poet

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don’t fall in love with a poet, they will see your words as figure of speech you will become the main subject in the poem they write at 7am, 5pm, or 2am they will use what you make them feel
Where can I find serenity if you are gone from me, It’s as if darkness and death have clashed to see where to flee. Hideously loning for thy beauty and perfection I want to see, Ensnare this crumpled heart in pain of me.
Was always scared to talkHardly ever showed my emotionsHated being called on duringclass in fear of being wrong
Was always scared to talkHardly ever showed my emotionsHated being called on duringclass in fear of being wrong
She went back to her room where her favorite song was just ending at the best part. The little twinkles that faded with a high D flat that made her emotions fall apart.  
Today is frozen in blue and white we live to stall upon a blank page This picture, now a photograph In black and white
They called her a writer. A witch. A Manipulator of words.   Etching them into corners, Onto walls, Abandoned buildings,
Cálidas fueron las noches que grabé ayer.cálidos y también sonrientes,blanco como la espuma,tan frio como la arena,¿Estás listo para soñar?Oh!
my body wears a pattern of scars as intricate as expensive lace. my body is branded by beautiful tattoos of none other than that of pain. my body refuses to be physically marked
  I weakened myself for you.   You stuck three nails in my chest  Making it hard for me to breath.  You heard me crying out for help but you acted like you could not hear.
 I say and write alot about you My thoughts & feelins express swift with a pen  
No words just letters And pressure The poetry is concerning The feeling is burning My feelings just turning.... around The poetry is bringing me down am trying to surpass him,who? the man am talking too
I’m searching for you in constellations you once told me about Under the starry night sky Because I have dreamt of you with the stars. You remind me of the milky way and more galaxies
held in your arms,  i am delicate im wrapped in the  warmth of you i can hear your  heart beating and oh god the smell of you is my favorite scent to smell. your arms hold me close
This, this is poetry, the abstract sitting beside me, like a long lost friend exchanging thoughtful memories while Discarded thoughts of tomorrow sit like old men, forgetting themselves over the horizon remaining just beyond the water's edge remin
Poetry has taught me to be free,To be completely me,Poetry told me, "Don't worry about this or that."Poetry whispered in my ear and said,
this mind soars amongst many dreams   and they come in such excess in such a multitude
We sing like Rain We scream like Thunder We shine Like lightning hitting the Crashing Waves We Mourn like the Storm finally calming itself We are gloom like the grey Skyies after a Hurricane
Do you know what it's like to open yourself up to the world....
The poet's dead, the song is gone. With dying breath and failing brawn, He whispers a foreboding phrase: "The nights are spent, you waste your days."
Dear Darkness,   We meet again in this tragic abyss. It feels just like my lost lovers kiss. Once again, the air grows hauntingly thin. Take your pride in some fools grin.
they say that in order for someone to live, someone must die. and now i must know. who was the one who died
I shall be sparseas shallow as our oldbeaver pond aftera dry parched summer. I will not let you inyour sole intention is tofeed your own desperateand dark desires.
T'was once before the break of day when in the silence of a stored cachethere upon my memories ladder one ring above a thought came afterwhat was once so fine, so well placed, now lay defeated and disgraced
Fresh,a slip of tonguean adolescent impulse.Later he will learn notto say what he means,when he dims to mellow.
He pretended he believed her She did the same Reciprocating impulses push away, then suddenly contract.   When two worlds collide new stars are birthed.   In the ashes of a post explosion
She was the wind's breath alive and moving with grace, a sweet slide across the room.   When she kissed me the world went away but, like the sea she too could roar.  
The earth quakes in thunder claps a hapless dressing for a proud sun melting clouds enough for rain.   One is born, another dies a constant neverland of never come again.  
There are no great hills in Kenilworth where grassy girls give fruitful birth born from men of stately girth   I have been to Kenilworth I have been to far worse and back again upon a shore
Last night I saw you in a neon dream all lit up in a throw back scene the streets were wet in reflective haze where the truth is shadowed by the fire's blaze.  
