OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

@Annie *waves* hi! I'm so surprised that you think I'm mature haha that's really sweet , thank you! Hope your new job is going well!!

Fast forward

You didn?t love me the way you should.

I didn?t do anything to make it good.

You made me not care at all,

I stopped feeling so down.

You were like fire, I was like gasoline,

Making us both forget how it should feel.

I knew we were meant to break,

But surprisingly it didn?t make my heart ache.

You made me feel alive,

Made me light up inside.

You were my getaway,

You could just say the word and I?d let you lead the way.

Isn?t it funny that that?s all it takes,

To make my free will break.

But that didn?t worry me at all,

Because I knew we were meant to fall.

And even though it left us shattered,

It didn?t really matter,

Because for the first time, we had a power of a wildfire.

ItsJustMeKitty, The strong feelings in this poem come through really well. You've painted a picture of love and loss that is very real.

Writing to Emily

Em Dickinson -- that lucky girl
Could stay inside her room.
She wore nothing but black and white
To balance -- I assume --
The chaos of the world outside
With attic cleanliness --
Though what with all the poems she wrote,
There must have been some mess.
Em Dickinson -- that lucky girl --
I wish that I were she.
We have an attic too, you know --
And I write poetry --
And if our attic had a lock --
And if I could receive
My ink and food from stairs of wood --
I, too, would never leave.
Em Dickinson -- that lucky girl --
In walls she was set free --
She never saw the world, but saw
Things some would never see.
Her dashes -- inhalations -- where
Her -- passion -- caught -- its -- breath --
She wrote of moors -- of eyes -- of flies ---
But most of all -- of death.
Em Dickinson -- you lucky girl --
If you were not so dead
I'd tell you I would follow you
And keep writing in bed --
I'd rather be inside a room
Seen just by family --
Than sit here in this plastic chair
Writing to Emily.

Dear @harana,

This poem is extraordinary. It. . . speaks across time, and it makes my heart swell.

The technical merits are -- wow.

And who wouldn't smile at the idea of Em Dickinson, Lucky girl?

Thank you for bringing this poemhere for us to share.

Dear @harana,I really loved this poem! Good job!

Just to be completely clear, I'm waiting for more:D

Iwrite with not sins but tragedies
Not everyone can feel
They may not happen to most
And not everyone can deal
I've dealt with rape at a young age
Not to me but of a sibling
Since I was too young to be considered
It can be to me a blessing
Cruelty doesn't end here
I fear
But goes on and on for ages
With her I fear time doesn't end
But with that the time still gauges
As self concerned i have continued
With that I marked my own path
But even still
I cannot feel
And build inside my own wrath
Hating family for denying
What has already happened
I can't deny
Not defy
That which was families action
But still we've both grown
And maybe further apart
But none of us can deny
The malice in a grandfathers heart
And even with knowing
We both kept in growing
And distancing us both from the all
But even with that
Neither could hide
That both of us still
Built a wall

Wish I could edit it honestly.

@MsBop, it's a very moving poem. Thank youfor sharing it.

However, if you'd like to edit it, you have a couple choices: you can send me a message with the desired edits, and I can do them for you. Or I can delete the whole thing and you can re-post. (That's definitely easier.) Just let me know!

Plastic Ballerina by cre

Plastic ballerina
In your pink and plastic dress
I brought the world to you
and I confess
Never once did I consider
That perhaps in your plastic way
You preferred the closed-up night
To my bright and plastic day
Plastic ballerina
I watched you spinning round
In your pink and plastic tutu
To a tinkling tinny sound
I played that it was music
And assumed you liked it too
Although never once in all those years
Did I think to stop and ask you
Plastic ballerina
The days grew into years
And you collected dust
While I collected fears
You chipped away in pieces
And the notes dropped from your song
Save one that kept repeating
As you gamely tripped along
Plastic ballerina
In your pink and plastic box
I'll give you back the night now
And forever close the lock
Goodnight ballerina
This shall be our final glance
In your pink and plastic coffin
You'll be free to never dance.

