Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
violetbaby Feb 13
it was raining heavily that day.
we met at an old record store.
the sky turned a peaceful grey,
bells tinkled as i opened the door
and i was hit with the smell
of dusty vinyls that were waiting
to be gently touched and held
by dreamers, lovers of messy
thoughts and burning secrets.
our fates were entwined at the start,
and i do not think i had any regrets
when the music took our hearts.
matthew wuz here
Sebastian Macias Sep 2018
The artist must become a whole
Completely obsessed with their art
Obsessed with who they are
Truly, who they are
Without hesitation
Infatuated about how they create
The art that makes them be,
What it makes them live for
From how they take their coffee
To every moment of a good ****
Reading in peace at dawn,
Picking fruit from a grocery store
The truest of artists are always lost
Lost in their own mind
Unconcerned with the lashing of
Society's moral tongue
Pushing themselves out to sea
Creating only to be alive from within
Where it all counts,
And it all has some value
Madison Rea May 6
Finally got the money, took me all morning, I only have a few choices

Diving into the smell of death and the maggots, the sun isn’t hot enough while I’m sweating through my black tee

Middle of the night my stomach begging me, I go out to see how much shining weight it’s gonna take to carry me; Waiting at the yard my bones telling me to scream

Five am rolls around so I am deciding wether I live or die, fingers fly across the screen, anticipation causing the weak stomach. The text popping up, be ready, now to wait the three hour eternity, insides mutilating me. ‘Bing’ “I’ll be out in three.” Sandpaper skin, you better not ******* touch me

In the evening you’ll find me pleading with strangers, just give me what I need. Can’t you see I’m sitting here dieing, all they have to do is have a little sympathy

Soft caress of my purple brush, just another touch up. All you hear is the loud click of my heels, bass humming through my body. I’m over being fake and phony, just give me the money you now owe me. Packing up, so ready to leave, I can feel the hunger getting to me; I’m going 80 ready to pick up these five g’s knowing it will cure me

The pain is so bad I need this gun with me; my plan c just incase I decide to free myself of there monsters inside of me. Fever in my veins, ice in my brain, terrified to go back to where we came. Why can’t I leave this place; emotions gripping me, please let this substance ease my brain, only caring about this one simple thing. I can hear them all screaming my name as I no longer feel anything, all I can remember is the flash and the bang
bob May 2018
Inked-up
poets come.
Finish inside me.
Swim in me.
Taste me. From
7 to eleven
slurp me
in the convenience store
where some
wrestle to buy
this or that
I remain
gift wrapped
waiting

for your
good stuff.
I"m humbled by all the attention.  Thank you all.
Francie Lynch Jun 2018
The hood won't be the same,
We're out standing in the rain,
To encourage sprouts as we once did our children;
For down the road you see it's as legal,
As a Timmy's and a cream-cheese bagel,
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

On this side of our border,
Starting this October,
We'll bake it, vape it, roll and bowl to take it;
Down the road you see it's now legal,
The price of home grown's dropped to zero,
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

Yes we're all on board to greet it,
Some inhale and some will eat it;
We're good to grow the free green grass at home.

I'm awake and it astounds me,
My four plants that surround me;
We've realized what we've long been dreaming;
For there's a store where we can cop some,
Come the fall fresh buds will blossom,
We're good to grow our free green grass at home.

Yes we're all on board to greet it,
Some inhale, and some will eat it,
We're good to grow our free green grass at home.
Sung to Tom Jones' "Green Green Grass of Home."
*** becomes legal in Canada on October 17th. We're permitted to grow four plants per household. Finally.
A "Timmy" is a Tim Hortons coffee.
gracie Oct 2018
Keats says, "transcendence of the self",
so you become a fox, copper-coated,
bright-eyed. You become the light of a
harvest moon, playful and sweet,
dancing across the forest floor,
you become a lingering scent
on my thrift-store sweater: balsam or
cold brew coffee, wafting
through the bustling café. You become soft
Sunday afternoons, forehead kisses and
pretty words whispered over the phone,
the curl of my lip as I drift off
into sleep.
hey
i think ur p cool
i like u alot
maybe we could... hang out? or somethin'
Kitt Sep 2018
It's not the ***.
It's holding your hand in mine
It's the feeling of my head on your chest
And your arm around my neck
Cradling me softly like lovers do.

