Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
MARGA Jun 2018
your precious smile,
that never failed to shine;
a heaven-sent beam,
that made my heart your realm.

2. your tenderness,
that gave me bliss;
how could someone be
like you, so dearly?

3. your good vibes,
that surpassed all tribes
in giving off the positivity
i need for my stubborn reality.

4. your talents,
that awakened everyone's hearts;
you are my significant inspiration,
you give life to my life's ambition.

5. your humility,
that's filled with sincerity.
while everyone else is toplofty,
you remained lowly.
not everyone as wonderful as you,
could show meekness too.

6. the happiness you shared,
at times when smiling is something
i never dared;
darling, it meant everything.

7. for your meaningful silence,
that gave me a better comprehension.
although your stillness was tense,
i knew in my heart it was never a rejection.

8. for your music,
that never halts to flourish.
music, your depiction of aesthetic;
through you, the melody will never tarnish.

9. for being your genuine self,
you gave me potency to do the same.
shamming is no longer something i'll play, for you taught me how to
end that witless game.

10. for bringing me daily sunshine,
for setting the moon & the stars aligned;
my everyday became better,
and i will treasure you forever.


there are way more reasons
on why i love you for real.
through the passing seasons
i could slowly & slowly reveal
and show you how i truly feel.
as time passes us by,
i would no longer hesitate
and keep my sentiments ensconced.
through the coming weeks, months and years,
as long as we have all the time
i would dauntlessly lay out to you
that the way i feel for you is true.
written with whole heart for my dearest .
//
let me tell you
that i am true
ㅡ and i always will be.
Seth Keplinger Jul 2018
I keep pretending I'm alone.
Even after losing my seat
to her new prince.

it's spellbinding,  
enough to make my dog wince.

I still love the sad songs her puppy dog eyes dispense.
it was never her truth, per usual;
per his glimpse,
into the future of my demise.
I pretend to appreciate the gent in the white coat.
A self diagnosis wouldn't compromise
my vulnerability.  
Don't, she won't, undermine my competency
it lends itself to my daily routine,
I self prescribe with perplexing potency
and abide
an unprecedented golden rule.
This wasn't preconditioned,
not an act of repetition.
Like Pavlov's shepherd
I implore and drool.  

I pretend its a new found happiness.
it's for the birds
and deveivers
I believe it's for the ignorant
the boring
the people with white picket fences
and golden retrievers.
Beware of the conformist
the ones who did well on geometry tests
their smile so luminous  
like diamonds between her *******.


I'm a lose leaf in autumns first frost
hanging on the edge of winters righteous freeze.
the shackled, the .22,
let it be me.  
I'm a warning sign, Cuba 1963;
Why's the gent in the white coat swinging that Triangle hammer at my knees?
I can barely sleep as it is
from this dusty room
I garner for clues inauspiciously
the obtuse path back to the life i once lived,
obstructed by the 4 seasons, the 4 reasons, the 4 walls,
the 4 grains in this whiskey.

Life outside of her box is a bargain.
Before the flies, where my heart lies;
her highfalutin jargon.
Coping with this void gives me nightmares.
joe and daydreams, I
anxiously begin to slur.
I wish he'd stop cutting his pen through the air,
reminds me of my geometry teacher,
lecturing vicariously through a sorcerer
maybe the boring one's preacher?
everyone in this coffee house likes to stare.
ryn Sep 2014
Simplicity in three little words
That I regurgitate so profusely
Words as free as soaring birds
Used by the brave and the mighty.

Three little words that two bodies would declare
Every so often when the heart so desires
Whispered lightly like the wind in your hair
Or shouted out loud like brimstone and fires.

These three little words shouldn't be taken very lightly
For in it lies the power to move, most regal a mountain
Squander not its meaning, until you have proven worthy
Misuse it not, until you've known for certain.

First word refers to the being of self
Third one suggests the existence of another
Middle binds the two like nails to a shelf
Middle defines the two as they're made for each other.

