Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Viridian Feb 2018
I have accepted the heart you held in my hand.
I wished to fit it with my own.

But in the process, you kept deliberately cutting my fingers

Was I going too fast? Possibly.
Were my pieces too small? Possibly.
Were the edges too sharp? Possibly.

And yet, I continue to clutch at your shards with ****** palms.
I can't let you go, even if you hurt.
I accepted your heart, and I can't go back on my word.

I will, one day, form a beautiful stained glass portrait of you and I.

No matter how many ounces I bleed, I'll attempt to complete this work of art.
And yet, I ended up shattering more of my own pieces to try and fit them in with yours
Yours, whose pieces weren't meant to fit mine at all
Desmond the poet Apr 2018
Every morning is a chance at a new day.
It’s never a bad life but a bad day.
Appreciate every seizure-free day. great feeling of rising post every fall.

Life's perkier focusing on what truly matters.
Each day may not be seizure-free,
There’s but, something good everyday.

I don’t live once.
Instead I die once.
I live every day.
I’ve been broken.
I’ve been hurt.
I’m however still alive.

https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/
As usual I share my experience living with epilepsy. This poem is about focusing on the positive because I'VE learnt a lot from living with this chronic condition.
marianne Nov 2018
the day before grief pulled up
with moving van and solemn promise
it was summer,
and i was wearing a cotton print dress,
yellow flowers and bare feet
or maybe it was my mother

that day, the day before
she was swirling slow motion
like in a movie, face to the sun flashing
through young leaves
making patterns,
arms wide

that day, the day before
i snuck a zwieback from the summer kitchen
and watched melting butter make
golden pools,
some dripped onto my dress
but i didn’t worry

that day, the day before the cold snap
wicked north wind,
the sun shone
and we were warm

butter still melts our hearts
lonleyflowerx Jun 2016
it's much easier to push people away
before they get the chance to do the same to you
exst Feb 2018
You transformed my darkness
Into light

You taught me
The meaning of life

You accepted me
When I could not

You listened
When I forgot
Sahil Sharma Aug 2018
You are a sailor if life is a vast ocean..
Here sail-n-surf,very thrilling notion..

Heart does trade with silly emotion
Desires ditch reality,if you lack devotion

Trusting too early is not so very wise..
People turn strangers in their uprise...

Be an artist not the tyrant of ur life
Anger at its apogee, cut like a knife

In dejection time,even silence is noise
Enduring other's hatred is a better choice

Speech is razor-sharp,can easily slice
Before making a decision,think twice

Eyes turn coy when the truth is caught
Just keep it simple n filter ur thought

Like weather, experiences are cool n hot
Hardwork is perennial but luck is not

Deeds are examined,so keep the token
Progress is still when hopes are broken

Pain is felt when own soul is shaken
Just believe in God when all is taken

Pearls come out during ebb at the shore..
Money gives gold but manners shine more

Success is urgency,patience is the cure
Nothing stays forever,expiry is for sure

Life has its fragrance,life has its taste
Laughter is healthy, worry is waste

Love is water, dilutes colour n caste
Polish your soul,skin goes ashes at last
Grace Feb 2017
You taught me to follow my fate,
You taught me to take the risk and the bait.
You taught me to be strong,
You taught me to never be wrong.
You taught me to feel love,
You taught me to fly free like a dove.
You taught me about truth,
You taught me that in life, there is no ruth.
You taught me to keep fighting for my belief,
You taught me to keep away from relief.
You taught me to fight,
And you taught me what is right.

You were right, this whole time,
You were right, life beats to its rhyme.
You were right, and they were wrong,
You were right, that I was strong.
You were right, that I was beautiful,
You were right, that my stubbornness was unmovable.
You were right, as I will always honor you,
You were right, I believe in you too.
Kate Copeland Jan 16
(1) Take good care of your legs.
(2) Always control your own bank account.
(3) Dress up like you go into a doctor's office
(She married a doctor by the way).
Ozioma Ogbaji Apr 2015
It is the sparkle in your eyes
Not the curve of your lips
That smile in your eyes
The smile that never lies

Charming, tender
I'll always remember
The first time you smiled at me.

