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America, you drive your women mad in their fight or flight for perfection, have them cut themselves open,
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And before that, in the shower or laying in bed,
the hard lump under her fingers ringed with self-denial
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human love is not perfect
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I could be Anywhere; Anywhere; not Nowhere;
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Told that I am brave,
I traverse the parking lot like a warrior.
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I want to be gigantic but
as insubstantial as light
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mad, happy mad, awkward and beautiful,
stomping her feet like a gypsy
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I wrote a letter to your mother
with no return address.
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I dreamed that there were small fingers in my mouth. They were counting down the days,
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I am tired of small loves.
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He says his skin's not yellow so he can't be dying quite yet.
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It is the moments when I declare I should write poetry about this
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She is crying for the time we locked ourselves out of the house
and I had to run down the street in my stockings;
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Halloween this year I am without a costume.
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This is the sound of
of things falling apart--
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I have sat on bridges and thought of jumping into the ocean,
swept out and polished like sea glass.
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An adventure in the lyrics of contempory Tin Man
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"baby, I'm only into you because of that pretty mouth",
your fingers traveling up the inside of my thigh.
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If you are not the devil, you are at least mine.
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Solving riddles in the computer room with my dad, he makes his answers fit.
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Two o'clock feels like a dream, nightmare, the time between times.
I stood on the playground swings that squeal so loud.
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I'm tired of telling him that I'm not a hipster intellectual,
that the square root of negative one hundred forty-four is 12i and, oh,
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Deep below these heavy sounds. I'm rose above these deepen thoughts.
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Peeking around the corner down the hall, you see the fog building
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Maybe the skies can't hold tears back
That's why they fall
by ArchCarXxx
42 lines, 2 comments,
2 days ago. In thoughts, life, nature, contemporary, society, life your life, rain, storm, love, more, other
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On sunny sunday a mobile
lies by my side in sleep;
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Time has ridden you now
raw valleys
and look at you!
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A. If Mrs. Parton married an artist named Salvadore,
she would be Dolly Dali.
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Life's just a joke that God like's to tell
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Everything's a lie Everybody dies
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THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD
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by BlindMindScene
19 lines, 1 comment,
2 days ago. In Abuse, Adult, Angst, Contemporary, Contest, Dark, Erotica, Fantasy, Hope, Humor, Life
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today is a blessing
of pink hats and
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Prose is not my rhyme
nor fancy lines
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measure of man
held in awkward brambles
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My name is out of focus Life twirls around me dancing in delight
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Me, wondering how
by babiigurl1995
20 lines, 1 comment,
2 days ago. In Love, Life, Pain, Thoughts, Contemporary, Personal, Other, Teen issues, Self
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Relationships suck that i just hide and
by babiigurl1995
16 lines,
2 days ago. In Pain, Sad, Personal, Thoughts, Humor, Life, Other, Contemporary, My life, Romance
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The morning fog, Billowing beyond
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With ancient latin text taken from Medieval vesper chants
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