I've used these words many a time in the past
Then I know not, of it's sacred binding potency
I've learnt now through time that they would last
I've learnt this through a hidden path of discovery.

Now it's value stares me right in the eyes
Piercing through my mind, body and heart
Baring itself, shedding it's cloak of disguise
First time in my life, I saw a brand new start.

I am neither brave, nor am I mighty
I have felt it so great, I know it to be true
These words resonate with conviction within me
Clear echoes from my heart, it said, "I love you".
Reposted for Joe Cole's 'Words' Challenge
Jeff Stier Oct 2018
Who were you?
A foreigner
a mere woman?

Perhaps I valued you
beyond the common measure

I think of the possibility
of lives we have lived
in some past time
some other world

I guess I am a Buddhist
after all.

Because
this fascination
this love
goes beyond my experience

What can I compare it to?

I believe in the potency of desire
that it can manifest itself
across a span of years

a span of lifetimes

I can imagine
that we were
then as now
different in appearance
from cultures widely separated

Let's say that I wanted you
that you wanted me
for so it is today

Let's say that circumstances
kept us apart
or prevented us from meeting
as equals

Let us say, finally,
that this world
in which anything seems to be permitted
was created for us
that we might meet again.

What an absurd
romantic notion!

Tonight the lights are all on.
Other beings surround me.
This world is a different world
for each one of them,
though strangely the same.

Surely this world is ours.
The lights
are brightly lit.

Thousands of insects
cover the glass
dazzled by this light.

We must be dazzled, as well.
For none of us can see.

Not a one of us
can touch the heart
of another.

So since all is permitted
let us permit ourselves this

that we can touch one another
each into each.
A poem I wrote in 1979.
David N Juboor May 2015
Last night,
I spent 45 minutes
In the bathroom
Because my doctor
Told me I needed more
Calcium in my diet.

He says calcium
Will make my bones strong,
And if I want to grow up
To be as big as my dad
Than a hefty glass of milk
Should do the trick.

I'm lactose intolerant.
But to this day I wonder,
Is calcium the culprit?

When an infant's bones
Are crushed by tanks,
And all that is left
Is the dust,
That you wipe away
With the palm of your
Blood-stained hand,
On an unmarked grave
Too old to remember,
But it keeps on
Coming back.

Back to a time
Where potential meant
The possibility of
Developmental potency.
Not the supposedly
High capacity for
Danger.

Like the flowers
In the spring,
Build their spine
From our breath;
Change is the
Life in our blood.
The minute an
Eighteen year old's
Parent's swallow the fire
Of an IED 6,032 miles away,
Believing their child fought for,

Change.

Verb.
To make or become different.
Verb.
To give or get foreign money in exchange for:
Verb.
To remove a ***** diaper from a baby
and replace it with a gun.

Where do you run to?
When sleep
is the only place
In a thousand miles
where you can find God.

When rest
is the only peace
you haven't felt
since they said
the war is
finally over.

When dreams
Are the memories
Of your children’s
Stardust

When you
Can’t adjust
To the lack of future
Freedom liberated
From materialism

When no
Dictionary
Has your definition
of Change.

Noun.
Something you find in your pocket.
Verb.
Something you find in yourself.

Change,
Is not something
You can touch;
But it's something
You should want
To feel.
The potency froths the glass in ghostly embers.
Rectifying a suppressed kiss.
Liquid's juicy lubrication sweats
as the icy voice asks,
refill my void.

Fingernails cling
like thorns to skin.
Waterlogged and fogged,
my footsteps fall,
sloppy little domino.

Mindful thoughts yank at drunk appendages.
One too many benders, far too many hands.

