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Jeff Gaines Apr 2018
She thinks that she is only silver.
Second place, forever and again.
But this girl ... she is so, so much more.
She is my dear, dearest friend.

Her soul, while brighter than the sun,
is tortured by confusion and things in her past ...
lofty goals that would thwart even the toughest
and a lifestyle going so fast.

Courageous ... and meek.
A warrior ... and a flower ... all at the same time.
Legions of followers, those who look up ... never to see,
the little girl who roams in her mind.

She will get were she is aiming ...
my heart believes in her so.
She is strong, stubborn ... so very brave,
and this child inside her grows.

Now distant, I'll still watch her life
unfold

from this abyss, for reasons that may forever remain
untold.

She is far more valuable than any silver, precious gems ...
yes, even gold.

No object d'art or more costly antiquity ...
has ever,
ever been sold.

I only wish that I could have somehow ...
somehow
made her see ...
that as my friend ... she was so, so much more ...
than merely silver to me.
What can ya do ... What can ya say ... when someone just doesn't "get it"?
When a boy thinks of a girl

his cheeks don't go red,
nor do his pupils dilate
but his heart beats as fast
as a horse's gallop in race

His lips strongly tremble
in the midst of conversation
his legs that won't settle
due to headstrong infatuation

her beauty overwhelms him
her cold hand warms his heart
her gaze,  like Medusa's
a romantic work of art

his thoughts full of appreciation
for whatever form she may have
a wonderful mem'ry,  imagination
a thought that can't be grasped

his thoughts he can't express
his mouth he cannot open
his words he can't confess
but his heart, ť was always broken

but all this is not really
'bout when a boy thinks of a girl
because in these words you can tell
that he always has loved her.
does the girl think of the boy?
Ray Laccetti Mar 30
I think over my time
& I realize that I’m
on the borderline.

Time is fleeting
& we’re creeping
toward oblivion.

We’ll soon kick
the bucket.
So say to yourself,
*****-it.

Can’t win for losin’!

— Ray Laccetti
Amanda Noel Jul 13
When you're right, you're right,
there's no point in continuing the fight.
Words are lost to deaf ears anyway.
So, if I got it right;
I have a role,
supposed to fall in line,
Submit to what's told.

We aren't the same person,
We won't always agree,
And somehow having my own view
Automatically means I oppose you?
Why can't we agree to disagree?

I think you'd be dissatisfied If I did surrender.
Like when someone gets their every desire,
And it turns into a time they beg not to remember.
It exaggerates and amplifies the troubles acquired.

Even if you were pleased,
It would take away every part of me.
Tear down all the moments
I've worked so hard to achieve.
All the miles traveled,
in the search of finding me.
It would close the entrance to the cave,
leaving me staring at the shadows on the wall.

A lot of pressure gets placed on shoulders
Expected to carry it all
And although this dilemma is mutual,
I'm not strong enough
to be in charge of your happiness,
and my own,
And, I'm sorry I'm not good at
doing what I'm told.
You are in control of you, and that is all.
SMN Dec 2014
you see,
that’s the problem
with being the strong one
who always offers others
a hand
everyone thinks that you
don’t need a hand and
they think you have lots
of surplus energy and no
worries

*(s.m)
this intergalactic
electric ecstatic dakini
spinning enchantments
to launch dew souls
Rocky Mountain hiiiiiiighhhh
brewing bitchinest dreams
inside lenticular lookout
fixin to spit stitches
at broken globular
after I mend my frays
who babbles hypothetically
thru abstruse WTFerland
wants you to know:

I do
believe

in thinks and its
holy whattheshits

here there
everywhere

all. of. it.
PoserPersona Jul 2018
Idly stationed in the bucolic hills,
sits a stone well; unknown when abandoned.
Though her people foregone, water yet fills
as much as you can want for. In tandem,
are high trees less old than she; occluding
the view from pathless and naive strangers.
As their wish in well is to keep obtuse,
those that siren would otherwise capture.
Her drink, one thinks they'll constantly receive.
In reality, they'll only be taken.
Youth will fade as the heart minutely bleeds.
Their hollow, dried corpse will be forsaken.
And though her hole but a tall dark crevice,
I see my reflection on the surface.
Zeeb Jul 2018
The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway… man that’s one long bridge
I drive it every day for my pay - here’s what I see along the way

Here comes:
Corvette Kary, setting pace, he thinks he’s in a race
When Kary’s not waxing his ride, for your safety you'd best pull aside

Petrified Patty, she’s over water and has never learned how to swim
She’s driving a white Lexus, so scared she has no reflexus

Miata Mike, chasing Kary's Vette, not gonna get too far
Trying to convince himself, he didn’t buy a girly car

Watch out for:

Makeup Mary, on cruise-control, wow she’s one of the worst
She loves her new Camry, but her next car might just be a hearse

Yes, that Causeway, can be a long and boring ride
And if you get a flat… there’s no place to pull aside
Oh but that Causeway has its points, take time to see
24 miles of entertainment, and the Northbound way is free

Here comes:

Road Rage Randy, always ****** and he doesn't know why
Today he’s running late, but finds time to escalate

Doughnut Danny, rolling breakfast and a tea
Such mechanized efficiency, has a newspaper on his knee

Wackin Wayne, you're kidding me, you thought I couldn't see?  Vibrating Virginia close behind, now we have equality

We've got:

Maypop Marty, thinks tires last forever
Does he even check the air?.... never

Mark The Spark needs a muffler shop, something heavy about to drop.  Comes Innocent Mike on his motorbike too bad he just couldn't stop.