This one's not mine but cre's -- one of my favorites.

In fact i am just ------ angry, at me, at the world, at everyone.
It's hard to denie that i really am done.
People talk a lot ,they probably never will understand this feeling.
Yes it's hard, no it isn't easy healing.

I want it, i need it, all the energy is going to fighting the knife.
You don't know how much i hate my life.
But i can't leave, not aloud to give up eventough i want it so bad.
I'm not far from turning totally mad.

This place is really cruel and only 1 truly seems to care, you see.
And that person isn't even ----ing me.
If you're suicidal your selfish and if you act happy they don't expect it.
I get so sick of this caprisious bull----.

The long ride isn't over, i still want to keep laying in my bed.
I will be okay but i'm not there yet.
Really want to believe in me but i'm so scared to just have faith.
have to fight now before it's too late.

expletive deleted by forum mentor Annie

@candyshht, This poem expresses strong anger and despair. And I think poetry can be a good way to release such strong emotions. However, if the process of writing and sharing does not release enough of the pain, I hope you'll contact one of our listeners at 7 Cups or other resources in your community, to help you feel better. I want you to be safe.

In memory of Maya Plisetskaya

The firebird-
Gold, fire and
Tempting light.
Her hands-wings
Reaching for the sun.
Cosmic fifth position
Relev
Feathers-
Golden vapor.
She fades away.

Dust and flare.
Shines, yet is no more.
I see her;
In my dreams,
In the sunlight,
In fire.
The ethereal bird
Flies above
Possibilities,
Above being.
At last, she is
Eternity.

@NataliaNectarine- The poem is as lovely as the dancer it describes.

I've been looking for a poetry outlet. And most can be very personal. I'd rather list somewhere I don't feel judged doing them. Here's another I wrote

She spoke so light
With levity
Without steadiness
Or constancy
Incoherent
Mute
Mum
Quite
Silent
Even dumb
And in those words she could not hear
The lies in heart she kept so dear
The part of her so filled with fear
That hold she grips so close, so near
It's lost in silence
And long forgotten
It grows with distance
But like a garden
It's hers to hold
Her burden to carry
In moments so bold
It's hers to bury
"Forgive and forget"
We've all been told
But who's to regret
When fingers grow cold.

@MsBop, This is so powerful! The rhythms develop a fast pace that adds to the emotion, and then it slows down at the end. Poignant.

Here's one I've been working on for a little bit. Hope you like.

Piccadilly Dream

Last night riding Piccadilly Line -

circus lions, trapeze artists, and bipolar clowns

cartwheeled between each cart. Clown paints

a smile over frown, and still juggled his organs

in stomach without dropping one.

Accountants and defense lawyers

picketing on platforms as each tunnel;

petitioning peace in Underground, and

I was in front car reading the picket signs on 5:00 pm train

with family members saying things

they normally never say, like

we should burn our savings to start our bum life

and

love we share does not rely on pents in pockets.

Ideas flowed out mouths like investments deposited in trust funds.

I sat next to my Uncle,

fourth row from the front,

where he told me he loved me

and meant it.

And I learned how to cry again -

how to dig my thoughts out from brain folds.

We sat on seats to watch clown bounce around in latex spandex,

while he internalized anger like digesting Angus Prime.

Brooklyn and Kimberly were married in back seats

by the pope himself. Aisle sprinkled with dandelion peddles

and the dance party woke up neighbor carts.

We danced away politics and economy

and conducted body heat as fuel for electricity.

Obama said thanks over evening meal, and

the Queen gave me the crown of jewels.

And I still keep it on until the morning light.

@Sam Rosen,

I really like and admire this. It paints a picture that makes me want to know more, keep reading. And it has a ring of truth. There is universality. For me, this one has . . . gravitas.

So far, it's my favorite of the poems you've posted.

Thank you so much Annie. I'vebeen editing it a lot recently to keep on expanding on this idea. It has a very playful element to it.

@SamRosen, yes, of course! I felt it but did not articulate it to myself -- playfulness!

