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weatheredpoetry · 18 minutes ago
Boom boom bang*! My lows are lowering, my highs go thigh high lower now. My ankles hurt from the pressure. I’ve got the need to sing the blues, no lyrics, no rain, just blues and sad clouds darkening. The rain is falling now, I’ve got the bucket out. The mountains are building higher too, I’ve got to work My wings so I can fly. My heart is beating loud, my arteries are ready to pop and bleed…
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intelligentdeviant · 27 minutes ago
‘Late in the Long Apprenticeship’
“At last, he's asleep.
I can look at him the way I'm meant to.
His body moves like any ocean. The ocean moves like any field
back home: submission, submission's shadow, wind, submission.”
[Carl Phillips]
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aaliyah-vines · 53 minutes ago
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Per aspera ad astra
Through the difficulties to the stars
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antipodeanwriter · an hour ago
Who are the dwarves? From whence do they come? What do they think of men? Find out in “Songs of the Dwarves”: which records the songs of war, sorrow, and laughter that form an important part of the heritage of these warriors and sturdy dwellers under mountain-stone. Another original poetry collection by Antipodean Writer now available on Amazon @ Join the conversation @ Visit the site @ #antipodeanwriter #songsofthedwarves #dwarves #dwarf #lotr #lordoftherings #goblin #poetry #poetrycommunity #poem #poet #writer #poems #writing #wordporn #poetryisnotdead #writerscommunity #wordgasm #words #thoughts #author #fantasy #poetsociety #poetrylovers #writersofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #instapoet #writersofig
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Like Salvador Dali
Othered by Society
From my only P O V
just like Donnie and the Bunny
The darkness is in me
like I'm stuck in the 80's
No one tells me anything
Not acting
Just waiting
Wearing 80 year old's clothing
Is it 1953? When they discovered REM sleep??
Is it 1974?? Is that Andy at the door??
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tearinmyside · an hour ago
NaPoWriMo, Day 19...
it always ends up coming down to this: completion, finality. it comes down to my mouth on your full bottom lip, your sofa's arm denting under the pressure, and my hands on your hips. you, saying you're wonderful, and me wanting desperately to believe it, wanting to hear you say it with your summer kissed skin over mine. the need is a perpetual thirst—three syllables of nectarous bliss tucked into my ribs, a bonfire of want we can barely conceal.
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charming-oddities · an hour ago
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From my book, A Light In The Dark 💛 available on Amazon now! Grab your copy here:
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genevieve-lavigne · an hour ago
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Evening love song
Ornamental clouds
compose an evening love song;
a road leaves evasively.
The new moon begins
a new chapter of our nights,
of those frail nights
we stretch out and which mingle
with these black horizontals.
Reiner Maria Rilke
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Getting this tiny again
Sticking on something
You know so well
Selfmade home of bones
It's coldly warm inside
But falling
Because this never could be ok
Too tiny for this body
Too tiny for this world
Too small that pain never can fits in
Still too empty
Do u hear the echo?
I'm screaming
Tiny won't save you
It never did
It kills
But be killed feels too very known
Selfmade home of bones
I just can't let you all
Die before me
Too tiny for this shitty kind of sad
I think i can't ever get fixed
So I'm holding on this edge
Of tragic beauty
Of starving
Til everything will be better
Til things get right
I don't know how long
I stop caunting
Breath by breath
But this body is miracly healthy
And I have no idea why or how or...