We talked of prized cheese as if cheese was our master in the great disaster of us,   Then mind spent, W(H)INE spent on dreams only a fool would leave behind we passed our own tests on our own
It was as much a hinder as a clatter a soft splatter of broken love delicious  melted caramel on creamy lips of summer fog.   I do not forget her of hers a fine progression of my past;
I have seen the splintered timbers of a forest losing pine, waiting ona fire to carbonate its time. I know I am chemicals reacting to their tidesbut my mind it overulesa simpleton's design.
Like some provincial rain that came crisp from  latent springs sprung too tight stored energy fast relinquished down a sliding sun into new light
In the piercing heatof the unfolding daywe set sails for Avalon. Guided by winds wetested our fate, provingit was fragile in thedesperate side-by-sideof our changing lives.
Some came to satisfy their queer attractionto be close to something deadthat draws such loud attention
Tidal changes of this floating heartwhen to stop, when to start?My pulse expands my waking mind.
She was lightheartedlike a feather in soft windsI was playing throw and catchwith girls still growing breasts.
  He danced the Mapiko while stary-eyed women looked on in fear and lust.......unashamed walking the dusty streets searching for a cuandeiros the dengue fever pitched to the blazing ball of sun
To overcome others is strong.To overcome oneself is the will of power.  I try to convince myselfThat I am the best actress to ever walk the earth,And that the hole concaving in my chestIs simply a understudy for my sadness.  To overcome others is
Dear whoever has picked this up. Life is as though seasons of the weather. Constantly changing.Snow melting as our tears of exhilaration and melancholy. 
This poem is a vulnerable exposure of some of my life's struggles. Please let me know if you enjoy it and follow me on social media! Facebook: /eternityspoet IG: @eternityspoet  
MY MY MY HOW BEAUTIFUL AM I.. I TAKE PRIDE IN STRIDE.. I CARRY MY STRENGTH LIKE I CARRY MYSELF... EVERYDAY ALL DAY I THANK THE MOST HIGH IF I DONT DO NOTHING ELSE .. -ANGEL
Fly
For all these years, Thin like organdy, I’ve wandered under Some sickly guise Some sickly guise That I hailed as an apex of truth
First.....you don't want it to end Then realize, in those eyes, what you See is pretend And you believed you were friends Till she leaves you again You beg and plead, and say she's all You need
I was cut off from you, Though this was nothing new.  I knew it was bound to happen one day For I was just a pawn to play.  You used me for your own pleasure, And I thought you prized me as your treasure. 
I am happy for I have dream To meet my faultless princess Where my shackle eye’s will be hung for you Because only you gave me glamorous life
Once upon a ti— Wait. We all know how this story goes, A damsel seemingly in distress, begging for help though pleas never fell from her lips, for she is independent.
From the Boiling Point In the Glory of Morning Faced with a Stairway to Heaven We Travel with Gulliver In Overland Trucks None shall be caught in Hades’ Toilet Bowl For we feed on manna
My words tend to be abrasive sometimes abusive. They are painful and will wear you down it’s like sandpaper versus toilet paper
When Afrika is seen not heard All mothers mewl for they are so With Afrika portrayed absurd A father’s place is soon let go   While Afrika by fools is tamed That brother hunts for joy with lead
I have orated to the lay about the dangers of AIDS & how every books page brings you a step closer to getting paid   I have recited to the rich about a large poverty ditch
I make music for talk radio Sounds which bring a sting You better get strapped in this is strictly poetry You’ll find no sixteen bar forms or punch line platforms and I’m still the illest poet
Little miss reddy Momma told her get ready Grab her basket in handy So she could go see her granny She was feeling so canny A lot of food she had plenty
Once upon a time there lived a belle. Who could not withstand living in a world which seemed as a forbidden hell; So she wept and slept the suffering away-- Her name was sleeping beauty.  