Headphone Harry and his Pandora, he's hear but also... he's not.  He likes his music best, you see, after a few long tokes of his ***.

Fugitive Fred on the go, at 65 point ooo.  Not a mile to fast or to slow, got to blend in on this bridge don't you know.

Yes that old Causeway, can be a long and boring ride
And if you get a flat… there’s no place to pull aside
Oh but that Causeway, has its points, take time to see
The mechanized circus on parade, our hilarious humanity

Don’t forget:

Frozen Frita, every rainstorm stops her dead in her track
Then here comes Ramin’ Ron, goin 60, aint too good for her back

No Tie-down Tim, **** flyin’ out of his truck
For everyone behind him, Tim doesn’t give a ****

NPR Nancy, she must be in a “Driveway Moment”
Only problem is, she’s on a god-**** bridge

Texting Theresa, I’ve saved the best for last
The last thing in life she did see, was an idiotic emoji

Lookin’ Lee, that’s me, pretty sad that I’m just as bad
Come join us nuts on the Causeway, might be the most fun you ever had
Brad post Nov 2018
What is your obsession,
with writing depression?
Just forget about it,
and try to move on.

A therapy session?!
That’s out of the question.
You’re perfectly fine,
if you do that, I’m gone.

Anti-depressants are bad,
you saw what happened to dad,
Do you want to be like a zombie,
now that’s crazy to me.

There’s no reason to be sad,
and I understand that your mad,
but there is key elements here,
that you refuse to see.

I may just be a voice,
but I do have a choice,
and I’m not the problem,
cause I’m basically you.

Alright fine, I get it,
God you sound pathetic,
blaming all your problems,
on what’s in your head.

You want to be sane,
and forget all your pain,
but it’s what makes you you,
so embrace it and move on.

You cannot erase me,
so let’s just let it be.
I can help you get through this,
together, just us.

Alright, put down the pill,
and tell me how you feel.
Oh man I feel weird,
what the **** have you done....
city of flips Jul 2018
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.

she is sweet but sad. super sad.

a good poet who wants to guide me.

but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.

seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,

and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.

"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"

my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.

my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,

how I do not want
to be skinned alive.

for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.

and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley

no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^
  

that ain't me babe.
Alyssa Underwood Jan 2016
Eddie Starr is a man of love
who lives to spread God's grace
consistently lifting fellow poets up
through encouragement's embrace

He thinks of others more than self
and his own dear heart does spend
to share the gospel of Jesus Christ
and to reach out to all as friend
"For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. For God, who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' made His light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that His life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.  It is written: 'I believed; therefore I have spoken.' With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, because we know that the One who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in His presence. All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."  
~ 2 Corinthians 4:5-18
zumee Jun 2018
will little squiggles
of pixels organised in blocks
of "words" and "sentences" ever
even come close to translating
a nuclear blast
in the
brain?
eye
thinks
not.
Melissa S Nov 2014
She has her own star
Down on the boulevard
Where they all line up to see her
Welcome to her life
Welcome to her world
Her life did not go as planned
She thought the whole world was in her hands
She craves intimacy in the worst way
But has to settle for whatever the fellows are paying for that day
She parades around on her concrete stars perfumed and sprayed
Hopeful that someone will find her desirable rather than doubtful
Wears tons of makeup
Smokes two packs a day
She thinks the sooner she leaves this world the better
She had a plan she had a path
Before that monster stole her soul and caused her wrath
Now alcohol and drugs help numb her pain
Nothing but a ghost girl remains
The other girl shed herself just a pile of skin left on the floor
This new person is all anyone will see anymore
She does have a good heart
but rarely uses it
too many people have let her down
No one ever tries to see the person that she is
they never stop to hear her story
They say it's hard work to look that easy
Some may even call her ******
But not me
Matthew Feb 7
I guess I love the way
you listen with your lips

I guess I love the way
we live inside our dreams

You take away the tears
With one insignificant laugh

One look at us
in the lazy afternoon hue
I know why I'm with you

Why am I so hesitant to accept your lips and laugh?
To run away in your eyes
full of sunlight

Because my pupils never grow
You might be blinded by the light.
Because I see storm clouds
It is raining,
drops of
my blue
tears.
Something just A thought.
Kat Aug 2018
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
I showed my English teacher and he liked it
writerReader Apr 2015
"I'll have a whiskey,
****** ale on the side."
is what he says
i don't even thinks he know
what the reference is
Rowan Oct 2018
He won't say he knows
what it's like to  
shudder in horror at
himself.

He won't say he understands
the frozen fear and inability to
control his own mind,
the unbidden beliefs that don't go away.

He won't say that voice
in his head, isn't very little
and he can't help but argue
against himself, who isn't really him.

He won't say that it's not
alright when the evening is dying in
splendid shades of soft autumn
and he's unable to see it.

He won't say he gets what it's
like to be frozen in the corner of the room
huddled in ball of silently screaming limbs,
eyes closed because it takes too much strength to open them.

He won't tell his friends when the
noise is yelling and freaking out
over a grade that has become his world
and it's stressful enough without them saying it doesn't matter.

He won't say
wouldn't it be nice...
to be happy?
Yeah, that would be.

He won't tell his friends
in blazing daylight that seems to single him out
that he wishes it would stop.
Please, make it stop.

He won't tell them
anything at all.
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