art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Forget Me Not
The feeling I have for you is unbearable Where’d you come from? A stranger not known to my home But to those, a god Soft eyes with the bright smile
Ashley's CoffeePublished 6 years ago in PoetsI'd Drink Cold Coffee for You
The following is a list of the things I hate the most: I've spent every day for the last nine months drinking terrible, cold coffee in your mother's diner at the off chance that you might be my waitress. Only some days you are, yet I still feel the need to continue to sit and drink my cold coffee because if I'm there even when you're not, it arises less of a suspicion that I'm in love with you. On the off chance that I do order food, which is almost never, I order toast and it's almost as burnt as the coffee. I've asked you out about 40 times and you keep saying no, but I just keep coming back. That I'm always sat at the far right booth which the seat is slightly broken in. The table sits semi-unhinged from the floor so that if I hit it a little too hard it lifts from the floor on one side. The floors and tables are almost inevitably sticky. The dim light causes a glare over my phone that makes it difficult to pretend to be far more interested in it than you. That I have to pretend to be more interested in anything than you. This diner always smells like if you were to leave cookies out for a few days and allowed them to collect just the slightest amount of mold. The air conditioner lays right next to the seat of my booth which leaves one half my body far colder than the other. That I would spend every day for the next 20 years sitting in my booth with the broken seat, half of my body a frozen tundra, eating burnt toast with my feet stuck properly to these sticky floors. I'd sit here every day and roll my eyes as the table tips on one end as I try to focus in on my cell phone instead of allowing you to catch me staring again. I'll override my senses with the smell of mold laden cookies, and sit in my seat all day still as some girl who is not you serves me. I'd drink cold coffee for you.
brandee youngclausPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWhat Would It Be Like?
I look at myself in the mirror, Unsatisfied with the image I see staring back at me. I fix my shirt, run my fingers through my hair,
Skylar RellaPublished 6 years ago in PoetsComedy Is Hard
I was working on my coffee at the coffee shop and three young ladies were sitting nearby and I overheard one of the ladies telling
Andrew ArnettPublished 6 years ago in PoetsJourney Through My Life
My eyes tell lies/ my lies tell my eyes/ to feel this way/ to kill this pain/ to in my sane/ to sin my vain/ i dry my crying eye/ why die while flying high/ i try to hide my sigh/ i put up this wall/ can't hear you call/ can't fear you all/ they say turn that frown into a smile/ but i say i've been down for a while/ lower than low/ nowhere to go/ stuck in my mind/ need luck to find/ people say no pain no gain/ but with pain no fame/ holds me back like i'm going to fight/ but i need to fight to make things right/ so let me go obtain my sight/ i need to grow to take over with all my might/ see the future block the past/ free the creature shock the cast/ cause my life is a movie and God is the director/ i'm nice then moody and odd but i'm the corrector/ projecting my cerebrum/ expecting my freedom/ from this nightmare called my mind/ some i might scare but im kind/ i stare but i'm blind/ meaning i see what i think and think what i see my own images is what i'm receiving/ i'm playing tuga war with my mind and heart/ i can't go anymore it ends before it starts/ deep down in my core is breaking apart/ making a spark/ igniting the fire/ i'm fighting but soon i'll retire/ expire/ down goes me but not my entire empire/ i want to leave peace with the ones i inspire/ me the one you admire/ all your souls i want to acquire/ me floating to heaven with the sound of the choir/ higher and higher/ God's hand is what i desire/ acceptance is what i require/ i am the sire/ i'm the truth and you're a lying liar/ i want to be the angel on earth/ to end all the pain that'll hurt/ change the same/ cause we need change to get out of the rain/ we're crowded with fame/ leaving the unsung heroes to blame/ and i'm the one that still hasn't sung/ time will come/ to hear the words i created with my tongue/ that will influence the young/ to make sense of the world that's hung/ by the string that i hold/ cause i will soon be in control/ but i will use my powers for good/ i can do, not shoulda, coulda, woulda, and i will be understood/ in this journey called life i will prevail/ i will come against challenges and won't fail/ but the insecure beast is holding me back/ my heart is pure but it's molding and starting to crack/ i'm sometimes sad and mad/ i was wishing for the happiness i could have had when things went bad/ but i'm glad/ to push play in my life, no more trying to rewind/ i need to unwind/ this tangled mess that i'm in/ i need to find the angle to point me in the right direction/ that will bless me and the rest in sin/ i need to establish a start before i have this smart,art,heart/end.
Antonio HerreraPublished 6 years ago in PoetsLive
Live them!every dream!every hope! live... That's all I ever wanted to dowas live. Live every dreamI have dreamed of and not just livethrough them during bittersweets nightsI lay awake dreaming...
Cassiie EtiennePublished 6 years ago in PoetsAmbivalence Over Anarchy
On the darkest hour of twilight, Kings Cross station looks rather peaceful from a bird's eye view. Travelers are rare and trains are as common as unicorn blood, leaving only vacant streets with little to no noise other than the howling winds passing through the cracks of the railroad tracks.
Money and Women
There is much to be Said about money And women. Chase not Either of them. Just Let them approach you. Ensure that the cash
Skyler SaundersPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Eye of the Storm
Seldom have I slept more soundly Than in the eye of the storm. Ah, you people who hide your heads And shudder when the thunder rolls.
Matt MianiPublished 6 years ago in PoetsBetween Awareness
Hands find me in the darkness The fog of my sleep lifts, ever so slightly Slightly upwards is the direction the corners of my mouth begin to travel
Chelsea RaePublished 6 years ago in PoetsI Never Know What to Write
I never know what to write It's not that I'm bored It's just that I have too many things Left unsaid. In my head I see
Amargeaux RaiPublished 6 years ago in PoetsA Way Back Home
I can feel it flowing through me This poetry As if these words have been written in my bones Somehow this pen and paper has become my home