Awake, the memory kaleidoscopes.
Pieces unmatched.
Strange images fade,
meshed in sheets.
evidence stains.
Diana Sep 2018
We are poets
We possess a power
Different from one another
But unlike any other

We are like musicians
Some of our best pieces
Come from heartbreak
Or sorrow
We might not add beats in the background
But our words
On paper
Speak for themselves
And no tunes are needed
To add to its potency

We are like artists
We paint pictures in people's minds
Maybe not through oils or watercolors
But with our thoughts
With our minds

As cliche as it sounds
Our paint brushes are our pens
We create masterpieces
So unique
So intricately complex
Or powerfully simple

Just as a painter brings to life
An image that's never been seen before
Through strokes and brushes and smears
We possess the power
To do so
With our words

Through the emptiness of one's thoughts
We bring to life
Images
Emotions
Memories

We are poets
You
And
Me
We possess a power
Different from one another
But unlike any other
Weirdly enough, this poem was inspired by a scene from Sara Burgess Is A Loser.
Side Note: I believe it's a better film than To All the Boys I've Loved.
Gods1son Oct 2018
Open our eyes to see the light in our spirit
To illuminate our path and get rid of all forms of darkness
To give us a clear vision of the things ahead

Open our eyes to see the love in our spirit
To live everyday and function in this love
To treat ourselves and others as pure spirit beings

Open our eyes to see the potency in our spirit
To achieve all of our dreams and ambitions
To make us unstoppable regardless of oppositions
Amen!
Michael Marchese Nov 2018
But the sun doesn't shine
Upon me
As it used to,
Feel so attached to
My precious devices
And harnessing its
Divine potency
Just to see
Seems as if I'm
Disregarding its poetry
Blind to abusing its glow
To be shown
An ephemeral glimpse
Of some remnant of home
But its spark does not energize
My own creations
Just sates them with meager
Technology rations
And hooks me to wires
And cables
Like playthings
False Poets Oct 2017
An excerpt from           An excerpt from
a poem by T.S. Eliot.     a poem by the False Poets


Between the idea          no permanence in juxtaposition
And the reality              where Falls the Shadow, the shadow
Between the motion.     a divisive notion caught between
And the act                    composition & action, the response is
Falls the Shadow           Falls the Shadow
    

Between the conception grayed outline indistinct, the cognitive sap
And the creation              leaks, contradictions irritating birth sac,
Between the emotion      whereupon Falls the Shadow emerges
And the response            the response conclusive, occlusive, collusive 
Falls the Shadow             Falls the Shadow
                                  
Between the desire          juxtaposition insertion, need to achieve
And the spasm                 the blurted ****** of spurted letters born
Between the potency.      in the potent white seeds of black words
And the existence            coming into existence as a riptorn issue,
Between the essence        essences of scents blood+logic foretelling
And the descent               birth & death, descent & the ascent, both,
Falls the Shadow              Falls the Shadow

Between the desire            the desire desired, completed,
And the spasm                   the latency uncovered,
Between the potency         the potent toxins of spit and tears
And the existence              the birth fluid of  of existence
Between the essence          the formulation of the human essence
And the descent                 from blood dust to blood dust is where
Falls the Shadow.               Falls All the Shadows
October 2017
Like the darkness fills the night are my days
Am alone and lonely
Am guilty and innocent ,guilty for offering myself and innocent for loving you.
My heart is hurting  my emotions are wanting
What is life without the one who made you to leave a life in your life, who took your heart
You gave me the reason to love ,now I have found a reason not to myself
Your love like a flower blossomed in my garden
The flowers you used to give me now I plant my own
You memories to flesh in my mind and soul
Broken hearts to me were cidarella stories now am the part of the story
You love like a vaccine still have potency in me
How I will leave without send me a course on how to
It's even with  conditions that my Love for You  was unconditional
It's never Gud bye!!!
Adam Schmitt Oct 2017
Creative Destruction
When I asked why the poem was deadly
Nobody could pick up my sign,
But they did their best to remain pretty friendly
even if they so clearly hid what's on their mind.
And I looked for a while at the pages
claimed by a man long ago
Who grew darkness like a king grows cages
and I knew right away this was Poe.

