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leolewin Aug 4
My word doesn’t matter.
The problem is, I’m nobody.
I just watch this **** from the sidelines.
I don’t matter so neither do my words.
I sit back on a beach chair with my feet in the sand.
A lit cigarette,
and jerrycan full of gas.
Sunglasses on, watching it all go down.
gotta love 2025….
uv Apr 2022
If a pen could relay all my thoughts
All those tiny speckles and threads that get often lost
My eye would like to describe the tinest details
And my hand would want to draw all its artistic tales

If my heart could realy what it thinks
All those flutters, its strongest strings
My beats would tell those feelings,to share
And my touch would make the world watch and stare.
Sourodeep Dec 2020
I have grown to be unknown
invisible like the dew
hiding behind buildings
and gliding through passages.
My charm is as un-noticed
as the workshop apprentice,
my words unheard, voice absurd
to the premeditated busy man
briskly moving through the crowd.
I myself collate my actions,
but for anyone to give a deeper glance
well I just leave that upto chance.
phoenix Dec 2019
do the words I write effect anyone?
is my staring at my screen worth it?
would it matter if I was gone?
would I be intellectually unfit?

do you feel my words are relatable?
is my effort nothing?
is my content debatable?
do you think I'm fussing?

am I annoying?
or am I wrong?
am I writing poems enjoying?
is my complaint tedious and long?

do my words ever become your song?
was I wrong all along?
is this where I belong?
because the people here make me strong.
Monisha Jul 2019
Moments of life,
Moments to explore,
Moments when I go crazy,
Moments when I need more.

Moments that are mine,
Moments that I do not own,
Moments that are heightened,
Through thoughts and no thoughts alone.

Moments penning poetry,
Moments by the sea,
Moments smelling  flowers,
And the thorns pricking me.

Exquisite Joy
and Exquisite pain,
Moments with another,
feeling his grasp on my mane.

Moments where my thoughts are in knots,
Moments of release where I see just stars and dots.

And then sweet oblivion,
And floating gently above the  tree,
Moments where I open my body and soul,
And am bound and totally free!
Right now I am happy...

I feel comfortable and I feel safe.

I feel grateful for my existence and I'm enjoying my life.

I feel a warmth envelop me a hundred times a day.

Reminding me I am alive and content and free.

Right now I am happy...

I am happy to be me.

I know I'm going the right way even though I'm not certain which way that may be.

I know this from my feelings deep down inside.

I've learned to understand me, for so long I have tried.

Right now I am happy...

It's been a journey and I've survived.

I learned the hard way, to be calm and still my pride.

I want others to learn sooner, that way they can enjoy life.

Because right now I'm happy, happy to be alive.
Moumita Mitra May 2018
If you are a tree
I would love to be your Parchayi.
If you are a rock
I would love to be your standby.
If you are a rocket
I would love to be the satellite.
If you are a sea
I would love to be the saltiness.
If you are you
I would love to be your Beloved Wife.
#IfYouAndI #poem #mythoughts
#lovepoem #love
Please note, Parchayi means Shadow.
Ashton Ard Mar 2018
Poetry for me, is a way to express my emotions, even without using big words like melancholy, or ecstatic. I prefer a simple, laid back approach to my situations, making it a more mindful, and understanding experience. I do use imagery, and symbols, but in a way a reader can understand, such as my current poems “Help me” and “Grey”. Help me is about my struggles with gender identity and sexuality, using the prison walls as a box i had put myself in, not letting myself express who I really am. In Grey, the eyes, the tears, and the clouds dancing is me letting go of my past mistakes, and indulging into unhealthy coping mechanisms. “The clouds swirling into some kind of scary dance” Is when I decided to try my first cigarette, the smoke swirling into the air like it’s dancing. The eyes are grey, mimicking a rain cloud, my eyes going from dark brown to dark grey. The tears are self explanatory, because in the poem I state “Mimicking rain”. I had written stories, and attempted poetry all my life, and writing is a simple way I express myself. Even if it’s a suicide note, to a story, It helps me feel better in the end. Just because I don’t wish to use fancy words in my poems does not mean I don’t know how to fit them in. I’ve studied and loved poetry all my life, and listened to songs that were originally poems. My poems have parts in which they rhyme, and don’t rhyme. It’s a way I help show my emotion, the non rhyming parts showing my aggression towards something. Poetry can have two different types of writing styles in it, and doesn’t just have to be rhyming, or non rhyming. As long as it has a rhythm, and conveys the ideas of what you’re trying to say, It’s fine. -Ashton
Francis Rowell Aug 2017
“And to his surprise, there were butterflies coming out of his mouth.”

--- --- --- ---

Quite literally, nothing is literal. Everything is a grain of salt in itself, and therefore no matter what we do or say or read or hear or exist, we all die of sodium poisoning. Is that a possible thing to do? Can we live, breathe, exist even if we ourselves are but a single grain of salt to be taken with other infinite grains of salt? Can a grain of salt itself die in general, let alone die of sodium poisoning?

Ah, sand, then? No, that can’t be any better. What about sugar? Absolutely not. What is everything, then, if not a grain of salt to be taken with another grain of salt, and another, and another?

An extended metaphor, maybe. How many grains of salt does it even take to create an extended metaphor, though? How does one measure such a strange volume? Would the measurements even be cubic? Volume? Area? What does an extended metaphor look like? A paragraph, I suppose, so that would be area. But how big would this paragraph be? Average? How big is the average paragraph, and how would anyone ever count the endless amount of paragraphs being written everywhere and everywhen? Further research is required.

I find myself wishing much more than I ever have, or ever should, that there existed any kind of salt-to-paragraphs conversion chart.
If I could, I would. But I can't, and never will. "Que sera sera," Said I, with my head hanging and my eyes holding back a storm. "Que sera sera."
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