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King Panda Aug 2017
I am common.
seemingly feminine
but shoulders strong
as barbed-wire.
like a chicken I am  
underdeveloped—my wings
weak and unable to
lift me into the air.
I am preoccupied
in self-identified war
with the 875 square foot
apartment and the pasta
that refuses to boil.
on my knees, I
crawl
reconciling rhyme
and reason for
suffering.
the world has gone awry,
I say to myself on an
afternoon bike ride
through wooded
pain, my face
a perfect plane for
scathing branches.
quick and easy blood
am I.
wretched and astonishing
is the rhetoric I
find in the hollow of
my rib.
I am common
but not so when
written by hand.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2018
“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”

Jackson *******


my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum,
signed by you, truthfully, forever,
as first viewer,
and thus as,
co-creator


Nat Lipstadt
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackson_Pollock
David Hutton Oct 2017
A portrait of you I found somewhere,
Your eyes had an abstracted glare.
Why do I keep this?
Maybe to reminisce.
A time I caved into your snare.
Marta Nov 2018
I am painting a portrait

I was painting a portrait of my FRIENDS
But instead

I am only portraying what I THINK
I SEE

There is so much I DON’T see

My words
They don’t portray the friends at all
They only portray how I SEE them
They only portray ME

Is there a painter WHO paints what IS
Not what is SEEN?

Would you have to be HEARTLESS
Would you have to be FEARLESS
Would you have to be THOUGHTLESS

Let’s face it
I am painting a SELF portrait
Words, they convey more about ourselves then the topic we trying to cover.
Words, we all interpret them differently.
Words, they are so frustrating!
How can we ever hope to understand each other!
Akina Sep 2012
I feel my heart in pieces
       Although I see its whole

I feel aged beyond my years
       Though the mirror says it’s not so

I’m lonely all the time now
       Though the crowds would disagree

And from memories inside my head
       There’s no hope of breaking free


I hate that a relationship
        To start, always takes two

And when it’s time to end it
        All it took was you

Now everywhere I look
        And in everyone I see

A little bit of you
        Is staring back at me


I’m trying to move on
        I’m trying to forget

But all the little things build up
         And so I stay upset

Tears will come, and tears will go
         I’ve never cried so much you know?

And even when I should be hating you
          All I care is you’re not hurting too


I feel like I was cut short this time
           I still have things to say

You handled this all wrong, my friend
          There were a hundred better ways

I may not know you all that well
           In return, you don’t know me

I’m sorry I couldn’t be that girl
          The one you wish I’d be


I was nervous, I was new
         And I was horribly afraid

I knew we wouldn’t last forever
         But I said ‘yes’ anyway

I wanted, so bad, to be there for you
        To fulfill your every need

But mistakes were made, I’m sad to say
        And from me you did recede


I didn’t know what I was doing
        This was foreign, you were strange

And to this day, when I look back
          I can’t see what made you change

There was a time you wanted me
         And indeed you were my first

‘He got what he wanted, after all’
         If that’s true, then this is all far worse


If you used me
         Good for you

I hope you’re proud
         Of what you do

If you settled
       Or were expecting more

I’m sorry,
         I’d never done this before


Was I just filling another’s place?
          Did you plan this from the start?

I’m not sure where I stood sometimes
           But what had I, if not your heart?

I’m not one for protocol
           Nor wrapped up in tradition

While you were pining for a prior love
           With you I did fall smitten


Then things got quite out of hand
           And I couldn’t reach you anymore

All the romance seemed to die
          And you left me feeling like a *****

As much as I want to see you smile
          And though I tried to keep you

It felt like you wanted no part of this
          I only want it, if you want it too


I cannot fathom what went wrong
           I asked and got nothing back

We grew apart, you and I
          Until in silence I was trapped

I wish I could undo what happened
         There are things I wish I’d said

Instead my words remain unspoken
         And inside my heart feels dead


I know I will love others
          That’s something I can’t withhold

Just know that you don’t surprise me
         You acted exactly as I foretold

I know you really meant well
         At least that’s what I hope

Although many here have warned me
          “It was nothing but mirrors and smoke”


Before, we were together
          And now we are apart

It’s sad how I can clearly see
          The finish from the start

I guessed that you would end us
          The same way we came to be

You waited far too long to say it
         So the asking came down to me


Back then you said so lightly
         That I was all you needed

And then you turned so easily
          And said it better if we end it

You hurt me more than ever
          For days I could not cease crying

And the first question in my mind was
          So which time were you lying?
abby Apr 2016
I am made up of a collection of parts that create the path I take in this world
Sometimes the way gets foggy
And my heart floods with waves that have the power to tear it apart
I am afraid of what the unknown has to offer
I fear I may not be able to counteract the tide
My breath is a whirlwind of sensitivity and emotions  
My spine is curved, my throat is dry and my immune system never fails to fail me
I am surrounded by lights
Buildings
Homes
Roads
And fields of wonders
My family is the root of my love
And my friends are the sun and water keeping me sane
I surround myself with people who allow me to love
And to be loved
I have learned loss in profound ways
And experienced heartaches strong enough to move mountains
I eat to keep me content
And I buy to keep me satisfied
The night is my best friend
I wake up better at 3am
I fall asleep faster at 3pm
I like to be alone
But not lonely
I want to stand out
But I don't want to be the centre of attention
I write to keep my tears dry
And my vision clear
I aspire to travel
Into places unexplored
But sometimes I go too far
And I lose sight of who I am

