Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 2016
DaSH the Hopeful
As talent drained from every inch of my mind
I found reading other's work only made me jealous
                   I started to feel unpopular
          Not enough ideas left to create anything at all. Not a single drop of inspiration.

      As all of theses emotions and realizations mixed together

I became okay with copying your work.

       I can imagine you slaving in the dark
Racking your brain to find the perfect words to finish the last line


       Lucky for me I have it all right here, completed and ready to post
     Finished and polished and prepackaged with a message I didn't think of but everyone will commend me for.




    *I hope you enjoy it.
Not actually plagiarized. Just tired of seeing others plagiarize on here.
050516

I am nobody
For my existence doesn't matter,
Does it?

I am a rebel
I chose to neglect Your thoughts
But I was never in a cellar.

I am a sinner, aint a saint
Red, the color of my soul
Red, the color of resurrection.

I am unashamed
I used to hide in dark curtains
Twirling every tip,
Losing sight towards the Light.

My name, I forget
For now, **I am Sorry.
 May 2016
Thomas P Owens Sr
well, he didn't really get loose
I forgot to put him back with Spike after his 30 minutes of freedom
3 hours later, after looking under every chair and couch,
checking every room, every closet
inside every box of crap I keep in the basement
I got to wondering if he climbed into the basket of ***** clothes
and is now belly up in the rinse cycle
luckily that wasn't the case
after an exhaustive search,
I was convinced he was under or behind the refrigerator
but I was too tired to move it
so I decided to wait until tomorrow
as I was about to climb into my luxurious air mattress
something caught my eye in the corner
Zilla was poking his head out from under the speaker
of my mp3 player
stared at me as if to say;
'you lookin' for me?'
I knew he was hungry...he didn't think about that
when he went awol
so I put him back in his glass house where Spike gave him a
'welcome home'
slap in the face with his tongue
and I fed him a nice juicy superworm

no fur on the clothes or furniture
no barking at the neighbors
no smelly litter boxes or yard mines
no yearly shots, expensive food, flea and tic oil
sweaters, burial plots, surgeries, walks in the park...MUST I GO ON?!
Geckos...the perfect pet!
 May 2016
Leigh Marie
I know I really should not miss you
Besides, what is there to miss?
Well there was that night we sat
squeezed onto the cold granite bench
Too close for comfort, almost touching and
awkwardly keeping a thin veneer between us
Dragging on the conversation just to
share molecules with you-
atoms colliding one more time
You, telling me that you loved me, past tense and
needed me to be your friend, present tense
Me, never receiving any apology
You, telling me that you know I was heartbroken,
as if I am some crushed daisy you trampled on your way out-
a forgotten flower
You opening your lips only to hers
You, telling me about how hard the break up was with
the girl after me
You, telling my mom that your friend died
Me, not caring, anymore
Yet before the destructive summer nights there
was a time when
we did not use our words as weapons instead
there were nights characterized by
You, picking me up at the station
You, holding my hand
early morning confessions
You, crying into my shoulders while
leaning into the realization
that the day we will be 900 miles apart
is coming toward us at a marathon pace
You, looking at me
as if you have never seen another girl before
Me, loving for the first time
Me, laying my head in your lap,
sleeping to the sound of the TV,
You, retelling what movie I missed while
I was dreaming of our future,
Spring afternoons,
Sitting with your grandmother and
hearing all about her mailman or
Drinking a coffee in the rain while
talking to your mother about college
laughing with your brother until you came home
listening to your cousin try to sell steak knives
knowing all your dreams and
that midnight in the grass under the stars
when I was
wiping your tears while
you admit that do not believe in God
or even just
greeting your dog
meeting your dad
saying goodbye knowing
I would say hello in the morning
I miss it all
the passion, the hurt, the love
Melancholy tears
your earth ocean eyes that started the fire within me
 May 2016
Paul Gilhooley
My creative style would always rhyme,
From bold to cold, time after time,
In poetic verse, there is no crime,
In which each stanza forms this rhyme,
It forms a narrative, that's clearly mine,
Do I like order, is this the sign?
For regularity my heart doth pine?
My poems form 'round rhythmic twine,
I'd better stop, I've reached line nine.

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
Simple silly verse.
Here we are again
in the deep of days dying
the sky in tiers of greys
charcoal shades creep in and change the mood
as rain proceeds its rhythmic fall on house and park
and knocks at doors and patters on all cars

wet the way
its weathered edges gurgle like a stream
sun heated surfaces begin to steam
all moisture celebrates existence in the hour
while most they run for shelter
I stand in my free shower

Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th April 2016
 May 2016
Tom Blake
Is straightforward
Anything
Abstruse
Enigmatic
Esoteric
Is
Suspect!
 May 2016
Mrs Ashley Somebody
I come here when I'm lonely, tired, and bored.
The library's friendlier than most of the world.
There's books, coffee, couches: blue and red.
I love it more than anywhere except for my bed.
 May 2016
Just Me R
I felt cold after you left
.
.
.
.
.
.
So I put another blanket on and slept
 Apr 2016
The Revolutionist
If you add pop and cherry
you'll see that the two items combine to make a very delicious soft drink...

not the other "pop and cherry" you devious perverts....
043016

He was a psychopath,
But not like the lead of Sherlock Holmes.
Maybe a scientist,
But his name was not because of Einstein himself.
Maybe a doctor,
Not like Dr. Seuss who's a nature lover.
Apparently, he's Professor X
But he never was laid in his techy wheel chair.

I saw Moriarty
But he's like an agent, sort of a policeman.
He died in a brutal story.
How I wish he was a man as Moriarty himself.

And Mary, she was arrogant
Without a white aura of being a nurse.
She's not a patient at all,
Maybe it's her attitude though.

Harry's hair I don't like.
Sorry, not Harry Styles, I mean;
Remember Hermione and Ron's friend?
Yeah, that Potter sequels I once read all day long.
His a wet-look chap and a hunchback.
And Frankenstein himself tore his life into new,
He fell in love with his co-actor in the circus.
But I see no chemistry in them,
Heights were not good at all.

I wore no veil of movies leaked
But some were simply **bedtime story.
 Apr 2016
Joel Frye
You ever wonder
why (with so many poems)
why we keep writing?
Next page