tips.
But now I'm licking my wounds and
wondering if I said something wrong or
maybe I didn't make you *** hard enough...
Or maybe it's because I didn't ***.
You are King Kandy,
and my teeth have begun to hurt.
kerri Jun 2016
you tasted like lemons,
although that's my favorite flavor,
the sourness should've been a warning
Quinn Adaire Jun 7
They say
When life gives you lemons
Make lemonade.

But what do you do
When life catapults
Lemons at you
From a high speed cannon?

You move forward
Away from the spot
Life keeps throwing things at.
Duh. Also, if life is catapulting things at random people, it should go to the loony bin.
Sid soup Dec 2018
When life gives you a busted yoke,
make french toast.
It means if things don't go as you planned, work with what you've got until you make life sweeter. basically a revision of when life gives you lemons; except this really just happened to me and for that experince I am all the more wiser.
Sheldon Dsouza Jul 2016
This one time I entered a store,
Something to better my body sore.
Partied a little too hard the other day,
Oh so in bed I wanted to stay.

I worked my way to the green aisle,
Sunglasses on, I walked in a zombie style.
Searching for lemons with bloodshot eyes,
Always dreaded “the morning after” exercise.

As I tried to hold myself my rather flimsy frame together,
I heard a sweet voice say "Can I help you sir???"
I raised my head in a confused fashion,
Limes I said spinning my fingers in a circular motion.

She chuckled at me in a rather bubbly way,
This little miss handed me lemons right away,
"Have a cup of coffee it'll do you better!" she said,
Smiling at her over there I stood as my heart bled.

Her apple red cheeks soft and plump,
And her wavy hair was enough for me to stump.
She wasn’t the prettiest of all I agreed,
As she picked up the limes I dropped, I paid all heed.

She seemed to have noticed me right then,
Handed me the limes and blushed again.
I was so charmed with her welcoming nature,
"Let’s get me that coffee?!" I said like a hopeless creature.

Perplexed she stood there for a while,
"I'm working" she said with a hesitant smile.
I knew the store owner there, a good old friend,
For a day's off he agreed to lend.

I told her to get her apron off and grab her bag,
"Let's go" she said as she got off her name tag.
I adjusted my glasses as we crossed the sunny street,
We brushed hands occasionally as we smiled at passer-by’s to greet.

We got our coffee and grabbed a corner seat,
I smiled at her as my heart skipped a beat.
"What do you see in me?", she asked.
"You're beautiful Sunshine!”, I said as in her beauty as I basked.

"But I’m not all that slim and pretty", she mumbled in a sad tone,
"It’s just extra layers of cuteness sweetheart", that’s a fact known.
She cried and cribbed telling me about her situation,
How she tries to fit in a society that treated her case as a deformation.

She stood out of the crowd for me though,
The more we talked the more she raised my brow.
My thoughts and hers were an exact match,
Like old long off friends we did attach.

Intact our frequencies matched oh so quick,
We were left to wonder if it was some kind of sorcery or trick.
I understood her and she understood me,
May be we were meant to be.

I had searched in all the wrong places,
Investing my time in lean figures and noisy places.
Right then I learnt that love is not determined by rules nor is beauty by figures,
It’s that tingly feeling in your toes and in your fingers.
amme Nov 2016
This new age happy truth life ****, I dont condone it beacuse when life hands me lemons... I turn it into haze and smoke it, thats just how my soul is.
Happiness? too hard to control.
Ego? too easy to promote.
Life? too many do and donts.
I dont curse life but when you love something too much you have to let it go!


I cant afford to earn dough. Money on my mind but my heart changes flow. Went solo, had nobody swinging the ropes.
Didnt choose the thuglife so in my apartment stayin broke.
Smoking **** drinking coke slowly dying on my own.
Remeniss, think a while of everything from before.
Go to sleep with achievements setted out to score, wake up in my mothers home with nobody to call my own.
Everyday is a struggle to get through the door. Wake and bake or else my body's saying no.
a lake of blood is promised

homes fill with fiber optic prophecy.