They called me a monster, They called me a witch.  They called me a hypocrite,  A bully, a snitch.    They called her beautiful,  A sight to be seen.  More beautiful than any,
nothing can bring me peace here in the dark I am dying but the light lives that much is evident seen through shuttered windows
A friend asked me how to be a writer.I wanted to say,lock yourself in a room,scream until you have a poem and no voice.Open your veins and bleed until you know that your bones
My soul is like a peace of paper; white and light and soft and new. My friends are like the pages; close enough to feel the pain, but like a page they too can turn away, who new.
“Venting Session”   Let’s talk, No WAIT! I meant  Let me vent Pour me a shot 
I lost myself trying to find myself In the process, I became someone else I thought I knew me but the closer I saught the farther it got me In the end I always knew who I was but I didn't notice
it felt as though his words danced in my ear his wit sparked interest and showed no fear always in awe,  i would listen without doubt that my own thoughts soon would sprout every moment a new subject would brighten
I crave to adore you when your at your worst Share a love that can not be dispersed I crave to be held close to your chest as my head lay to rest
“Poet, breathe now.” Adam Gottlieb’s words soon stuck in my head. “Louder Than a Bomb” sketched in my notebook. Poetry. Enthusiasm from those slammers on stage.
To be a poet is to be a representative of myself, my community, my world. To be a poet is to be a loud voice through words on a page To be a poet is to be individual, speaking my own truth and no one else's.
                                                                                                         So very few people Know how to convey The making of this world,
I have learned to write when I'm hurt. I have learned to write when I mourn. I have learned to write creatively to express emotions. All this writing is part of my devotion. Devotion to become a poet.
I am not a poet, And when I do I try, I put myself down, And give up every time.   I am not a poet, Though I would like to be. I find I can never express My feelings accurately.  
Written once, by a man of a famous name, Were words that love could not tame, For behind the curtain his words came, And then Hamlet would cry out, even when lame,
Take hold of thy pen, Crawl within my den, The world appears free, For the beholder is me, I caress the page with my wants, No sour stranger can ever taunt, In the world of love and poetry,
simple yet perplexing difficult to procure yet comes with ease borrow my sight for a second.... I'll borrow yours ideas clashing, ideas intertwining shackles broken, minds freed a true menace to the tyrant
Dear Poetry, my old friend Here is a little story of how we began When times were tough, I was too Because I began to write you I put my pen to that paper and poured it out
I traded in my Nike’s for the open mics  Those early Saturday morning 6 o'clocks for them 7s ate my priorities I had to trade them in for 
When a poet is born, change is born Ideas meant to inspire are born I am a poet through song I tell my stories, and those of others I write messages meant to be openly interpreted 
I'm not much of a creative writer. I'm not a genius, and I'm not a fighter. Just an average student on break going day by day, Missing the plentiful dining hall buffet. I sleep all day like a newborn baby,
I’m not a poet But you smell like Those overused blue violets And red roses
The day that my mind became too full with running thoughts The day that my heart seemed to ooze from its physical being into the empty crevices of my body
I am from my past. I am from memories. I am from days faded, and                 from nights never ending. I am from food coloring, from basement swings; feet not grazing the ground.
Experience, tragedy , and Drama make the best poetry   add a few hyperboles and descriptive words expressing what happened   and shit    you're a poet      drawing in audiences reeling them in to take this trip with you up and down emotions     gi
Addiction. It was what welcomed digression and rambles on imperfections without discrimination. Her fears of the unknown, Her uprising anxiety, Her heart-breaks,
Moon turns to meet the sun when the sky turns dark at  night to begin to Change of power in the sky  of the moon that looks  like a big eye out of space.
   The walk that made  my face shack with happy in the eyes of children playing to gather with  Joy for the furture to come.   
Many think they know who I am, But the truth is you don't. For starters my name is Akeylah Giles. Many know me as the girl with a Big voice,
Anxiety, depression, An undiagnosed disease. Hiding under smiles and laughs So nobody saw me. Twelve years-old and so confused By the media displays. I tried to be just like them
Poetry never came to me till I was around the age of thirteenI use to write, write, write rhymes thinking I was a MC.I never could put the lyrics to instrumentals because I wrote to no music just used my instant mental.That's when it became just m
im familiar with burning   my mother is a smoking confessional who has swallowed a shipload of sins her lungs are gas chambers she smokes so much
Here's to me Some people slam doors, I slam poems. You judge the box, I open it.  Reality presses against the walls, I want the alternative.  To the times I've messed up.