It's not the ***.
It's the way your eyes,
Your cold blue eyes cut through my body
Whispering to me secrets, about myself
Things I never knew I needed to know.

It's not the ***.
It's not even you, really.
It's your voice, your mannerisms.
The familiarly we share, an intimate sort of history
More intimate than the act itself.

I'm not in love with you.
I don't know if I ever was, in our previous lives.
But here, in this lonely desolate world
Your eyes consume me, and
I think of nothing else.
For my childhood sweetheart.
fearfulpoet Aug 2018
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon

in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern

debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and master-bating our fantasy
where we want to be taken

knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)

will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag

we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching

besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)

asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one

tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction

could be northbound could be southbound
**** could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound

cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it

too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
ryn Oct 2014
On this carousel
You and I
Ringing bells
Time passes by

Scorching bulbs
Ornate bobbing horsies
Enchanting music
Tell of magical stories

I am here
On this side
You are there
Same ****** ride

Opposite ends
Placed we two
We can't see
But each other we knew

Friendly peeks
Directed to you
All I could afford
Keep you in view

Still rotating
Ride goes on
Chasing each other
No closer we've drawn

Enjoy the ride
Soak in the sights
Hold at bay
Reality that bites

Thought about
Getting off
Don't know how to
Come to a solve

Can't hold still
It's eating me alive
Can't just stay
Have to strive

Hand still holding on
One foot dangling
Second thoughts play
But bent on releasing

Take the first step
Don't overthink
Take the leap
Step off the brink

Close my eyes
Time is now
Just let go
Fate I must allow

Ready now
Time came to a freeze
one...two...
three...release


Now off the carousel
Cloying uncertainty
Never been here
Unknown territory

In the music
Found familiarity
Unsure if here
Is where I want to be

What do I do?
Wait a little more?
Hop back on?
Or await what's in store?

Glad I waited
Glad patience I found
There you are...
Coming back round
Madness plays in loops...
A sick little spin on the carousel.
londin Apr 2014
Carnival lights
Your spinning eyes
Dizzy in a crowd so full of life.
Humid heat
Sun setting
Friday night
Streets filling.
My feet stumbling
Gravel crunching
Legs follow you toward a door.
Hands pulling
Shutter slamming,
Stepping into Last Word Book Store.
Patience to be Written makes your Hallmark great
There is a Reason why your Pinnacle Shines
For Eight Years my Trek to Romance, debate
Lands on this Heart-Store where She would be mine
You, the Good Luthor, a Genious at that
Wrote the Novel which many Hearts consign
No need for Feathers, Leather, Pen or Hat
This Shop is your Notebook; Your Magnum Design
A fitting Homage to Love's Best Element
Where Hopeful Couples brew their Best Story
Succeed, then many leave your Doors, content
Ready to return for one more Glory.
That Arrow still stings like your Love's First Bite
This Hope I savour to Grow Up in-spite.
#maxbrenner
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
Stuffed seals.
Sits shelf,
soaking sunshine,
standing sentry,
soliciting smiles.
Shoppers smitten,
strike smiles,
spending silver.
Storied seals,
send shoppers shrilling.
Somewhere,
seamstresses
stitch supplementary shipments,
shaking store,
sustaining sales.
Sales staff splendidly stock shelf.
Seamlessly.
Such salvation, seals seeks.
Successfully, seashells.

Logan Robertson

8/1/2018
Deb Jones Jan 30
When I was a little girl
I would sneak off to the store
And buy candy with pennies.
The store clerk knew my mom
He would always give me the full price Candy and accepted my pennies.

That candy tasted like bravery

When I grew up I would sneak
From men I didn’t want to be with
I wouldn’t call them back.
I wouldn’t return the texts or emails.
I told myself it was easier that way.
Now looking back...

Those escapes tastes like cowardice
Next page