Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by everstrange, Jun 10, 2013.

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  1. I've been kinda wondering how people would respond to my poetry & I welcome any and all advice.

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    I love the cold and the brisk
    the quiet filled with voices
    floating around minds.

    I love the fluffy twinkies
    and the big bowls of pudding,
    scraping of the silverware.

    I love the thought of rain
    snuggled up by the fire,
    paper-cuts slicing into my fingers.

    I love the strangeness of it all--
    the weird moments of inspirations
    filtering into my vision.

    but I love all these things
    on sad days

    when i'm loneliest.

    <|- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -<-<-<

    I remember when I lost my mind

    Blank page, blank stares.
    I decided to decorate the walls
    with the paint of your bed sheets,
    a safe haven among godless trinkets.
    Handprint by handprint
    I won your glazed over eyes
    heard you moan the sound of color
    and utter of the sight of music
    to and from the veins
    flowing through the house.
    I followed the trail of grit to
    your hands slackened in immobilization.
    I moved when you could not
    I sung the harmonies when you could
    just to find lifeless persons occupying
    the inches of your twitching, trembling.
    I gazed under the flickering lights
    upon empty spaces filled with bones,
    black hole suns.
    Prick by prick
    I lost bits of my torso and limbs,
    almost a loss of self in the chime
    of a hasty bell-tower crumbling down.
    I saw the exhaled breaths of exasperation
    the fury of fists, the terror of the walls
    the ground, the objects you beheld.
    You were not yourself as I never was.
    They took you away
    beyond the peeling, exposed frames;
    I did not cry, but I did mourn
    not for you, not for me but
    for the forgiveness of our realities.

    It is too perfect, too clean here.
    The people show their teeth
    as if they mean to show something
    other than your twisted laughter raging.
    Their teeth become jagged in my dreams
    while their neat seams sow me together
    into their little melancholic tower princess.
    Rooms of useless frills and desires
    where every hair of mine gleams in precision
    reflecting the color of far-fetched gold,
    not of weighed-down, violated hay.
    I crawled into the corner of all corners
    laid my head down to close my worn lids.
    It’s blank here, not white, not of color
    Just blank.
    A mind of no minds.
    The place of the mighty kings.
    My mighty kings

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    The day is clichéd: beautiful, sunny, and
    wonderful. But what importance does that hold
    to me? What should I seek to find in the reflection of the
    blacktop? That’s all I see. The blacktop and its dirt. Its cracks,
    its breaks, its lumps, and its discolorations. The weeds growing
    out of its gaps reaching for the sky. The sun is worthless to me, a
    reminder of another decade wasted. I have seen the sun more than
    any of you. I’ve seen it hang in the sky crying it’s tears, blowing the
    clouded thoughts away from him. I used to revel in the woodchucks
    and string his babies into a yellow daisy crown. I was his princess for
    the day, foraging down the leafy hills, through the concrete forest and
    into the trimmed fields for his children. I found them, every single
    one of them, but I wanted the best one for my crown. And in my
    greed, he casted me out into the night. Alone. For what’s its
    worth—at least to me—I never thought he’d be capable;
    I always thought it would be me, the rebel child to
    leave—that the child of garlands would
    never be forced to find peace with

    the blacktop and all the sun’s reminders of his earthly heaven.
    <|- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -<-<-<​
    Grammar’s End
    A. rolls around my tongue
    a speck of black
    —or is it red?—
    concentrated points of life
    bleeding together into
    a fine dot ending my line.

    (A Grammar’s death.)
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    • Like Like x 2
  2. Those were wonderful poems luv, truely brilliant. Don't you ever stop writing! :D
  3. Thanks! I appreciate it.

    Any advice?
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