All I need is success, this means I want to succeed. In whatever I do, I want to make sure I can make a difference. I would say all I need is poetry but I’m pretty sure you knew that already.
I am not a poet I am just poetic, every scribbled letter from an aching hand, every smudge of blue ink on a crinkled page is remembrance, experiences of metrical saddness  and symbolism of my existence
Don't panic, our blue planet's a wonderful placeDreamers, we live, we fly, we soar, we singUnlike the desolate rest of outer spaceAlthough all curious wonders always bring.
My mind of youth, days of past so confused so deluded. Unknown grounds rocky roads, departed souls. Entwined in a world of poisonus minds, Life's trap door tryna fade the pain..The pain of life, life's pain plan.
Our eyes lock on each other l
Cpl Robert Lin Cook USMC In his 300 plus poems. Wrote about what we wore. And what we carried. But more important. He wrote about what Marines Are all about,;
Broke Boy's Dream   Money for college is a broke boy’s dream I only have money for things I need I’m not writing this for a good college fling But for my education and that’s what I’m going to achieve
I like the poems of yesteryearThe poems of ‘twas, and yon, and ere,The poems whose ol’ archaic tongueWas in its prime, and lo, e’er young.Their tales were spun of days of yore
and all the cannibalistic bullets trapped n digging through the fox hole cant stop me from letting my silence speak to you cause when words hit you dont hear a sound.
He smiled with a frown whilst discipline is an empty bottle of sorrow we all drown even if we could reach and grab the hand of air it wouldnt matter because most would seem it to be dirty
Patches of Dryness  
It's Summer. And you are everywhere.   I see you
Marigold sunset An incredible red, rosy as your venomous lips. Parting to greet whatever sickness you allow, Inhale toxicity, exhale plasticity.
I honestly, Thought for you. No, Not of you. For You. I thought if I put myself, In your head That, It would be easier to get An answer. It was. It so was.
One thousand empty chairs stretch to stage   she meets my face and suddenly it's noon, i'm   staring in the mirror : a distorted reflection   two people two strangers  
I want to tell you a story about a girl. This girl was beautiful. She was skinny. She was everything you would want to be. But she wasn't happy. A frown was permanently etched on her face it seemed. This beautiful skinny girl once was happy.
I don't write for them The world is not my audience These lines are not gems Poetry is not a science
Like a drug store cassette I was blank, mummified
They’re breaking the orchid ribs,
We sit in silence puffing our breath into the frigid air,
Shouldn’t it be funny
Somewhere in this crawl space that we call a brain,
if i turned over all the pebbleS one by onE
You wake up today Ready to fade away.
We're space-candy mannequins, just suckers for human sin. Count to three, it's a jawbreaker world; only sweet until it's gone and you're left with that ache in the maw. I'm a space-candy mannequin,
I’ve seen society fall apart.
There’s something
I'm addicted to beauty, Addicted to destruction. I'm addicted to pieces and broken things Because I'm trying to find my "whole". I'm addicted to the sunrise, And to the moonrise,
Quiet, I sit and take in the world, spinning in drifts -- golden flecks of ash— a cloud of shimmering possibilities shade my reality.
My words here have so many harmonics Always shifting like the earths plate tectonics Hustling and bustling like the busy streets of New York The sound so thick it could be eaten with a fork
WHO’S FLAWLESS? Flawless because I’m contempt with the person I am / becoming. Flawless because I’m eighteen proud and gay. I am the problematic child.
My skin is the skin that God put me in on the day that was the day of the 17th in the month of November the year being the one-thousand nine-hundred nintey-seventh year Anno Domini....