"put away your lenses children and sleep under the lamp's shade."

our purple rice growing

Vishnu mumbles and stirs in his sleep.

by the crystal pond, a poison frog sings.

decorating the sand and reeds are skeletons of the old wars.

nearly dust now.

unable to make decisions for the weak or young, the strong or the old.

four seasons yet to pass

attention given to the wolf's lonesome cry.

place your head in sand,
witness the scorpion.

she is
emperor and admonisher.

the tiger breathes in and breathes out its final breath.

lay your belly upon wheat and remove hunger.

an angel's velvet wing cools the fever,
the old sickness of Old Salem.

onions, apples & lemons are sprouting.

there, just underneath the horseman's hood.

quickly, look.
happy birthday sweet prince

and lay back
asleep against the cold steel
heal your wounds with fire
limes are burning
lemons yearning
his fruit is turning into wine
mindless meditators
mediating madness
fundamentally flawed
raw and cored like apples
and hone(st)y
posthumously imbibed
nominal anomalies
rusted tire chains
as thunder complains
of its own ignominy
eyes awaken
lands are taken
and what's far worse
is that we have
all lost our voices
demanding silence
stem-cells signal sentences
denser than a dozen dollar bills
dancing on a pinhead
reprimand and then repeat again
the end is near
feet in fear move slowly
are you impressionable my dear
a glimpse of eternity
and your hair turned white as snow
suppress emotion
keep composure
learn to control
your own will
Bows N' Arrows Mar 2018
Foggy breeze through my
fingertips when sunburnt days
seem coveted in memory.
When the columbines came back from the dead.
Burnt up cities...
The last glimpse of
firefly lights grew dim behind me
The trees sprouted everywhere like stardust
The pillars I once worshipped
in incense with amulets
became faded ruins...
The weathered walls texture
were like sequins with no glimmer
I escaped again to a place with green lakes and forrests of pines
It's quieter up here in the
Like a shudder through the
I hear the old house moan all
through the day and all
through the night
The sunlight pierces through
the blinds
illuminating his face
which is already illuminated
But you're my bumblebee
that insignia- a honey gatherer
If you subtract the intimacy
out of ***...
Nothing's left, but
hollow mechanical *******
Stealing the rythmn from
the music
Sturdy as a beam I lay
Unable to grasp at anything
It's just noise
Sweaty day, shivering nights-juxtaposed
It's like living on Mercury
In decomposition like a basket of rotten lemons
Past conversations crush their
weight against my open ribs
No parent teacher or friend
told me how all consuming the sensation would be...
Dazed eyes staring through
disheveled blinds,
I was dropping rose buds off the
second floor balcony in the night
They hit the scratchy asphalt
like a gentle meteor shower
Monotonous nights replay
the same phases
That moon...
A face splashing
from gibbous to crescent
Waning on my malady
Always stirring like a steady torch
We are told to "make lemonade"
As we inhale the bitterness
Of wages and rent and hunger,
Student debt and job insecurity.

We are told to squeeze ourselves
Tighter and tighter
Until we are made of bones
That crack like whips to the time-stamp tune.

Flesh, they say, is the enemy.
It is weakness and untamable.
It does not fit neatly, and so must be destroyed.
It belongs in our beds, not the workplace.

They give us lemons so **** they burn,
And tell us that we're lucky to receive them.
They say it is the natural order of man and machine.
But the fruit of our labor is a lie!

Today I learned that lemons are not fruit.
They are not found in nature;
They have not fallen from heaven for us.
They are engineered by a snake in the garden.

Lemons are like wages and rent and hunger.
They are like markets and stocks and *******:
A human invention we are told is better for us
Than the Apple we once killed ourselves for.

Today I realized lemonade is the enemy!
It's not the cost of bread or the breaking of backs;
It is the dismal comforts we construct
To tell ourselves that we are free.
Ashley Kaye Jun 13
You call
I cry
You breathe while I lie
with another.
You see while I eye
their skin.
who do you gaze

you must notice
The way that I lean
to you.
The way that I try
to speak;
it’s but a conversation.
does it pain you so
To inhale
      my air?
its tree of smoke.
lively nights swallowed
like lemons.

you disregard my hellos.
how to say goodbye?
Written June 2019
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