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Brian McDonagh May 2018
Whenever I am content
Or am feeling content,
There’s always an air ready
To brush away or undo my content,
Just as a wrapper of gifts
Witnesses her efforts to conceal shredded
By the recipient.
For the record, I am not intending to be sexist and say that
only females wrap gifts; I just feel like often, in similes and metaphors,
the pronoun "his" is too much of a default, and I wanted to mix up the usage of identification pronouns somewhat.  Also, as far as the poem goes, I run into this type of case A LOT in life lol.
I'm not who I'm supposed to be
But I will be
Eventually
Carlyy Oct 2017
There’ll never be a day,
You look through my windows,
As I’ll never see through yours.
But I do love surprises.


                                             «c.h.b.»
And that’s me being a pessimist in love
jay Jun 2017
i cant help but think
that right now,
somewhere in the world,
someone is listening to the same
song i am listening to,
someone is also reading the same
book i am reading,
someone is feeling the same
sadness that i am feeling.
but i like to think that i am the only
person who feels this way right now.
it's strange,
how big this universe is
but you were the only person who made it
feel as small as a classroom
when you looked at me for the first time
and thought that i was pretty.
it's terrifying,
how salt looks like sugar
or how satellites look like shooting stars.
these lies are so natural
but i never really understood the art of hurting people
so i created a lie that seemed so natural
so that i can leave you
with dreams and wishes we made together
for someone who never really understood me.
it's heartbreaking,
how in love i am with you
even though you are no longer mine
and will never be mine again.
and i cant stop thinking and talking
about you
even though we are miles apart.
i dont even know where you are.
i cant help but think where you are
and if you're happy.
but the thought of you being happy
is enough for me to live another day,
less sad than yesterday.
my love,
i hope you are happy.
and he is.
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
This state of limbo is the calmest and scariest place to be.
Where all of these decisions seem to matter long before they've been made.
And here I am just staring down the possibilities...

I can stop you know.
I have self control and that is something I can be sure of.
But even now, what are we supposed to do?

I'll start with saying this:

I'm not going anywhere.
I am not a guarantee for what you might want, but I won't leave.
I can't.

So here's what I propose:

Stop. Think. Act.

And sure, that's brutal honesty, and it's not easy.
But you've got an iron will do you not?

For now...
Just watch some TV with me.

Please?
Whatever happens, I'll be sure to be here. You know that.
It's Christmas eve but my soul doesn't know it
When I was young I had the spirit
And now Christmas doesn't mean ****
It’s strange.
I want to write elegant poetry
That rhymes
With metaphors
And all the fancy poetic devices

But whenever I start a poem
That I planned on writing
More eloquently
And fancy

It always comes out
Random
Without form
Or anything special

Sometimes I’ll get lucky
And have a few good lines

I used to be annoyed by that
But now
I don’t care
I just want to write my poetry
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