What is a poet? is it someone that no it? a poet is said to write and read. with rhymes that scoundrel and grows, catchy but meaningful. Is that a poet? no my friends, it is not 
Because you must know, I love my work I love my work until I start to read it I start to read and I only frown I only frown for I fear it’s no good Fear it’s no good to other people
I write when I'm sad, I write when I mad, I write when the sun shines, or pouring cats and dogs outside. I write when I have something to say, or nothing at all.
You
I write on my wrists the lies that were told. I draw picture of  the love that was untold.  I imagined meanings  that never came true.  I wrote You.  I drew You. I imagined You.. 
I am aware that this is precisely the one poet that would not chase away the human who binds us to speak
            Free spirit is my trait I value the most.
you all are so self inclined like your strugles are any worse than mine. like you could be any greater than me, just because you wrote your feelings in lines?   Oh, how wonderful it must be,
After being continuously exposed to my Cool exterior, No one would ever guess of the Monsters Inside my innermost being. After looking into my bright eyes, No one would dare consider
I can rhyme words without a rhythmbut as soon as I try, I lose the feeling.So I’ve learned to let them flow,let ‘em rolloff my tongue - or in this case my pen -
I just want to make a name for myself, a passion to support myself. This shy soul has words never spoken before, In my mirror these words are constantly repeated, "You're so much more."
I said i'm going to rise to the top of the mountain....wait wait wait... I said I'm going to rise to the top of the mountain. Stand on this stage declaring my Name,say. Because I am a king, ayee.
THE REAL HER UNEDITED!!   Once a pon a time  From as far back as i could remember there was a girl  
If we knew then what we know nowThat there were worms in their teaThat woes and headaches awaited usAt the end of the road beyond the seasWe would have pleated our dreams at home.  
I hide unsatisfied behind, this shield of mine scared of the world, hoping one day to be that kid that finally comes from the her shadows, im just a girl running away from her fears, hoping that these fears won't turn into tears.
Someone once asked me, why I always write  
    You should have known better
transportation vacation out side of reality within a box that encases me sound proof aloof in the space that embraces me
This is not a poem  Because I am not a poet A poet is a blacksmith who can craft my soul into words A line into something I feel A poet dips their pen into the inky darkness of the night sky
you cannot go  anywhere without finding something that floods your veins   you cannot look at anyone without wondering if their family is dysfunctional
Maps the desert are broken in a bottle of paste.
I am not a poet.
J
There are not enough words in the languages of this world to tell you how much I Love You. I look for you in every face on the street in every second guess in the way my breath catches Every Time
  Easy Rebecca Sidoti 2014  
I hate you
The world ahead is not yet known unwritten futures, soundless time   The world ahead is out of focus fuzzy shapes, colors blurred   The world ahead is out of reach
What's the reason for all this madness All these pensive thoughts And there's no reason for this sadness I feel as if the world is turning in my thoughts and my brain is the axis
Human; my thoughts are lost in a void of too many voices My soul’s deepest cry is clouded by a child’s tantrum I am a mute in a world built upon thunderous noises As a human, I’m slowly dispelling into oblivion
The feeling at hand brings on trouble and issues that I cannot stand It changes my plans and unfortunately, I cannot fuflll its demands I cannot grasp or understand, but I am only aware of how I'm in a jam
Infants, toddlers, new-borns *Cutest wittle cheeks I’ve ever seen!* BABIES.   They were the last two of the sweetest and most ripe apples From the tree whose roots lay the foundation of mankind
Social Media     Facebook -   Making a page that will deliberately describe what I want to say.
I’m 15 and I dread waking up e
Growing up in DC aint so sweet as can be.
I had a dream, it had me feeling like a Ma
As I walk down the street I here the vibration of the feet The feet of the enemy The enemy that's killing me killing me constantly as the world reminds me of thee
Jealousy is the enemy That get into me That cause anger . Pain. And envy Makes you feel so empty to the world Trying to Live life in the world But stuck in an underworld Trapped by your heart
Everyday there's a crime in the body... The killer strikes on whoever it needs Never gives you a sign on the next person it feeds When hurt or failed or pressured it bleeds Bleeds the emotions that cause you to die
Only thought It would be a typical night going to the store Some candy and tea nothing less nothing more. Hoodie on. Innocent as ever. With racism as the weather.