Like magnet to metal
Your smile draws me in
You taught me how to smile
Your smile; I hope it never lies
The kind of smile that comes from deep within.
Lazhar Bouazzi Mar 2018
To the Goddess of morn
who made bread from fire
and taught me how to read
to read the wreaths of coffee
into the songs of dawn.

And to the Mason who
showed me how to hammer,
form out of chaos
and cherish the scent of
the cement on grey-green walls.

© LazharBouazzi
marianne Nov 2018
My mothers tell me
not with pearls in pretty velvet boxes
or words in leather-bound books
proclaimed,
but in buried memory and coiled threads
stitched together over generations—
who i am

head down pattern
repeated, deaf to its echo
ocean blue over prairie wheat over
thick mud brown turns murky
winding spinning battening
fabric woven—

a kind of fate

destined, we are women without men—
all to our children, knotted hands uncomplaining, holding
deepest love so deep it holds too tightly
standing boldly outside
the measure

obedient, we are women armed—
sharp eyed ironclad we stubbornly
manage life
mitigating disaster, securing the fray
keeping watch

doomed, we are women hard-boiled—
knowing loss, we look neither left nor right
reaching only to gods
and goddesses for friendship,
lonesome

until one day empty
and by the grace of god, I pause—
turn my eyes
and see my sisters too
N Oct 2017
things people taught me:
that the love you have must come at the expense of people around you.
that once you give something, it's yours to take from them.
that being alone is the only safe place.
that being alone is a dangerous thing.
that to feel comfortable with someone you need to assert your dominance.
that you can never feel comfortable.
that marks and bruises mean you care.
that the marks and bruises not only show on my body but in my mind.
that no matter what the situation is my feelings are invalid.
that my bedroom is a safe and private place.
that nothing is really private.
that safety is just an illusion.
that happiness or sadness has more to do with sleep then choice.
that every conflict must be met with loud noises and anger.
that love consists of constant criticism and pain.
emily mikkelsen Jul 2018
recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.
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.
Richie Vincent May 2018
Before I knew that I could fall in love with another boy,
I had already had those feelings stolen out from underneath my feet

50 years old cold and old with a lust for blood,
and innocence,
At 16 years old there wasn’t even a whole lotta innocence left in him,
But he worked and moved in places that felt like dark alleyways,
and promises that seemed too good to be able to break,
The way his tongue slithered out from underneath the church pews,
looking to lap up whatever he seemed to have missed from his youth

I remember the first time I went to therapy,
the way that my therapist kept asking me if I was confused about my sexuality,
It shouldn’t have started like that

Wrinkly, angry, and full of adrenaline, young in the head and sick in his veins,
He liked to touch them,
He liked to hold them,
His eyes always matching theirs,
he made it perfectly clear that he’s not looking for a fight,
he’s already fighting,
and he knows he’s going to win

I’m not a religious person, but I believe the devil comes to all of us in different ways,
Sometimes beautiful and forgivable,
Other times in a black t shirt and a pair of nikes, disgustingly promising,
a place to make you feel comfortable

We let so many people use our bodies to prove their points, it’s so exhausting,
I can’t tell the difference anymore between wolves and sheep,
But I know that he’s a wolf,
And I know that no one listens to a boy who cries ****,
And the blood is always going to be there,
The alcoholic breaths taken deep into lungs that promise to carry on, are always going to be there,
The hatred and phobia of old men with mustaches and eyes that look just a little too inviting,
is always going to be there

Your Innocence is always going to be there, just don’t let anyone convince you that they can steal it from you

We are more than their torn muscles and “really, I’m a nice guy”s,
More than their “I’ve never done this before”s,
More than their “You don’t have to mention this to anyone”s,
More than what we think we deserve,
More than what love used to mean to us

We don’t have to love like that anymore,
Our bodies are new,
Not used anymore, but brand new,

We just have to teach our bones how to use the beautiful new skin that they’ve worked hard for

So to the man who taught me how to love myself,
You are nothing more than a distant memory I’ll continue to pack into the bag of luggage I carry and unload when I need to remind myself that I am more than whatever you made me think I was