I am made up of a collection of parts that create the path I take in this world
Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm on the right track
My parts are not perfect and I too often succumb to my flaws
But I keep tape in my back pocket
Slowly pieceing together my purpose in this world
I am human
I am more than the sum of my parts
(storage in progress)
Paul Hansford Aug 2018
.
This lived-in face has seen the years go by
at such a wild and unforgiving pace.
My powers are weak, though my aims may be high,
and troubles are all bound to leave their trace.


And while I always feel the need to brace
myself against life's storms, I know that I
can never win. Death always plays his ace.
This lived-in face has seen the years go by.

It's little help to know the rules apply
to every member of the human race.
Dark clouds are growing in my evening sky
at such a wild and unforgiving pace.

In this vast universe I have my place,
but can my thoughts outlast me when I die?
or speak to those in other time or space?
My powers are weak, though my aims may be high.

Yet while dark thoughts of gloom may multiply,
to let them win would be a sad disgrace,
though many things may make me want to cry,
and troubles are all bound to leave their trace.

Yes, my mortality I must embrace,
not waste my time in always asking why,
or fearing not to do things just in case."
I'll dry those tears. There's no point to deny
this lived-in face.
.
If you looked up the rules for this form, you wouldn't find them telling you to repeat the first half-line in a way that rhymes with anything, but since my first one, where it came out that way by accident, I do them like this, and it's only a little more difficult.
Eberhardt Feb 11
If I sketched an angel without wings
would you be able to tell
she’s an angel?
The sky behind her would be pale yellow
The world below, gray
Like the color of the outline of her frame
I’d describe her face as angelic
Which is supposed to give it away
But maybe you’d only say she looks nice
Stu Harley Oct 2018
upon
the
holy waters of Galilee
where
faith
painted
her
portrait there
and
i
feel her gentle breeze
Mar Orellana Apr 10
I always
Talk too much.
Laugh too much.
Feel too much.
Hurt too much.
Marla Jul 2
POVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTY
POVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYP­­OVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTY
POVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTYPOVERTY
­D­ESIRE                                                          ­                       REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
DESIRE                                                   ­                              REALITY
FEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEA
FEARFEARFEARF­­EARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEA
FEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARFEARF­E­ARFEARFEA
The more I observed the photograph
more soul acquired.

Suddenly it seemed to expel air
directly from her lungs:
transpire,
think,
be sad and then
disguise it.

Suddenly she seemed to want to say something,
to take a look at the light — Careful, careful — with a stare.

Lips loose,
defined,
wanting to form a smile that never comes.

Sparkling eyes that pierce the atoms.

Calmed eyes from the ocean.

Eyes of moon and sun that observes everything.

A silence of complicity was present
in the atmosphere of the room.

And she, who knew her as my self,
suddenly it was not just a photograph.

Every stroke of her face
forced me to return more strongly
to that moment
in which I caught the life.
Tommy Randell Dec 2017
I'm a burnt-out wrote-out Lover
I'm a used-up messed-up wooer
Any hopes of again being a Suitor
Equate to me as a long time loser

I'm as past it as a lapsed out Catholic
I'm as lapsed as a drunk alcoholic
No mystery now to what then was magic
My glory days are a zero mathematic

I'm a light year older than the Manopause
A nano second out of the basket clause
No longer useful unless holding the doors
I am the example of what was possible once

I'm the old fashioned impassioned Poet
Who knew an iambic when he wrote it
Yet is prone to drone on into prolix
To end poems with rhymes like sclerotic ...

Any self portrait is a medium
For the poet the tragedian or the comedian
To pass through a time filled with tedium
And maybe make one's own epicedium
To save you having to look it up : An epicedium is/was a funeral ode.
Alexa Picaulima Jan 2018
In a world full of fascination and beauty,

Identity is nowhere to be found.

I am surrounded by a society so fake,

That a smile, a grin, or a laugh is a hidden ache.

So I hide my face… I’ll make pretend, and be my own friend.

I am just a grey mind in a universe of black and white.

Every time I look up, a spark awakens,

Lighting a flame, a vision to a reality;

That at the end of the day

We are beings, best left off in the consent of silence.
This piece tells a story about a girl who, in her life, is surrounded by the fake society. As she grows up she realizes that she is different from the others, mostly because she, out of all people that she judges, hasn’t found her true identity. But that is just she is in this phase of life. She leaves it at that as she understands that people have their own ways of showing off themselves, no matter how cheesy.

I wrote this piece for a short fashion film for a magazine. What's written is fiction.
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