Step step run . Someone's trying to pull the trigger of the gun. Trying to shot your happiness and joy. The gun of jealousness. The gun of hate The gun that trys to ruin your fate.. but if you turn around and try to ignore it
When the Earth was created and the humans were made. God created a thing called feelings. And as in every fairytale there's always an enemy . This enemy is called hurt He goes around prancing up and down killing joy as it was a passion of fate.
When the Earth was created and the humans were made. God created a thing called feelings. And as in every fairytale there's always an enemy . This enemy is called hurt He goes around prancing up and down killing joy as it was a passion of fate.
Pain is A choice Made by your spirit of mind It's a state of your heart that crush your spine Into a puzzle so confusing it takes some time Like a sunny day but it always rain It comes when you least expect it Find your weakness See if you have f
It ain't worth it if its too easy If she confess out her love then the meaning is measly Getting her attention physical and mentally As people we sometimes suffer the thorns of a rose just to enjoy an intimate emotion Some give there selves up li
Sometimes I wonder about this black mask wrapped around my skull like Hawthorne describes in the black veil I tried to hide my sin over the years but it reappeared like a dark spell Sick of the ignorance and regret of my life that I just don't fe
Wam, bam, this WORLD is oursThey told us we couldn't do but they were liarsTo express ourselves through jewelry and clothesTo finally be able to take a load off and be oneself
Don't move,
I don’t want to be anywhere, anywhere but here
For change to occur One must lose I's for We's Sucess will show up
Sometimes, letting go seems necessary, like I have no other choice but to let my fears and problems- swallow me whole.   Sometimes, I'd look in the mirror and study myself hard,
I can’ t paint with a brush  that well, But I know how to paint with a pen and an ink well. My words form pictures that pictures themselves couldn’t describe. Your photograph may be worth 1000 words.
You would think its 
When I look at their faces, Drenched in perfection, When I flip the pages, I look into their eyes, like they're masked in disguise, they look so ideal, This cannot be real,
I'm stuck in a place that is good for me, It sucks, its hell ,it's weak to me. Academics are great, and so is the school, But the people all here act like a fool. I go to a school that's a hidden gem
cold, crisp air the night sky, a  navy bluefabric specled with tiny dimonds streatching across the horizon your chest firm and warm on my chapped cheek chat presses against it
                               My Dream My Dream Is To Write .   But not just write.   I want to   W R I T E
High hopes, big dreams all to extol my King. He's radiant in exhilarating splendor. His majesty fills creation. I'm caught up when I hear Him whisper I love you.
you hear it all whether  its hurtful or not it seems like you cant handle it   so it comes back to haunt you  you continue to hurt never showing any emotion  hiding it all on the inside
You have me chained to your wall, mouth dry like desert sand  but all I can do I wish for the pleasure  you give by torture  the pressure of your thumbs  making indentations in the soft skin on my neck 
 Look into this mirrorAsk me what I seeThe answer could be really simple,I see me! Only the outside; just what everybody else sees
She was built of fantasy, Of words and lyrics and prose. She spent life dreaming  And never arose.   Her family told her She was taking too big a chance. If she jumped, she would fall,
Just because I’m seriousDoesn’t mean I don’t laugh,
You’re put into groups of those who are supposed To shut up and keep their heads down. You’re asked to “speak up” when spoken to And when you do without asking They tell you to “quiet down”
When he says you’re beautiful deny it. Do not be defiant and tell your mother that organized religion isn’t for you and you won’t be going to church anymore.
Evil Eyes darkened a mischievous faceOn the other end so heavenly in its placeLike your favorite ice cream flavor wasting away in the hot sunSo innocent and pure until life had really begun
  Sh! t you can’t say to your teacher!       Dearest teacher,   Can you please learn to put in your grades on time? I don’t care that you have a wife
First day of high-school and you are roaming the halls There is no one around, no one to call. You hear the popular girls laughing at you to your right  But you don't even care, they dont even bite. 