@Sam Rosen,

I am stunned by the way you combined a rather modern metric scheme and languagewith a strong, opaque symbolism that reminds me of middle to laterMallarm

I can only say that you should keep doing what you do because it's working! :)

Perception
by: Monarda

"The world should be organized.
Everything should be categorized.
Nothing is out of
place,
and everything isclear."

That's what I thought it waslike.
It'sdifferent, though, andI can't understand why.

"The world is somessy,
and colorful
and spontaneous,
and unclear,
and judgmental.
and harsh,
and strange."

That's what I think now.
I don't know if it's true, though.
I'll find out sooner or later, okay?

@Monarda, I love how inquisitive and intelligent your poems are.

Thank you so much, @Annie! I really appreciate that

Is she my friend ? is she my foe? This bella that i've come to know this little voice inside my head My secret weapon my hidden perfection my motivation that I have kept A little child who wishes me dead

Try again...

Stumbled and fall..

Fail again.

i ran away..

no longer can face..

Give it another try..

You hold my hands..

Try again together once again..

Hold my hands

And never fear..

Simple yet so good

I would like to nominate@KnighTerrAinto share his poetry - His work it pretty amazing and I think it should be shared to you all. Hope you write soon@KnighTerrAin!!!

It was a dark time in a stark night, I couldn't find the courage for stars and lost my laugh to what I can't pass. I guess I was seeking light to guide the way, something good for which I could fight and something that my soul could pay. As I was scrolling, past all the unconnnecting names I was struck at midnight by lady angel los santa muerté, some would see not life, in that picturesque angel that usually represents death. But I saw a present of freed strife and something to give hope to breath. I had to let it be known,I only chose because of what she chose to show, and that I could see something that's isn't dark but glows. I spoke and I was heard, even in my broken words, couldn't do it without the inspiration, I hope we both learned. She made me feel like the ear that listened was earned, aswell as a need for good and a faith that will never turn. We talked but I felt I did not say much yet still she seemed touched. It wasn't pity or just sympathy it was understanding in a bitter symphony. An allowance for the sad song to not be wrong. An atonement for the pain in poetry to make a past gone. May hope last and wishes stay strong

I Second that nomination,

@KnighTerrAin, it would be wonderful if you'd post some of your work here.

Oh, you DID. Very cool. Powerful writing! Thank you for sharing your work.

Surround by broken glass

Oh my fragile lover

Don't come near the edge

Put your hands away from them

Don't let your skin be stained again

I'll give you my heart and mind

To stop you from crashing down

Oh my fragile lover

I love every bit ofyou

So treat yourself like how i want you to

Someday i'll be the one to treat you right

From day till night

Hold on tight

I will be your light

If you would always be mine

I will give you my all

If you'd hold my hand

I am just a humble painter

That will never surrender

Forever and always

I would forever be here till the end

Oh my fragile lover

These three letter words is not enough

Oh my beautiful lover

You will forever be mine

@NothingButSilence - This poem is beautiful, I really like it a lot.

It would take time to rewind, so the only thing we can do is pause, let ourselves stay in one place, but nothing else will

We'll become a stain impaled on the universe,

Left to deft recollection, and dwelling on our own perception of our imperfections.

Only fed by others evil and their deception.

Waiting for something to set fire to a bad feeling and burn it away leaving only a days ashes.

I'm lost to the day I prefer the night. Less to see and less to fight.

Less thoughts out there less people applying their evil.

Cause people don't try to dream evil it's just an off chance, nobody hopes for nightmares, they're just a feeling of terror sometimes unexplainable, even if the situation inside isn't one of danger, it could even be over simplification.

A message so based and raw that it's incomrehendable unless you only take it for its core.

I once dreamed I was on top of an unrealistically tall ladder, so tall it swayed left and right till I though I was nearly at my side.

It was raining and cloudy, the wind was powerful and rowdy.

There was a ledge to my left but I couldn't reach it I didn't think to swing I just held on to everything and by anything that I could.

