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 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
Anthony Pierre
Boo,
        I don't write love letters
like you do

My words get blacklisted

'cause with love,
       things can get twisted, quickly

You see:
the sweet hips      
                   drips
            with kisses ...  can easily be
                            
the creep's lips
                      trips
             with hisses

Don't misconstrue, Boo
I see you
      like you see me
            and, I agree
our minds are connected
  
                   But
                             our
telepathy
           can certainly be
                                the lepathy

to confuse you
          and
        contuse you too

You don't see the pain I see
                I see the pane you don't see

It obscures my view
     I'm one of the pragmatic few
          I'm being true to you, Boo

These love letters must end
           In its place I'll just send

"Deeds" things we can both do
                          and claim ownership to

They can't be misunderstood at all
   The same ones used at a concert hall

If it's great ... then I'll just applaud
If it's bad ... then I'll just ...

                        Boo, I'm through
Lighten up my friends. It is all good with Poetry
 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
Saumya
There's more to life than joy and happiness.
There's also sadness, pain, loneliness, hatred and despair that our tangled up into a mess like a cotton candy
 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
Anthony Pierre
When the sunlight fades
She creeps out in the darkness
Stellar in her ways
 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
Anthony Pierre
Slave of briers courts
regal, purple, velvet robe
Picture perfect rose
The Black Prince is a beautiful rose
 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
winter
Untitled
 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
winter
Smooth and undefined
My pen is unguided
My papers scratched apart
I fear the tear in the white
but I ruin it still
 Sep 2020 Àŧùl
bahulakaji
Dear You,
Ever since you left me
for a better world.
People come to me to make love
but for money not for love.
 Aug 2020 Àŧùl
N
When I Leave
 Aug 2020 Àŧùl
N
Would my grave be
deeper than my wounds?

Would the warmth of the morning sun
still reach my rotten body?

Would Icarus, my bird, fly to the sun looking for me
Is my selfish death going to cost him his wings, too?

Would the worms weep when
they ******* tormented flesh?
 Aug 2020 Àŧùl
SophiaAtlas
Welcome to our generation
Where kids pretend to smile
They pretend to be happy,
When in reality,
They're broken,
Beat,
Hurt,
Tired,
And they just want to die

Welcome to our generation
Where kids self harm,
Starve themselves,
And make themselves throw up
The generation that tries to die

This is our generation
The generation that wants to hide
The generation that wants to die
 Aug 2020 Àŧùl
Ashly Kocher
Ocean waves in your eyes
Crying begins at high tide
Tears are crashing
Emotions high
In your crystal
Ocean eyes
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