I am a poet.  Not an essayist.
My soul succumbs
With wings of ash darkness hides me Shadows glisten on my feathers Burroughs, dusk, and no where near dawn Creatures scrambling to find shelter fromthose that wait and watch for the next victim
It starts with a seed; manifested and festering in the dark cold arms
Dear Audience.. Hear me now.. In case I can’t speak tomorrow.. You see sorrow.. And follow as sharks inside of water.. When they see blood... Of some one claimed to be crippled... Their perfectly well... Perfectly fine... Well in mine.. Etc... For
Falling, flying, down Towards the ground I go wheeling, spinning, there I see far down below, Coming up fast, and splat.
I'll hold you through the night. For hours, in everyday, in every week. Til It gets cold, alright. No words would be right Just hands to back, to get you geeked I'll hold you through the night.
It's a dark corner subdued in my head Alwasy telling me to put myself to bed It's like a sky with many black holes Endlessly counting the many souls they stole A sense of direction lost within time
Your knoweldge of the world is high But is that a reason to undermind me? Just because I dont understand the material doesnt mean I cant see I know you have a Bachelor Degree Maybe even a Masters
I am… The rainbow is contained within dark brown wood and a million colors. Yet I am just one color.   Quiet, alone, yet surrounded by others.   I sit on that
Scarcely tall but never short, Brown and green or white topped black. These giants look as if alert, To the changes and echoes of the world.   Go hiking, camping or on a ride, The hills and birds will always be there. The animals sleep and rise ev
Will this gun violence ever stop? Will we have to wait till we've heard the trigger click of the last glock?
I'm no artist, dolled up and I'm not perfect, flawed is beautiful and I'm worth it. Shining so bright, to the world its blinding, on my accord it is real no binding
The music that sings within me doesn’t ring as loudly now I hold on to pieces as my heart falls to the ground But, time heals all wounds right? I thought that could be true… What do they do with people like me,
circle of two hands  and one hastier than the rest;  in whatever shape or form  it always conforms  back to midnight from noon  and it’s too soon  to determine the monsoons 
kicking dust as i move ahead, instead of getting down and dirty. i could, but i’m more of an insider as you can see these sounds; the synergy of cooperation and contemplation
The script extracted from our minds within the confines of a classroom that is not poetry the feelings artificial the meaning absent it is that of mindless amateur literature
If I were a poet, I'd probably write about love.   I'd probably write about first isses, and dates; sitting together at the park eating KFC and laughing at the world.  
  Why close an eye on a stormy day? Is it the fear that keeps you, or within are you shy of the matter? Ever flowing medicine that cleanses within. Words. All are taken, all are removed.
  What am I gonna do when you’re gone? Because you couldn’t let anybody in to hear the cries of your sad song. So tell me what am I gonna do when you’re gone?
Affixed on the sight of my final destinationMy eyes do not wander to the path beneath my feet.Though time has seemed to stopI travel silently onward,Forever aware of the coarse sand wearing away
Upon the autumn's lighted day, Perched upon my view, I say, Singing songing was he then, Ringing autumn's leaves away.   Standing sturdy on the tree, The tree, to me, still sound asleep,
if you could ask a question, anything on your mind, what exactly would you ask if you were given time?   Say you met a tall man, who said he was a poet. "Do you have a question?" He would ask.
 
There she is, a girl all alone Others let out, an annoyed moan She sits, her head down, in a book Other play angry birds on a nook She opens a notebook, takes out a pen
What is it that gives a word power Is it the tone of your voice, the way you emphasize, and prophesize Or does it come from your soul, pouring out every second, every hour
The beat and lyrics that I always hear Makes the poet inside me wanna appear Incomparable beauty like the Santa Monica pier Addictive like when my dead cousin swallowed the beer
  every exasperated sigh is a painful reminder of how unhappy you are here. I cringe when I hear you You are like a machine on its last run, ready to give in at any given moment
The release of words Oh such a powerful thing To express such joy or to ease the sting Of the lives we have lived Or the of the lives that have gone on to pass
Poems are different worlds of rhyme, Of freestyle, meter and syncopated time. They provide a method of escape - of retreat, For poems allow simple words to make an entire universe complete.  