I forgive you, but only because I forgive myself
Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
A pocket of thought, ideas.
Impulses, has beens

epi-phenom-enal-con-currencies-synchron-icity
sorting places, thens and nows vying for attention

you see
we till stories in search of true tomorrows
not true
yesterdays (till, I said, not tell)
we **** the hard rows no one else will ***
so seed lies sown are never lies told, if the lies are never taught
or if the liars are caught before convincing the
intended crop to lie and swear a common liege Lord,
or die
for lack of knowing. Non-nascence, simplest
symptom to not see.
Whose death is yours to respond responsibly
to? My child's, or yourn?
In the early days, we knew less than we know now
about how knowing and growing were all
intended
to cost time. Ticks, ono motto whatever, the sound
gears and spiral springs pushing cogs
tick, one tooth tick at atime make

this rough, un polished, un glossed, is it wrong or

as I imagine a diamond in the rough must seem to a share cropper
experienced in diamond hunting, diamond prospecting,

prospecting expecting inspection to permit
seeing a 3.2 specific gravity,
specific
specify

species or spectacles,
spectators or special-if-eye-cation
value-en-abled. Weigh your mind in balance
with mine. I claim the mind of Christ.
What are the odds?

A wandering path, injoyable enable if-i-abble,
pacing is

everything, timing is everything, time is the test.

Time is the metagame.
Take your time. One word formed sylabble at a time.
Babble on, your confusion makes you mortal, to my mind.
Tick.
A quanta of time. Does time come in bits and pieces cernible,
but undiscernible from reality?

Babble.

Of course, time will tell. We learned that in our sleep, did we not?

Aesop taught us more than Moses, no,
Aesop taught us less than Moses.

But, we could learn to walk bearing the weight of knowing what
Aesop taught,
while we could not stand under the weight
Moses was said
to have taught.

Caught you, Jewboy. Whatchewknow?
The moral of the story.

THE IDEA is to win.
Beware the concision decision.
incisive devices, witty inventions.

Flip the shell, roll the bones, cast the runes and,
as luck might have it, die before your time.

Why factors are lies more oft than how factors.
Benefactors rule malefactors or
how or why would we invest our time in seeking reasons
to believe?

Is this the polished piece, the gemstone of specific gravity
(which currently means nothing to you. Here, you find too light
or too heavy, too weighty on the scale of specific value.)

Hard. Value hard, diamond hard, on Mr. Moore's scaled model of
Knowing exploding for reason's sake, raison d'etre, eh?
Too hard?
Not Mohr,
don't get me wrong.
We been Moore's law breaker all along.
We be manifested destinatory stories of heroes gone wrong.

Outlawed
knowing exploding to be reasoned with, by kind
children destined to become
written in stone, scarred by lies

Diamonds cutting diamonds, iron whetting iron
on eternity's edge.

Babylon, was it Bel's gate or fusion from below rising?

Magma fountains with diamond claws tearing the lands asunder
Is asunder still a word?, let me, allow me to define...
"into a position apart, separate,
into separate parts,"
mid-12c., contraction of Old English on sundran 
Middle English used to know asunder for
"distinguish, tell apart."
From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/asunder>
----

mumbler's humbler PIE, bowing before the knowers who
know nothing of my work.
Set apart, art thou holy aware?

Hermit me, meet the rest of me. The true rest that remained.
We live, you and I. Trust me, next is worth the wait.

Suffer needs no pain to make its point. Waiting is.

Grokk. WHO would believe that idea could live
through telegraphese to be tweet meets for the
Cosplay clans. How never grokked a rock,  why even less.

Strange, not be long in this
place. if
place this be. Odd
set aside
torn asunder
blown away.
Awake, little birdie, tell me true,
what's a man like me to do?

Did you meet the famous Mr. Blake?
I cleaned his chimney, way back when, chimbly's whut
we called em. Smoke stacks belchin' black
makin' black moths invisible to voracious
gulls.
Now the peppered moths are free
to be white-ish, for better or worse.

----

right, now, do right or

miss the mark,
the specific mark you made, maybe,
imagining, abstract obstructions missed
by the skin on Job's teeth as you run past

right now to more. You know?