He wrote about the guilty heart and secret dreams,
and I know I have both of those in spades.
The first is due to my borrowed time,
and the second happens every time I get paid.
With no qualms about leaving behind the quiet life
like an old blanket that no longer keeps out the cold,
I push ahead knowing I'm headed for much more strife
than I even know how to handle or to hold.

On my mind these creations work in strange ways
and I'm feeling just a little bit drained;
when the sunlight and heat are still hours away
they flame up and demand to be tamed.
But tell that to the people I need to see tomorrow
and they look at me like I'm insane.
All the more reason not to feel any sorrow
When I escape from this fluorescent light domain.

I might wind up dead on the side of the road
and be remembered by a lonesome song.
But when the daylight glints off of my eyes
I know I don't feel I've gone so wrong.

On the road beneath my feet my boots are tattered,
and I still have many crossroads to get passed
I hope, for once, all my illusions are shattered
and I find just what I'm looking for at last.
There's no destiny like for those who seek
everything but what's in front of their face.
Poe's haunting words are still at work
when I decided I need to keep up the chase

I cast nothing out when I pick it up,
All my memories make a home inside my brain.
I might not try to see if some are corrupt,
to be honest it all seems much the same.
They're all just tools for the Muses's fool
who tries to serve Her each and every day.
Always struggling with futility
can make even the most jaded one want to pray.

Some times I think I'm on a fool's errand
trying to blaze a trail where no one cares to stray
At the same time I can't see why I shouldn't
make some use of my dwindling days
The road I'm on was well traveled once
and, if it still is, then I just don't know,
but it's hard to see too far ahead
With a cloud of visions constantly in tow.

Yes, I might wind up dead on the side of the road
and be forgotten before too long,
But when the daylight glints off of my eyes
I see a place where I might belong.

My pockets have holes, but are still useful.
My shoes have them too but feel great.
It's not like the gravel is all that painful
when you've been living on it for thousands of days.
The Sun is almost down now, and I have to leave
before the Muse calls me to Her.
She's never been one to wait that long,
She keeps a long list of those She might prefer.

The first of Her flames rise behind my eyes
when the dawn and dusk stand perfectly opposed.
The moon shines down through clouds as I write my lines
and my poorly guarded thoughts become exposed.
And when it's clear She's totally used me up,
and left me with nothing to call my own,
a seed appears, subtle and abrupt.
Could be brilliant, but She's just throwing me a bone.

The essence of Her preachers who lived and spoke
to the gathered crowds from days long ago
was spilt upon my growing restless mind
and it never washed off or lost its glow.
I know these words all came from Her
when She was feeling merciful instead of carefree.
Her image-less face always in the air
wherever my eyes try to see.

Yes, I might wind up dead on the side of the road
and be hated, loved, or ignored.
But every time the daylight hits my eyes
My ears ring with that same phantom chord.

When those highest priests died before their time
it was clear Her potency wasn't just for show.
When they signed their deals to work for Her
She would never allow them to let it go.
The gifts She gave in their very first days,
just samples of Her endless dreams,
contaminated their all their futures
and made them eager to leave the main stream.

I know I have to die eventually
so why not end up on the side of the road,
having lived my life always for Her,
and for those who need a glimpse of Her code?
Luz Hanaii Feb 1
You and I have shared long nights and hours.
The sound of your name, no longer I resent.
Those hushed-hushed nights silently watching over me,
waiting to see me loose it, curse or toss in full despair
but now, I'm at a different place.

Your magic charms and spells no longer work on me.
You're a has-been, a hag, expired drug without its potency.
Yet you hold the magic dust that could set me free.
I no longer, contemplate, surmise nor theorize in bed
mind's all free from nervous chatter.

I suspect you'll end up bored and tired.
I'm not as fun as I used to be.
I've caught you drooling and snoring a time or two,
we both know that's a big no-no for a gal like you.
I'll snap a picture, you're bound to lose your job.

