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 Apr 2014 Alyssa
Jess Smith
So Sad
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
Jess Smith
I'm sick of this.
The constant numb,
the want to devour every blazing sunrise just to feel.
The need to claw my way from my marrow
and escape this old cage of bones.
The rotting happiness and cracked heartstrings.
I'm sick of myself.
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
Danielle Barlow
Secrets are meant to be kept to oneself,
not whispered to the entire world.
To be breathed into bottles and placed on the shelf,
not to be seen and unfurled.

Secrets are meant to be cherished,
and to bond the ones who share them.
They should be kept until your perish,
and not be used to condemn.
What do you guys think? Secrets are meant to be kept. Are they not?
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
The Noose
Head sunk into the soft pillow
Envisioning dreams
That have gathered dust
In the hour notorious
For generating excessive thoughts

Mindlessly listening to the howling
Of early winter's bitter winds
The menacing cold
Piercing my skin
Quick to shiver
These bones have always been
Intolerant of the harsh elements

As though in slow motion
The hours stagger on
Surely this insomnolence
Has made it's point.
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
Tom McCone
wake up on the other
side of noon, bottle of
whiskey within grasp.
start sluggin'. who needs
today. water runs in
slow patterns through
arteries, woodwork,
some stranger's teeth.
rain runs inside of
me, coalescing, cold,
pure. washing away
the troubles of yesterday
in exchange for this
new sky. it still
looks the same. in
exchange for this day's
melancholia: it will
persist and hang,
a fog to stumble on
below. a tired footstep,
to spurn dreams where
there's something else
here. to hide from
the nothingness that
falls in fat drops from
potential.
but i'm not asking anything
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
J
Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.
^^^let us live through our poetry
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
r
Water and Flame
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
r
As water is to cleansing rain
and heat as to burning flame,
so are you to me; the same.
My fiery rain.

Fill the gutter of my mind.
Fire the coal your heart has mined.
Burn me to the end of time.
Your fire does reign.

r ~ 4/1/14
.Filling my life with emptiness
...I used to be productive
But now productivity
Is like a jar of chutney
sitting in the cupboard
for years.

All I want to do,
is just sit in my room
and observe
observe it
shrouding my room
see the dust floating in the air
Like a cold, moldy coffin
And find a hole to jump  inside
and hide
my mind
colours
colours
colours
col ours
call ours
call hours
c all hours
see all hours
see the things I could not find in a minute
See a purpose in small things takes hours
I don't need a purpose.
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
Traveler
Blessed are the eyes of the poets
who see a deeper truth.
 Apr 2014 Alyssa
raw with love
you're not your hair:
you can cut it dye it curl it straighten it shave it bend it twist it;

you're not your face:
you can hide it under layers of make-up you can put on lenses you can change your face in a matter of minutes;

you're not your skin:
you can cut it draw on it bite it tear it;

you're not your body:
you can lose weight gain weight;

you're not your clothes:
strip them off;

never reduce
yourself
to
a colour
a number
an adjective
a noun

never reduce
yourself
to a simple
word

you are
the thoughts you have at 3 a.m.
the lame jokes you tell your friends
the art you create
the books you read
the pages you have dog-eared
the quotes you have highlighted
the coffee you never finished drinking
the movie you watch after midnight, wrapped in a blanket
the chocolate cake you ate that night with that girl
the slice of pizza you could've eaten but you gave to your best friend
the kiss that still burns on your lips
the cigarettes that sting in your lungs long after you smoked them
the dreams you dream
the worlds you build in your mind
the song that's stuck in your head
the moments you're in the shower
the iloveyous
the ikindaguessilikeyous
the icareforyous
the seeyoulaters
the words you say
the smiles you smile
the laughs you laugh
the loves you love
the hates you hate

you are
an entire universe:
you're stars
and planets
and galaxies
and asteroids
and comets

you are a cosmos
trapped in
a shell.

you are
a gazillion worlds
locked in
a human cage.

never think
of yourself
as of
anything
less.
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