#new poem
forlornalbatross · 16 days
I say your name in my head, in my heart, in my waking days & sleepless night even in my deathbed & before I truly expire / like a canticle & hymn of requiescat in pace
D C de Oliveira | fromTo Chloe, “Nomen-Tuum” | September 15th 2021, Wednesday 2:11:12 am · 2 years ago (Draft Collection) 
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elyonholic · 6 months
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"There is nothing I can't cut... You alone are the exception."
ー Bleach: TYBW Poems #08
[ Translated by @hitsugaya-toushirou ]
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Ghost in the night
Sobbing over the years
I can't see anything through the tears
All I do is cry wishing I could fly
I don't feel alive I don't have a life
I am stuck feeling like a ghost
I am in the wrong place
This body is not what I crave
A ghost in the night with music so loud
I lose myself in my thoughts
imagining a show to feel less alone
Disconnected from everthing I see
They will never know how i feel
I am just a ghost in the night
A shadow, nothing more
This body is not what i crave
I'm nothing more but a shadow lurking around
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reabrej · 7 months
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Thank you for reading. Follow for more.
FB&IG: @jckpoetry
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pjg2950 · 4 months
The Tree
Watering the the thin willow
Leaves opening, branches slowly unfurling as I let my tears dash upon the roots,
Reach towards the sun as I have failed to do.
Let true nature do what I have failed to do,
My child of wood and sap share the freedom of being a joy in its simplicity
A neighbor walks by and smiles .
My child waves back with the fledgling leaves.
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dreamerswake · 3 months
Power of Love
Love can
Take us
Make us
Break us
And all we ever ask
Is that it
Love us back
Not for what
We are
But for what
We lack
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songofsutarima · 6 months
And Then
Where are they, where are they, where are my words??
I need to stitch something to paper, not have it spoken and slurred.
Nearly two weeks of nothing, I feel it’s getting absurd.
And it’s not for not trying, scratching something out is much preferred.
But there is nothing to pin down no matter how much I’m stirred.
All these thoughts and ideas to go unread and unheard,
An unwriting writer feels like a songless, wingless bird.
I dip into dust the silver tip of a wooden pen
Moving over crust of bled rust on the desk in my den.
The inkwell dries up, and I never know when,
Always only fearful I might not pen again.
Always only fearful, what happens when there’s no ‘and then’?
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mysticrosepoetry · 5 months
I was thinking about how
when we see each other in our dreams
the hurt we feel won’t matter
because only love lives there
and has no room for selfish ways
or partial goodbyes
left at the front door.
— M.Rubino December 29, 2022
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katie-urtessa · 5 months
Those who born pretty; have not a clue what it’s like.
You see bad of yourself. 
All the imperfections and the wrongs, but you still are a pretty.
Sweet, dear, unpretty; she sees such is wrong.
All the bumps and the flaws, she sees an unpretty.
She looks for what is better, but not much of pretty.
Skills of mastery, that are hard; but not dear pretty.
Dear pretty work not of what’s hard, but of what is just pretty. 
She need not of what’s hard, because she is pretty.
Grown spoiled and dependent; but it’s all cause she’s pretty.
Dear unpretty has grown, hard of work and neglect.
I worry not of rape nor a threat. She worries though. Because she is pretty.
I sorry not of false love or sex. She sorries though. Because she is pretty.
I need not be scared of walking alone. Nobody wants to take an unpretty. 
Dear pretty is scared though.
I am not jealous, of dear, helpless, pretty.
I have thick skin from the beatings of unlove you have given.
I have worked harder, than unhelpful, cruel, pretty; 
To prove that I am worth something in a world of brusque pretties.
I have forced progress. More than weak, childish, pretty. 
You gave benevolence as a reward for my earnings, dear pretty.
While you were given diamonds I sorely take thorns.
I am worth as just as you are, dear pretty; if not even more.
But I hear sympathy from you not, dear pretty.
You just give mockery to your dear sister, unpretty.
//Katie Urtessa aka Me
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machiavalliens · 2 months
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Demetria — by Machiavalliens
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forlornalbatross · 16 days
My aloneness is showing & I am unfolding from its foolproof // sense unmaking // peeling my hidden self // is love my love? am I love's love? are you my love's love? // I came again & again bearing this longing in a nutshell // the foolproof unfolding & I am showing my aloneness -
D C de Oliveira | from Without you: I’d rather be alone, Open Statement |  May 10 2023 | Wednesday 8.01am
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elyonholic · 7 months
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"I look to the heavens, and chase that star. Burned into my eyes, the afterglow of its smoke."
ー Bleach: TYBW Poems #07
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sanders1665 · 3 months
Is there a time when you need hope,
a time when you need to kneel and pray,
is there a time when the anger stops raging,
for when everyday is a good day.
Will there be a time for no more bad choices,
a time when I'm glowing with pride,
will there be a time when you're my best friend,
for your sweetheart to be your bride.
Could there be a time for no more lying,
a time for admirable integrity,
could there be a time for independence,
for when you're behaving sensibly.
Is there a time for no more doubt,
a time of just pleasing memories,
is there a time for no more sadness,
for when everyday has smiling reveries.
When will the time be when you're the light in my darkness,
a time when you find me when I'm lost,
when will the time be when you're the captain of my ship,
for when the day has no cost.
Could there be a time for a warm breeze instead of a tornado,
a time for gentle waves instead of a tsunami,
could there be a time for warm embers instead of a conflagration,
for when you come back to me.
Will there be a time with my arm around your shoulder,
a time when your words don't burn,
will there be a time for happiness crying,
for a father's pride to return.
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reabrej · 11 months
How do you address the living,
when you can’t hear your own name?
The heart is pumping and the body moving,
but where is the brain?
Vision is blurry and mind is auto-piloting
A walking purgatory
IG&FB: @jckpoetry
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pjg2950 · 3 months
The Last Blanket
White fluffy tucked in over dark mud, covering little snowdrops reaching for the deceiving early spring.
Wind whips and laughs as we go back to Downey jackets. Hair whipping around frozen smiles.
We retreat back to our shelters, hoping furnaces still work .
I don’t sleep. Just try to float between the snow flakes, slipping around the empty spaces that is my life.
As is my life, so is the weather.
Little spaces of warmth in a frozen life.
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mycollectioncloud · 10 months
Too Busy.
For years and years I was so busy losing myself To think about how others Would find me
How many opportunities lost? Friendship, business, more? Though I cannot dwell on it As I’ve become better than I was before
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