You're a disgrace, starting to degrade, deteriorate.
Meanwhile, I'll get a hold of your pouch of magic dust,
it will be your end, you'll see
you'll take my place
and I shall end up being free.
LonelyPoet Oct 2018
I wonder. I always wonder. Flickering lights. Auburn skylights. Do you ever think of me? A rush of your presence overtakes my mind. It shocks me and moves me, I can’t make it stop. I want to, but I let it ride. The moments come, they are limited to you, nonetheless, their potency is palpable. What does it look like in there? In that web of lies, of tries and sighs. Hah! It’s possible to find traces inside. Perhaps there’s a moment of me, a brief laughing gesture, a look, a smile.

I keep wondering. If I look at you, do you tremble? My heart runs to my throat when you glance, if only I provoked the same in you. Blue subsides, flashes from above overtake you. Look! Look! They’re there for you. If only you cared to look. Wishing to know
things, all those unknowns you carry.

I can only wonder. Am I there? Somewhere? There’s a little nook right beside your worries, could that be the place you house me in? It’s quiet now. You seldom hear a car rush through. The skies’ glow died out. Sleeping feels impossible. My body needs restoring but my brain is in overdrive. Images flow by and you’re a familiar recipe in their making.

It leaves me to wonder. When do I appear? Nights might not be your demise. Is it during mornings? Adrenaline springs and reaches your mind and boom! There I am.

The sun is beaming. It warms your whole room. Its rays touch your face and you’re up. Continuous wonder I live in. The time our answers aligned, I saw a glimpse of joy in your eyes, it said that in a room full of people your focus was on me, or maybe all your
wonders belong to someone else.

The day flashes by and tints of autumn reflect on your side view mirror. Darkness knocks again. I fall back to enjoy the ever-sparkling lights, wondering if reaching them is more feasible than holding you.
This is all for you but you'll probably never know it.
It is implied imagination lives in memory,
for I have lived immortal in his memory!

Dying sunlight painted translucent gold varnish
over tree branches, and leaves wept in cinder
as sunlight pierced their flesh  
Sentient, solemn willows swayed in wind prayers,
Deep into her mind forest pagan temples rang
as though treasures hailed immortal proclamations
upon night
  
The fine chiffon billowed, a mere lambrequin
caressing her milky thighs ── the window ajar.  
Blue and white flowers in knots strewn along vines,
appeared violated, twisted valentine creatures,
lost in belief on Lupercalia dreams, blaring
into the impending night, screaming hungry ──
blooms awaiting their opening to moon promises of
fertile love

The old clock past that sings in tick of dying time ── her
mind a bush of stinging nettles,
a reminder to pain and wet in flesh.
Once married to magical inducements to deaths promise,
Pleasures that once sang from his lips,
"The song of sunsets elixir”,
An unparalleled potency to release mortal time

‘Awake in Malarian dreaming immortal ── writhing
in fragrant silent purple hazes of love that vanishes.
She waited across violet poppies and crimson bride orchids
on mortal memories.  
“I can taste you” came from her full lips,
finely cracked with need,
In the parlour poised, dreaming ardent dreams

The moon glinted off the lake beyond,
invoking querulous images,
Swirling, roaming a prayer in black laughed,
escaping the dead air about him
A battalion of flowers hung in nights trees, opulent
reminiscent to Victorian chandeliers.
His aurelo radiated black from a jewelled crown,
mesmerized she gazed

── He blew quietus, a cold gust of emptiness & neglect,
the candles restless flickering ceased,  
his tines glinting by moon lights silver smile  
His breath bore a spice, and a mild coolness encircled her waist,
arms raised, a kiss he placed to each her wrists
Reverent, passionately he bit consuming, gorging in lust
Her mind danced in sparkled delight,    

Springs first ****** shoots sped across time and,
watercolour smears of emerald splashed
earth in communion, between life and death,
between death and life,  she took her last breath.  