I had a lot of time to think in that dream, but nothing could make me forget that situation, the ledge was so close but so far, nothing was staying still but me. But out of all the things nothing concerned me more than the platypus at the bottom that beared a ducks feet.

All the danger that that dream held and I just stared at this platypus dipping in and out of the flooding rain, that unbelievable high flood of rain.

That this platypus was overpowering to stay at the bottom of this ladder, but the ladder was so tall I shouldn't have even been able to see it,yet when I looked it was like I was looking from the bottom.

And when I stopped I was back at the top, with the swinging swaying and a ledge that holds meaning of timid fear or bravery.

Could I make it? What would I do then?

If I fell where would I be then?

If I was on that ledge where would I go?

If I jumped and slipped what would I know?

Regret? Mistakes? My suddenly decisive fate?

But what about the platypus? They're harmless.

Yet all I could draw from this one was a sense of evil.

That if I was next to it it would consume my soul without me even knowing.It would carve out a space in my heart for it so stay and spread demons through my blood.

I'm just being really adjective all I got was a bad feeling.

But in dreams everything is so powerful at the time,and there's no transition from setting or scenery, one moment it could be outside next it might not even be possible to think of in a normal mind.

Dreams are so open that they aren't thinkable.

We struggle to even remember them. If you don't find meaning in one or try to hold on it could be gone ten seconds in to your day.

But a damn platypus with duck feet. That hilarity must stay with me, do you know why? It made me was to take the risk and jump even though I was that high, it made me want to try.

And do the braver things. Sure being down in that flood would've been bad as well.

I have no problems with platypi I've never even seen one in real life.But I dreamt one that had the devil In its eyes.

Never underestimate a dream or your mind, it could easily leave you smitten and beat you down with a book that no one had ever written.

My words dissolve from meaning, without people to provide context or even a form to flex.

My mind is a hallway full of darkness that has hidden doors to light. I keep them secret and locked as to never lose that fight.

My mind is so lost it isn't even part of my reality anymore, it's just this thing I know I can draw sometimes, illustrate, doesn't mean it'll make sense or ever have chance to contemplate.

Tangents can grow by losing meaning.

I had a cup of tea, the more I drank the faster it went cold; but when I was done drinking I switched out the cube.

I was pretty drunk and now got to have it iced.

Some say nicotine helps clear their minds, it fills mine, yet sometimes, things align, words comply, and everything starts to rhyme. it's part of the nightshade family; but is a lampshade too?

In an effort to light the dark there was a necessity to dark the light. Lamps used to have fire so there was glass,was it just to let the light through or to keep the heat in too? Is it saving danger or making danger?

If it fell it could still break, then you have a pile of flaming glass, if you touched it it would still hurt, but yet there was a balance, the wind would not affect it and it couldn't catch if things were considered around it.

Dejavu can be made a metaphor by the ocean. It is the waves, we are surfing the present,above sea level is the future, the waves take us up to a feeling of what's to come, then retreat down to what we remember, we stare at the present and try to see into the ever distorting past.

Where are we going though? You'll have to look up to know

I should really paragraph next time

@KnighTerrAin

If you wish, you can re-post and I'll delete the first version. :)

i need to know
if you're sure
that you still want this.
that you still want me.

I don't wanna know, I'm not sure, even if this is wanted, I don't think anyone would want me even if they did what would everyone else say? I'd rather stay right here than have another lost faith. But I still feel your pain

🕐1:21
When the world becomes silent my mind becomes loud
It's hard to sleep in silence when your thoughts won't turn down
It's1:21in the morning my eyes are shut but I still see
The music isn't loud enough to mute what repeats internally
Positives turn to negatives and negative stay so
My good is torn down until it's a new kind of low
A constant battle I fight to defend myself
It's hard when the opponent is yourself
If your told something long enough you begin to believe it
Thoughts work in the same way altered with every hit
I can't stop this it happens every night
Do you now see why I think my thoughts are always right?

That was really great,I think you should find some music that reflects those feelings and let it wash away, have you heard mumford and sons? How about atlas bound?