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 Jul 2017
Maria Monte
When graphite meets the silky threads of paper
Or when ink drips upon the golden sheet
A beautiful artist is born.

There are many kinds of artists in this world
Although today I shall speak of only one..
A neglected kind that does not wish to
Gain fame or to capture the spotlight
But rather to share to listening ears.

There be people
Who see the world through the eyes of a painter
But are capable of stealing the elegance
Of a dancer, a fighter, royal blood, and much more
And condensing what they feel and see
Into a narcotic thread of words.

There be people
With broken and shining hearts alike
That run on wheels of ideas and epiphanies
And feed on overstuffed buffets of salty tears and sugary kindness.

Idealists and realists,
The poor and the rich,
The hungry and the fed,
The broken and the salvaged,
The logical and the emotional,
This beautiful art is not limited to anyone.
It is the echoing voice of the heart
It is the pleading cries of the soul
And the smile of our childhood innocence.

This art we call "poetry"
It is the life itself whispering ideas into ears.
And if that isn't beautiful.. I don't know what is.
 Jun 2017
rose
Can i go back in time
And live again?
This time with my eyes open
:)
 Jun 2017
Jeffrey
If not but for the illusion that we are alone, this would all be so easy.
 Jun 2017
Aditi
Don't tell a rose how to grow,
And The birds how to chirp.
Don't tell your daughter to be soft,
Don't tell your son how to hurt.

Don't tell the sky what color to bleed,
And a person, the right way to grieve.
Don't try to tame your daughter's tongue,
Don't tell your son the manly ways to love.

Don't tell the wind which way to blow
Or the clouds how hard to rain.  
Don't teach your daughter how to soak,
Don't show your son how to easily reject.

Don't tell the sun to adjust its light
Or the truth how to show itself.
Don't tell your daughter it's feminine to shy,
Don't teach your son how to reign with fists held high.


Don't tell a heart how to beat
Or the mind how not to soar.
Don't clip off your daughter's  wings,
To make them a foundation for your son to grow.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
Lest it decides to turn its petal into thorns.
Don't tell the birds how to chirp
And have their voices turn into rebellious growls.
Finally, one of my many poems was chosen as a daily.
Just been a 5 years.

I still can't believe it.

Also, thank you for all your reviews and love. I still don't think I'm a poet, I just usually ramble. But I'm so glad you guys gave this poem such love.
Means a lot.

Again, thank you very very much.
 Jun 2017
Isaac Middleton
your desire since you were a child was to be a singer,
The world gave you cigarettes.
You also wanted to be an astronaut,
The world gave you gravity,

Eventually you grew content enough to lay down on the grass, smoke your mind away, and stare at the stars.
It's never too late to quit.
 Jun 2017
Maria Horvack
They say we live like pigs.
Weaker, and more dangerous though
A risk to our own young.
I am rotting with the stench of
The stimga today.
The TV tells, how others see me
Sitcom fortune tellers
Predicting my behavior
If I ever attempted to achieve life again
More than movies online and microwave meals
Is this me? Living up to my label.
Or is the label now the only one that fits me.
Bipolar.
Crazy.
Lunitic
I am haunted by history and am just trying to be human
And survive
 Jun 2017
TreadingWater
See○ing○you
with someone {new}
it's a punc_ ture wound;
it's a ra/zor/blade/tooth/
& i ₩anna be €ool
but there's. no.           room.
'cause this heart's #shreds
it's>all >consumed
¿What¿ is it about me
that isn't eno[ugh]
youheldMyHand
》》》i never asked》for》 it
It's as if you - LiVE - to -  ****. me. in.
late night whiskey/morning gin
i make¡ you¡ come¡
you~make~me~shake
meltIntoone
Oh,...;But,...Wa,........itTt­ttt/tttt,...
When #daylight _ shows
none. of. it. matters.
it's like; the dawn makes
your memory ****>>>ter
& I ******* know (how it) always ends
Yet; here. I.  am.
back\       .again.
silly rhyme time
 Jun 2017
David Cunha
I am electron
You are positron
I am moon
You are sun
Me, winter
You, summer

Yet continuosly turning in a dynamo twist
Burning, cooling, forgetting our places and time

We forgot, totally forgot.
This is the rule of the Universe:
The opposites are destined
To make the world go round
And shake it
Tremble it
In a bursting ball of passionate fire!
 Jun 2017
A Thomas Hawkins
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
 Jun 2017
Hannah Gold
Quit picking at your old wounds! Stop going for walks in aches and pains you already made it through. You call it healing... yet it sounds like a good way to take the haunted with you.

    Loneliness is a no vacancy sign for an empty room on the backside of your chest. There will never be enough people to love that emptiness out of you. Love won't save you!
Only you will save you! Remember no matter how much you think you need a voice at the other end of the line...

     It's a felony to call 911 just because you need someone to talk to.
You can't shrink into radio static and heavily breathe on the other end of your phone. Your aching doesn't end in an ambulance! Now breathe... yes you may have heard this once or twice. But BREATHE!

    I know you got ribs like on the wrongside of a fist fight. That's from hyperventilating. Your lungs just survived a car crash from the inside of your body. Be gentle... please! Find the pocket of your heartbeat where you keep forgiveness. We will try again tomorrow!

    I know you got a bone to pick with tomorrow... but too late it's coming. Listen in a few hours your withered world will turn herself right side up again and you'll forget all about tonight. The night she left you to drown in her song of blues!

    Your will make sense again. You think you've seen every ugly corner that our erupting Earth offers. Yet there are an infinite number of things we don't know and... statistically speaking half of the unknown is beautiful!
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