She listened to his shatter, ‘into black shards
his ‘obsidian motion tore into night’
A black fire star stained across amaranthine skies,
touching, delicately bleeding into mortal dreams
in poets and writers
It is said, “Love bites but once in true love”

──Unto death shall we once again meet
immortal “In just one piece, poetry we bite”.





©ASPAR S2018(A Sol Poet Arnay Rumens)
Izlecan Jul 31
Attires of a closer regime,
Closed in on the muddling assets
of a light,
Flickering.
On a dead end street,
Through a meandering
There’s an eventful animus.
Past eleven,
P.M.
“To lobby is to redeem,
Apparently(!)
For I sin and repeatedly sin.”
Only by 1 and only through one
Single flock of wind-blown sediment,
man acknowledges life and
It’s dreadful stripe,
Laid upon a landscape;
Full of faux images of random schemes.
Well, there the ongoingness goes
Of moments that are no way chronologic
Where one plaster over another
Seems like a perfect match.
When the clock strikes to 3
A.M
Merely a sigh passes along,
Yet another minute,
On the cold street
The light knows no acuity at all.
It means for another tick,
Yet does not wait for the tock;
Tick-tock(!)
Tick-tock.
There lies 3 hour worth concurrence,
Confronted for each tock, for half a minute,
But only the seconds pass.
And with each skip that matters,
and only that matters nevertheless,
The clock goes back to
Eleven
P.M.
There(!) the gutter calls for another drink,
For another trace
On another strike.
However mournfully,
Escort of a humanly maze,
The muddling sort,
Births confusion.
The attires seem gone by now.
The heaves; quite impeccable,
The path adopts another protest,
For a much tackled breathing
Time overlaps,dreamily,
On a spectrum,
Laying as a single faceted imposture;
Mocking a postering of shed upon the pavement.
For another street that seemingly differs;
where the marching will always depend
(Regardless)
Solely on the counts of seconds
By the potency of motives
That merges as to defy
The years accounted
On the flesh and bone.
Now there goes another strike,
Audible over the plane
And
It carries on as
“To lobby is to redeem
For I sin
And sin
And sin
On a 3-hour worth strike,
Starting at 11
P.M,
Over another man’s bearing.”
Onoma May 1
praying mantises

dressed in

kimonos.

engaged in a

Japanese tea

ceremony.

slow verdant

movements.

rising mindful

potency.
Jayne E Nov 14
you called me
1001 nights of the sahsrara
you called me Laylah
you called me Lilith
your queen
little beetle
scarab
you called me to you
with carved silver
circled pentagrams
wrapped in silk
and petals
wrapped in spells
and incantations
wrote me poems in your blood
scrolls tied tight with
strands of your hair
sealed in wax
you were the lizard boy
dark eyes and your heart
once bright filled
with sparkled light
charred to dark ash
the day she took from you
your innocence
and lightness of being
hungry to feed
on the potency of your youth
to erase times lines
from her haggard face
the scar lines engraved
upon your soul forever
we called up the summer rain
one hot January night
danced naked in the garden
under the full harvest moon
laughing chanting
willing the rain to fall
moonlight shimmering
through the droplets
we were as children again
for a few moments
you thought I did not love you
because I walked my own path
you told me too late
of your sufferings
in a note left on my pillow
found after you drove
off the cliff into the deep gorge
the water kept you for 6 months
spitting your body up on the rocks
at the tender age of 23
torn apart by the rapids
for years you haunted my dreams
your long fingered artists hands
reaching out from the rushing waters
pulling me down
each night
to lay with you forever
your elegant hands
becoming
my eternal slaughter.

J.C.
They're such shiny chemicals:
Dopamine, Norepinephrine, Phenylethylamine.
Life shimmers,
and each day is painted with purpose
When dosed with such potency.