Music Clashing sounds Rhythmic beats All ensuing me Revolving around my aurora Till it finally enters my body, euphoria Causing my internal energies to move, enigma;
I am me, untamed; am I untranslatable? No, not yet;anyone who has come to go or has yet to, why then question our differences too,then leave it be or take it otherwise!
You Walk Around With A Gun In Your Hand So You Assume That Makes You Tha MAN? You Disrespecting Your Mother So I Know You Respect No Other But It's Respect That You Demand Because You're "THE MAN"
She was an astronaut and he was a poet. He's known of her since elementary school.He's known her since before he knew of the words he should've used to describe the way she jumped off the jungle gym like Armstrong stepping on the moon for the firs
What I feel, must not be spoken.To assume it tacit, however, would be negligent.If not articulated.Perhaps authored.Drafted.Yes. It seems this outlet will suffice.
I’m always confined By others who live merrily outside my cage I’m alone and in this constant bind Nothing, but me, myself, I and a page It’s as blank as my future with nothing to find
Unknown to many words are words with power with ink with pixels.   A single atom makes our words an interest a connection a meaning.   I write for the art
They say it's the gun that we should fear. But listen to this. This gun that I hold, listen to it, it cannot walk, talk, or feel. This gun cannot be held responsible for actions of a hurt heart.
Why
Why do I write?Is it because the wordsstop at the tip of my tongue?Is it because when I try to speak,nothing but a croak emerges?
Why do I write?I have found that, even though seeing is believingLooks can be oh-so deceiving. For me, the will to believe comes from the power of sound
Words are windows From the past to the present, From the present to the future. They separate Those of yesterday from those of today, Those of today from those of tomorrow,
I’m depressed which is probably normal for a teenager suppressed from any social life because I balance eight classes, seven school activities, eating, sleep, procrastination  and more sleep.
When stress bothers where I lay, a poem becomes the sweet lullaby that keeps it away. When I am feeling something that is hard to express, a poem helps me do my best. When ideas are hard to put on paper,
I was always fascinated by the universe of New York and all the stars that hailed from its solar system but Brooklyn was a bitter taste that was hard to swallow.
A picture is worth a thousand words but a poem is priceless. Often mistaken, misconstrued, interpreted completely different from the intended, a poem is but its creator dispersing their innermost thoughts merely to descend.
Stay silent Sit straight Perfect hair Perfect teeth Perfect body Perfect house\perfect friends ` Perfect parents Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!
I never thought I was that girl The girl perpetually attached to her steno pad with a backpack full of ink pens and dreams But once the words started flowing Relief came over me
I told him I hope to be a poet.
I'm falling apart, i wonder if i'm the only one. Is it possible to feel down at such a lovely time. Isn't this time where everything blooms. I can't figure it out i feel like i'm drowning in an empty pool. Happiness is nothing but an illusion.
(poems go here) This morning the rose settled on a dead pine, distinguished with the color of smoke. Remember the red fire.
Roses are red, Violets are blue You are my bestfriend, and I love you!
If anything is free in love and war then you and I will always soar to the sky and then beyond together forever and even more who knows how long this bloom will last but to know means that it went to fast
Missing you is me Loving you is free being true is easy but not completely today is a given and tomorrow is never known so be happy and let yourself be shown
My love is for you to the one who does not see do you love me too
You pay women to dance, while your love is at home. Two Viking babies asking when daddy is coming home. How familiar is my name, For daddy’s the one to blame... Your ice cold look is really just a new flame.
Look at all these presidents, They're all the same kind of gentlemen. Wearing their suits and ties. I wonder where are their wives. Sitting at home? Perhaps, I don't know Because they can't tag along.
Equal people, same in hand and face, but outcast quickly when not the chosen race. Die for beliefs that should self explain, that treatment you beg for, hope to gain. Scream and battle with tooth and fist,
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