----=

Story telling was the same as lying when I was a child, to me.

Telling stories was my gift I never took. Or am I lying? or mad,
in the old way.
Chailot's rag picker was my best friend.

No noble thought ever found it's home in my head, once
I thunk it, it stunk to high heaven, for me stinkin' thinkin' it.

Po' ems sang sour to fiddles wit' one strang and drums with no
cymbals
Screamin' he owed m' soul the comp'ny sto' bang bang thud.

I died, he lied, and lived to tell this story, ****** if I know,
****** if I don't.

True as true can be. I am lost, but once was found,
lyin' rough, uncut in acres of unseen gems.
----
* Voltaire refused to teach me any thing I could not define:
late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining.

So, imagine facets unseen, I am at least a meme, a bubble rising on the tide. Think, as you will. Amen?
Incorporating radical (root-related) definitions via cut and paste is my way of acknowledging that I have no ex-uses left for using words in a wrong, thus lying, way.
marianne Nov 2018
not my mother, but
those before
were teachers of stillness—
to choose it, feel whole in it
bow to it
and wait…

across oceans
my mothers wrote their stories with pencil,
or fingers in thin air
words carried, indelibly
over miles and mountains
in strands and time—

waiting to be found

I see them sometimes
caught in a turning breeze
suspended in Fall colours

clinging to another mother’s web

I feel their warmth in the weak winter sun
more persistent now
following the horizon

I hear them in my dreams, the anguished ones
lead-heavy and fallen
overgrown with raveled life
and rusted

On my tongue melting like honeycake

Rising in wood fire
and spring soil

they are my words now
to tend to, crystalline
and holy

I wait
and i sing
Jorge Echevarria May 2015
You know those people who always  keep us in our place
The only ones who before you loved looked into your face
Taught you right from wrong as you shed a few tears along the way
How late you could stay outside and play
Made sure most of us got what we needed
Even if our needs were a bit conceited
None the less beyond all the hard times and stress
Our family are the ones to pick up our mess
If you have them or anything like them cherish it, in this world you have most but if you truly want them family will always be there please share this as I take this message to heart
ThePoet Nov 2015
There are no limits within a dream
Insanity at its most extreme
Imagination aged the child
It made me strong, it made me wild

I have ocean secrets growing deep
They're mine to ponder, mine to keep
Creativity taught and raised the kid
It gave me hopes in the places I hid
B L Jul 2018
In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction,
Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin
deeper toward the outward...
                                      it won’t let up, 'til I give in.

Over matter, lay my mind…
I tell a lie to pass the time...
But there’s no reason nor a rhyme --
                                            Less still, a purpose?
I search for something to remind my mind
                     that there’s truth that isn’t worthless…

But as always, failure appears;
                              in a sort-of amnesic continuity.
And my reality lies to my own mind
                              Just as well
                              as it succeeds in its futility.
With destruction as its manifest,
It tells me that I stand my tallest
                              Upon two buckled knees.

And just as faith will find one’s doubt --
                  a search within has left without.
It seems that an answer, once sought out,
                  will be left lacking its question.
My truth divides itself,
                   as a product of infinite misdirection.

I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme.
But with no lies left to pass the time...
                              I swallow a dose of ignorance.
It goes down smoother than the truth.

In a war that started with a truce,
This world betrayed my faith to show me:
                                 that I'm only tall enough
                                 Once I’ve been
                                                         cut
                                                             down
                                                                ­     slowly.

A pill too large to swallow,
                I think I’m choking on myself . . .
Or the irony of asking,
                     “How could I be so careless?”
Here I stand, Barely standing,
                   Consumed almost entirely
By my own dry-heaving self-awareness...

Left to fight the fears that my nightmares create;
I’m still running from my past,
                          yet, haunted by my fate.
They walk beside me always,
                          shadowing wholeheartedly —
Existing as a duality, both apart from,
                         and a part of me.

These ghosts have taught me very little...
                                    Aside from what I hate.
But, I've come to learn not to fear
                                    The forceful hands of fate.
For I shudder not at the thought of destiny,
                                    Or the inevitable in time...
Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices
That were solely, and entirely, mine.