I would like to believe that love,
The long-lasting kind,
The one you're supposed to want,
The one that settles you,
Where you grow old and spend Wednesday evenings answering emails and rewatching some old baking show in ***** sweats
Is enough to keep life interesting.
But chemistry doesn't always work that way.

My path might dictate some other measure of wholeness,
And more than one type of love,
And more than a couched lookalike storybook ending.
My path may require
Risk, Adventure, Longing,
Questioning, Exploration, Pain,
Brilliant platonic wildfires,
Intellectual dalliances,
And unrequited amorosity.
In short, my path may require some trailblazing.

But this precious neural spark
In my body
That keeps me in love with love
Is mine to keep
For as long as it continues to shine.
7/26/18
☆This an older poem, I decided to post.☆
Oh, & to my lovely readers,
Just remember the following:
—No one can make you concede defeat.
—You are whole without someone else,
         You are complete.
Unabridged by all rationale,
A masterpiece, assembled by fates convened. }♡{

When the pressure
of the air
around your body
feels like torture,
like suffocating.
Just remember,
when you think it's over,
that's when to fight - or you'll keep losing what's left quicker, & quicker.
Just dismember these words,
'Cause for better or for worse,
You can't leave yourself deserted.
~
When one does not know
the gazing stranger
in the mirror.
Frozen, head to toe,
colder than ice,
Deep within my mind, in an ethereal zone.
Behind closed eyes,
Feeling like a backseat driver,
Drunk, & in my own car - the basement of existence.
Flooded lungs,
Feet like phantom weights,  
The quiet swallows us.

The quiet disguise, oh my God, who do I trust,
When the man staring back,
will never know love.
I will never know love. ~
What could I miss, when I must miss what's considered life's most?

From another world,
or any mirrored surface,
The sinking sight of disfigured man & truth, swirl.
Against this apparition
frightened, staring
Wanting so much to run but I am always lured

Diminished for a while,
I began to look in the mirror with a smile.

Dreadfully,
the occasional feeling returns to me,
Like a Phoenix ruse, & blazing rise.
It is not unceasing,
But when I do feel it, all I can think of is it's absolute potency.
Dysmorphia takes leave - a trick,
& Like a calculated predator,
Unmercifully, it ensues.
Gotta get it's grip off my throat. God, let me go.
I will never know love. ~
& The smile hits me like a piledriver through soil,
I can imagine it unweaving soul.
I will never know love. ~
Oh the room has spun, and tables run,
Left with the emptiness of you.
Looked into the mirror & punched until it was done -
Spent midnight looking through a filter.
A reflection in blood.

I will never know love. ~

Emotionally consumed,
I'm too far gone, can't hold on, uncontrolled in the doom,
At least this time I feel something at all.
I will never know  my  love. ~


By: Ashton Conor Amstutz



#BodyDysmorphia
Catherine Dec 2018
Darling,
they say they miss you,
the girls from the dance club,
how your moves radiated potency.
the orchards at the end of valley,
how you traveled for miles to water them.
the homeless members from the filthy place,
how you were never disgusted by the party of flies

the alcoholics, the abandoned, the pimps,
how you welcomed them to your heart,
and those suffering from weird illnesses,
how you bandaged their wounds
even I miss you,
how you told me to be kind,
they say your presence gave them hope

"Huh,
I think it is funny  
how they say shamelessly that they miss me,
cos none of their deeds showed appreciation.
I gave my all,
over-watered the flowers
until there was nothing left in my bucket,
I saved them from their demons,
Only for the demons to make friends with mine,
they should have asked me,
whether I was also okay,
traveling for miles,
just to show love.

I am sitting on an abandoned porch,
telling the players in my head to shut the hell up,
because I have no one to save me.
the banging is too loud
and I have a gun on my head,
don't weep for me,
just tell them to love unconditionally,
and give selflessly,
but never forget to tame their demons,
and to ask each other how everything is

tell them again,
that this cruel world needs kind people
people who receive and also give an ear to the givers.
A personal write of giving selflessly and having no one to turn to.
Next page