Maybe take took someone others blood
Because it hurts too much
To it be right
And running and running and running
And world's diyng
And won't ever change
Feed me with pills
I would ate them all
One by one day by day
And nothing's right
Nothing's right
Getting tiny
So dressed me in white dress
With light pink shine
Like there never was blood
And all the dirt of touch
Like there be blood no more
Little tiny plastic barbie doll
Playplayplay with me
I have nothing left
I would never grow up
Selfmade home of bones
It's all what last
It's all what always last
That's what homes are made for
See? It's cozy inside
Hungry and empty and sad
Tragic kind of beauty
Tragic kind of sad
White dress won't ever fix again
Once you bleed
Once you loos
What was is no more
Just scars remains
And remains and fucking remains
Every sharp inch of it
I'm sorry mom, i go back
I know we've been before
But it doesn't matter if you run
It's always there
Waiting to slap you in face
To eat you still alive
And I rather be dancing
On my own grave
With dear fiancé Death itself
So they couldn't ever bury me
So i could stay alive
In my selfmade home of bones
Too tiny
Too tiny to let them find me
Too tiny for this body
Too tiny for this world
Too small that pain never can fits in
Just... Don't look at me
I know it hurts
I know the blue shade of gray in the eyes
Watch me spinning downdowndown
Like i'm always
I just can't stand on
Somebody's grave
So I build my own
Selfmade home of bones
Aching body aching soul
In this fucking aching world
How could you not dance
While everything's burning
To very end death
I just learn to get friends with shadows
It lives with me know
Kinda good room-mate i guess
Could be worse
Shares my tinnyness
That's what friends are supposed to do, right? Share...
Hungry for tragic beauty
They say it's a curse
But they got their own too
Soo it's ok
We are ok
So fucking fine
Dancing in home made of bones
Just don't watch us til the end
Don't watch us when we fall
When we burn ourselves
In the very end
Of all homes made of bones
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angelus-a13 · an hour ago
stranger than fiction
serpent eyes that wait in the dark woodland, watching the clearing with ill intent and unwavering stare the glare of fangs, a snare laid on the forest floor what wounds she will cause me if i try to run, when i open my mouth to scream; what fever will enchant me? I will be struck down and left for the crows to peck, as a meal for foxes my flesh will sustain her roots as all trespassers before me were bound to do
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I’m beginning a new project on Instagram if you’d like to follow along
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henryheartpoet · 2 hours ago
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these words are loving and sweet i may never know how they really come across you are reacting as if I've committed a crime treason against the heart perhaps. I don't know how to think it out every action creates this same reaction it exacerbates the wanting the wanting to cut myself open and place you inside me so you can know how I feel so you can feel my intentions my love Why when care is offered it is so rarely received it pours out of my heart and dies as it slams into your chest protected, caged, and giving giving of pain I receive your heart is not open it is just like the world closed hearts and minds how to crack them open love anyway care anyway keep trying to open maybe one day you will see a peeking through after the new dawn all love ever sent floats in tandem of time waiting to fall in just the smallest crack it just takes that one crack and a cold disaster becomes a wholehearted human.
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deepspacetransmissions · 2 hours ago
Where are you?
I sleep alone tonight
Will you come back come the morning light?
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wordsthatsuffocateme · 2 hours ago
you were the only person i ever let see me, really.
and still, i can’t believe you up and left me.
you looked my fear of inadequacy in the eyes,
stared back at me and lied,
saying, “i won’t leave you.”
and now every time i see you
i duck my head down and hide.
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cherry-truth · 2 hours ago
Time and time again, I thought I found love
And when I’m wrong, I find myself questioning the man above
My love is pure and I’m so loyal
Why can’t I find someone to treat my heart royal?
I give up, I don’t want it anymore
How many times do I pick my heart up off the floor?
I’m tired of crying
Little by little, my love is dying
Tired of broken hearts, so I’m closing that door
I’ve had enough, love don’t live here no more.
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fordhampr · 2 hours ago
I’m pleased to introduce you to Canadian freelance arts journalist, artist and performance poet DAVID BATEMAN, who currently resides in Toronto, Canada. David has published several books of poetry and contributes literary reviews in several leading national and local newspapers & magazines. He has also taught creative writing and literature at post-secondary institutions across Canada. He has…
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seizethehistory · 2 hours ago
“Poets will be. When woman’s infinite servitude is broken, when she lives for herself and by herself, man—abdominal until now—giving her freedom, she too will be a poet! Women will find the unknown! Will her worlds of ideas differ from ours?”
The Second Sex (1949) - Simone de Beauvoir
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daphreviewsbooks · 2 hours ago
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days/ were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple' to slice into pieces.
Scheherazade by Richard Siken from Crush
read my review here
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