I fear that my will may be of enough influence, alone...
That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own.
Or that I, myself, might be constructing
What destruction I will find
Among my shattered spirits and convictions,
In these depths to which I climb.

Bad Luck: In A Wakeful Contradiction :

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Gods1son Nov 2018
I am from the African descent
It does still show in my accent
I was taught...in God only, I should depend
Even, if I'm thrown into the deep end
I guarantee you that I will always ascend

My mama raised me to live decent
Showed me to follow Godly precepts
Anything below excellent, she taught me to reject
Expressing love was a daily subject

She taught me to believe in my heart
To hone and master my craft
In all my dealings, to play my part
Whatever I give out (positive or negative) is surely coming back

She said, be up and doing... Don't be lazy
Productivity is not synonymous to being busy
Let them see your work ethic and call you crazy
Just in a matter of time, they will call you amazing

She taught me to be careful with my words
'cause they have a big influence on my worth
Never compromise honesty
'cause it's worth more than any currency

She said, your attitude is like a ladder
It could take you up or down
No matter what life throws at you,
You were born to be a success, so stand your ground!
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
My soul would not be stilled
until You reached down
and taught my heart
to sing the song
it had been made for,
until I heard You
singing it over me,
drawing me and claiming me
for Your own.


A soul at rest
comes only from a heart
fully awakened
to its strongest desire,
from a heart that knows
it is greatly longed for
by the Object
of its greatest longing.

Surely there is nothing so powerful
against a deep and agonizing grief
as a great and passionate love.
~~~

"The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing."
~ Zephaniah 3:17

"The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying:
'I have loved you with an everlasting love;
    I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.'"
~ Jeremiah 31:3

"'Turn to Me and be saved,
    all you ends of the earth;
    for I am God, and there is no other.'"
~ Isaiah 45:22
jeffrey conyers Sep 2012
Those good old days of youth.
Teachers were to be respected.
Not to be attacked.
One ounce of disrespect to them.
You soon was facing your parents.
Yes, those were the good old days.

The church wasn't truly a choice.
Well, maybe for daddy it was.
But under mama rules.
You owed respect to the one that created you.
The good old days.

Respect was cherished art.
It was something those good parents taught.
Even if the adults were wrong.

And you best not try to talk back.
Because you had to be re-taught respect.
Parents weren't trying to be your friends.

You were educated on where friendship ends.
And the role of parents begins.
And with them.
You weren't going to always get your way.

Well, maybe when you sick.
Because parents become carings kids.
You get cake and ice cream when ill.

While if healthy.
You had to eat your dinner.
And hope they don't forget this offering deal.

Oh, the good old days.

You had a time limit to be in.
The street lights bet not come on.
And you're not in the yard.
This when parents went hard.
Lectures and sermons to last for days.
Punishments, I won't begin to say.

Remember, these the parents of the good old days.
King Panda Feb 2018
the shock
of bodies—
a sound
rippled in
cheetah lightening
to wings of blasted
flowers taught
red
yellow
lavender sky—

butterfly wound
festering pollened
breeze to
where your
mouth
is opened
breath
tongue
and twisted cord—

opaque bee
twirling with
opaque stamen
lit
in a wall of
rushing
waterfall—a
perfect contrast
of forgiveness
Whittney May 2018
Fighting on the front lines
With red pens
For creativity,
For independent thought,
For common sense
Not Common Core

This is a battle in a bureaucratic war we’re losing
Keep pushing and shoving against an impenetrable wall
But we’re only foot soldiers, not actually giving orders

Kids look down on us and they ask,
“Will this be on the test?”
And say,
“Get out of my face.”

Taught by parent(s) to resist.
These are Kids who fail to create
But recite, recall, and retaliate

“Mistake” has become a forbidden word.

School is no longer a safe haven
Testing, testing, 1-2-3 hundred murdered students, teachers

Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day

Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test.

We dig and
                  Dig and
                                 Dig
For the buried treasure trove of teaching magic. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support.

But it’s buried under so much testing and red tape, and so    

We fail.
Next page