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Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
can open up
into wide gulfs
of endless delight
and are oftentimes
the beneficent courses
needed to carry us there
Lewis Dec 2017
Oftentimes I think of you.

Someone I'd hope to bump into.

Strolling down a snow-filled park.

Walking past-- feel that spark.

See I'd hope that when our eyes met.

The moment makes our palms sweat.

Except we just keep walking on.

Thinking in our head, was that the

b Jul 2016
sometimes i weep
before i sleep

scary thoughts, they peep
oftentimes, they creep

instead of counting sheep
counting monsters that leap

scars are deep
no choice but keep
KMH Mar 2018
Made, Made, Made,
We are made into what we are.
We are made
Into monsters,
Into dreamers;
We make ourselves;
Make each other.
We make our kingdoms
and our own personal Hells.
We are the queens of our realms
          And the kings and princes
We are the villains
The rabble-rousers
The Revolutionaries.
We are the killers
        Of our enemies
        Of our own
        Of the land.
We are made into what we are
And oftentimes,
It is not our fault.
Who are you?
How will you make yourself?
© KMH 2018
zelda Jul 19
i feel as though i am a misplaced dirt. i don’t belong here. i don’t fit in anywhere. it seems like every place i go to will be a strange memory. like a mere fog in the city transporting your soul into vulnerability, allowing you to surrender your weeping soul. some days, the sadness consumes me. stop this ******* pain! oftentimes, when i am alone, in the dark corner of my bedroom, i say this to myself. beating my chest intensely, missing the warm glow i once had, preaching the power of internal monologues i purposely created to fabricate a picture where i am pure and glistening. but this isn’t me. i am beseeching the gods above us, have mercy on me! the unknown cause forcing my bones to feel the ache. give me the silver blades to end this madness. open lungs, dampen pillows and deep desires to take a new gaze upon the world. but the misery keeps my hands *******. the fact that i have the ability to commit a mistake drowns my body in the ocean of disappointment. hush, put me inside the coffin instead. i made my own bed. this impulsion to start anew is nonsense. the absence of one’s emotions used to make me puke. i have never known how people can easily forget a face, not until i lost myself, and to realize everything about it is a fear i will endlessly think about—for breathing the pure poison of the world is easier. i will never be the same. i will never be the same. i will never be the same. the eccentric aftermath will always be bittersweet. in the blink of an eye, i forgot my own face.

do witches fall in love at witching hour?

song: breathe me - sia
Emmanuella Jul 11
We always did wonder if a piece of her brain fell to her neck
For she did sometimes—oftentimes when things were of great or grave importance,
think and talk through the side of her neck.
It was a condition we had come to diagnose in her quite early,
For she’d **** her head, sing a hum as her eyes wandered following her thoughts
And when she came to, suddenly jumping with a clap of the hands and an “aha!”
We would lean in and listen intently
But she would say something positively ludicrous, absolutely ridiculous!
Like in talking about cicadas and hibiscuses,
She would throw a hippo in there. And like last time, a stinging, mingling mangling ray!
We would all raise our brows and sigh in disappointment.
For that is what you would feel when you oftentimes hear her speak.

But sometimes, it did feel like she'd think with the piece of brain left in her head;
For she was practically logical,
Analytical to a score—sometimes. Less than oftentimes.
Then, she’d place a finger to her temple and her eyes would stare fixedly above at the ceiling or below, at the ground.
And after a while of staying so, she would speak in quite a serious tone and tell us the answer to our inquisition.
Those times, there'd be surprise and awe.
Like in talking about dark matter and soft matter physics, she, after thinking a while, would throw in some astrophysical knowledge.
So, although she'd oftentimes think through her neck, she'd sometimes think through her head;
And that is when we would cheer for her.

But the cheer would hardly be over when she'd say something utterly preposterous that we'd know, for certain, that the piece of brain that fell to her neck when she was born, was rather a large piece.
Inspired by the millennial expression: "Talking out the side of your neck" which means you are saying utter and total *******.
Cristi Jun 2017

To avoid it as much as possible;
Nothing or no one is guaranteed to last forever.
One must avoid materialistic ambition and luxurious desires,
Blink and rub away their hungry, dollar sign eyes.
Greed and longing for possessions that are often obtained
To impress people that do not even care about you
For one could never place a numerical value
On the breathtaking






One cannot rely on another for happiness;
For people may leave you, abandon you, hurt you.
You cannot ever truly know someone's thoughts and feelings;
Whether their ill intentions and snake eyes are hidden well
Behind pearly whites and cold, empty embraces.  
Those who you would gladly endure hardships for,
Bleed, cry, sweat, fight, suffer for,
Could abandon or betray you whenever they choose;
Thus, ultimately



            ­                                  truly



For you will always be there for you;
A simple guarantee that is overlooked and forgotten
As one's perspective shifts from minimalism to materialism.
Love the way you capture thoughts and ideas,
   The way you intertwine two differing sides of your brain with ease
   Intelligence, creativity, peculiarity and individuality is exercised
   In the imagination of your bewildering, complex mind.
Love the way your physical body safeguards your untamable spirit,
   The way it coats the essence of your being in a protective shell
   Like the undying tenderness each speck of stardust
   Has for the immensely astonishing galaxy that it composes.
Love the way you are able to feel raw, passionate love
   That ****** and tugs at your delicate heart strings
   And gallops down each vertebrae of your spine
   In a jolt so vigorous that your mind, body, and spirit
   Unite to form an explosive feeling that can only be experienced
   When you watch her jaw drop in awe at the beauty that is




          ­                                    sunrise.


I become deeply infatuated, captivated, inspired
At the mesmerizing magnificence that constructs a single being.
It may just simply be my tendency to pay attention to detail
As a perfectionist's mind can appreciate small things
Oftentimes timidly, quietly, and from afar,
But nonetheless immensely deep and passionately
To the point where I cannot find words for such beauty;
The most I can do is curl the corners of my mouth upwards
And allow an exhilarated sigh to




         ­                                     lips.


Hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, personalities, quirks, mannerisms;
Every single aspect of a being who I am blessed to exist with
Sparks a curiosity in me that is unmovable and insatiable.
It gently takes my hand and journeys me through an alluring dance
Of exploration, adoration, and understanding
Spinning and swaying to music that reverberated in our unified souls,
Who's tune and melody sparked and crackled
Magma and fire in our core,
Who's beat and rhythm soothed and eased
Streams of water through our veins
Until we








I have never felt so free,

So happy,

So alive.
malluraeh Mar 31
sometimes old love,
never went away.

oftentimes it's still there,
but the love is bent and
s e v e r e d.
dandelionfine Nov 2018
i am a sewing project:
fine little scars make lace of my arms.
patches of different patterns
occupy my mind; they're awfully frayed
but unique. they're mine.
i'm pushed and pulled through
some speedy machine
work, sleep, repeat
every puncture of the needle at
the speed of light
i am a constant, ever-changing
patchwork, some
handiwork of a tired old woman somewhere
awfully far away. i think of her when I can’t fall asleep.
I wonder if she thinks of me too.
i am a tapestry.
i cover walls, i do not build them, yet oftentimes i so wish i could.
or had the strength to, at least--but i am mere fabric
i am a sewing project.
Eloisa Feb 3
I woke up chained in an erroneous love
I wept alone in my sorry state
The world’s quite deaf with all
my cries
I hurt myself and cursed my fate
The cuts are deep, my cup is emptied
The thread is thin and I’m hanging low
In my quiet moments of reflection
I held onto every bit of memory
On how sweet our love was used to be
The intentions were real but the truth is untold
Agonized as the lies unfold
Oftentimes I asked myself
of how  could you control me this much
Though I am tempted with hatred and overwhelmed with grief
My heart even ached with the thought of your touch
And much would I wanted to say it’s over, it really is this time
I still have a pull in my soul and on my mind
Though my life is torn apart,
my heart is still in bind
I know I shouldn’t feel this way
I know I shouldn’t have to care
After all I have realized, I never needed you
But then I knew exactly what is right, that it’s you who needed me
Sketcher Oct 2018
Do not try to force out rhymes you cannot make,
Deplorable bars oftentimes makes me ache,
If you have nothing to talk about then keep your mouth shut,
Leave open mouths to the poets and the *****,
Your words are a disgrace to poets everywhere,
I read your new "poem" and saw you in my nightmares,
Visualized a grotesque brace face in a wheelchair,
Not only your verses, but your looks give a scare,
Don't think you created magic and will be big tomorrow,
That would be tragic considering what you will undergo,
A world of pain realizing you're nothing more than,
A miniature grain of Sahara Desert sand,
That doesn't and won't ever stand out in the slightest,
I'm burning you everywhere, I'm the sun, ***** I'm the brightest,
I will leave now but I will be back in the morning,
You better leave without a bow, this is your last warning.
It's a dis.
Karan Sherwal Aug 2018
I used to believe in good old days,
Still concerned about the little ways.
To get back in my childhood era.
Those uncountable acquaintances,
Now they are just faded faces.
Buzzing around oftentimes,
I do look at them with all my gracious Rhymes.
Those long sandwalks, I heard many voices & those preacher talks.
Standing on the top of a pile,
I saw the world with my pure human eyes.
My incapability of not performing as others,
Don’t forget we came from different mothers.
Though the course may be disturbingly fascinating,
Spot you there at the end of the lives you kept devastating.
I walked clean and I did no mean.
There was nothing to fear, but one day someone molested me who was so near.
Crippled inside myself that night,
Was so devastated couldn’t spoke a word inspite.
Moments still glare, dig in your knife so that you can pare.
Shadows no more controls me,
I fiercely play with them, and still move freely.
Enjoyed every bit just like my first bicycle wheelie.
I did both,from playing with slum folks to slept like a sloth.
Now I miss my never ending era.
Entered my puberty,
with little bit of curiosity
To not to have those thoughts control authority.
I was wild, a state called child.
Facts of my past life...
Bob B Nov 2018
A wave of BLUE has washed across
America. It has succeeded
In offering refreshing hope--
Something that is badly needed.

Regards BLUE with flaming derision.
Skeptical, it challenges
BLUE's unifying vision.

BLUE hopes to wash away
Signs of growing division and hate--
To put an end to skilled disruption
And odious chaos before it's too late.

Although people strive to try
To resist the wave, in due course,
The wave of BLUE can bring about
Positive change as it gathers force.

Perhaps the wave can also erode
Stubborn threats to freedom and rights
And dampen the unimaginable
Before the powder keg ignites.

Perhaps the wave will drown the practice
Of unfair treatment, voter suppression,
Verbal attacks, lies and deceit,
And unnecessary aggression.

The BLUE wave could very well
Tone down RED's fiery hue.
Now I feel more optimistic.
What's more, I love the color BLUE.

-by Bob B (11-15-18)
Rue Dec 2018
I'm sorry for the plant that died
in my hands

I'm sorry your
plants are dying

I'm a bad luck charm
a silent surprise

I bring the worst out of people
(oftentimes myself)

//  haiku -

losing I'm dehydrated  
haven't you noticed the sun
I can make it leave
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