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#Rhyme poetry
kaywrites23 · 9 months
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Maybe, just maybe, in another universe we were meant to be.
Then maybe there would be an us
instead of just
a you
and
a me.
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Although it’s a tale we often don’t want told,
As the saying goes, many of the good die young
While the bad grow old.
And for that fate we’ll never know how many souls are sold
To tempt odds or tempt gods,
But surely we do know that nothing stays as gold.
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songofsutarima · 3 months
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Stop Me Before I Cross
I feel…I feel I am wasting away.
Wasting every moment of my day.
I feel rotting happening in my mind,
From all the streaming services for which I signed.
I feel my muscles getting weaker with every passing second
From denying invites to the gym from friends who beckoned.
I feel my speed diminishing and my eyes growing tired.
I feel I’m wasting away and becoming something never desired.
I am approaching a singularity, very near the event horizon,
And I need to make some changes to the course my life’s in.
I need to sharpen my mind by reading and challenging once again
And better my body before it’s just the worthless shell my soul dies in.
I feel I am wasting away,
Every microscopic moment of my day.
I need to put down the sticks and quit the games I play,
I need to do something quick if I don’t want the trajectory to stay.
Adjustments must be made, and for that strength I pray,
Because as it stands now…damn…
I *am* just…
…fading…
…falling…
…decaying…
…diminishing…
….waning…
…dwindling…
…just wasting away.
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most-ment · 10 months
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Vigilante
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At first, I thought I was doing the right thing.
The police were inadequate and the government wasn't listening.
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At the time, I assumed that I was making things better.
Justice! I thought I was the dispenser.
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I thought wrong.
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Taking the laws in my hands,
Only coated them in red.
Justice was something I didn't understand,
Despite all the virtuous things I said.
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I truly thought I was doing the right thing,
But for any one battle I lost, more innocent people were dying.
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At some point, I wanted it to end,
But I could do nothing to erase the bounty on my head.
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Hated by the criminals,
Scorned by the popo.
My problems became anything but trivial
And I tried to hear them solo.
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I couldn't though,
Instead I put in danger anyone I brought close.
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Lost I was.
It was the right thing at first.
It was the right thing I thought.
So much fighting for what?
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Lost in distrust.
I was losing too much.
I was losing my touch.
It was grueling to watch.
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How much more to experience?
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Doing the right thing the wrong way.
I thought a saviour was something I could be.
In trying to shield you from the sun, I only brought harsher rays.
I'm not an hero but a vigilante.
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Hello loves, hope you like the poem. This iss pretty much inspired by whatever vigilante movie or books I've read. Mostly DC
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My vigilante tag list: @jayrealgf @think-through-pen @unforgettable-sensations @mk-ranz @timeflieslikeabanana @jordynhaiku
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Yea…neither did I.
Not after the failed try.
I tried my darndest to vie.
To be the apple of your eye.
And I won! Took home the title.
Hitting love shots that were vital.
But how much bullshit does it take to entitle
Me to true love’s work, not just the fucking recital?
Because me and my love. My dance. Did blaze.
Because you and your eyes. My love, did raise.
But we both knew a false idol you praised,
I saw you bow, and I wasn’t upset.
Mostly because.
I never trusted you anyways.
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Gallic
What a varied word is “gallic.”
A metal made of miracles,
A citizen from ancient Gaul,
“Gallic” speaks of many things,
With little rhyme at all.
Of Frenchmen, young, old and all,
Or acid from the sumac’s gall;
Of a rare trivalent metal
Which from Heaven may as well fall.
But to say you have no words,
A fib as sour as spoiled curds!
When all these many tongues
Are so beauteously absurd!
Yes, you must have quite the gall,
Or a head shaped rather phallic,
To brush past the beauty of such words
As “petrichor,” “myriad,” and “gallic.”
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pricc · 6 months
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WHO THEY THOUGHT I WAS
They thought I was crazy.
Aren't we all a little insane?
They thought I was stupid.
I've heard all the names.
They must've thought I was emotionless,
When they said my dad wasn't dead.
They must've thought I didn't know,
Everything that was said.
They thought I was so different,
Now they want me around.
They must've thought I wouldn't know
Who made every sound.
They even called me white
Because of the way I act.
They even called me foolish,
Thinking that I didn't like black.
They thought so many things,
It's no wonder I've changed,
Because they thought so much shit,
I'll never be the same.
He said, she said,
Yes, that really hurts.
If only they'd think for once.
I've tried it and it still works.
What do they want to know?
Because I think I'm a simple man.
It's such a shame that they thought,
That I'm more than what I am.
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ruffles23 · 5 months
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-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the Portuguese
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ourburningbridges · 1 year
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Life’s Beauty Marks
learning to love and embrace your ACNE beauty marks. nature is gorgeous.
i love my blemishes,
a new scar everyday.
my flesh is alive
and that’s okay.
they’re only beauty marks,
graced on the space
on my back, up my shoulders
and on my face.
i love to be alive,
with skin that breathes.
the strength in my guts
puts me at ease.
they’re only natural,
you’re human just like me.
don’t let the vigor on my vessel
be all you see.
-I.F.L 🫁
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kaywrites23 · 7 months
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God I hope this is love and not just lust…
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sethian123 · 7 months
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Singing Flower of Eve and Mary (Gnostic rhyme poem)
A serpent poured soothing wisdom into Eve’s ear
For her to eat gnosis fruit for unborn Seth
So its seeds were entombed in her soul without fear
This gnosis remained unborn and without breath
Christ himself, the Word, flew into Mary’s ear
So breath and life itself entered her sleeping womb
To become the awakened babe, so now hear
The flower of gnosis singing out of the tomb
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songofsutarima · 5 months
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Sober
You know…I like drinking,
But I’m not sure I like drunk.
Because then I’m stuck thinking
About the depths to which I’ve sunk.
All the insults I let loose from my lips.
Saying whatever to make sure a balance tips.
Mistruths spoken and stories just made up.
Maybe if I put the glass down I could trade up.
Maybe i could shine more clearly, like light through perfect glass
And maybe I’d stop stumbling and sounds over my lips could cleanly pass.
Because I hate what I’ve said in an inebriated state.
So I think I’ll chill for a minute; actually think straight.
I hate what I’ve decided to bet when I’m drowning
And it’s probably high time I stop fooling around and clowning.
Because 1-20 isn’t a funny number when I’m behind the wheel,
And the bottle we just bought already has a broken seal.
So instead of starting ignition by turning some keys,
Perhaps, instead of vodka, I’ll drink in the mountains, trees, and breeze.
I’m an anxious person, that can’t be denied,
And I thought that liquor could help me hide.
But anxiety becomes paranoia, which either spirals to angry or sad,
And I don’t like the paranoid person I am when I’m drunk and I’m mad.
Trust and loyalty mean nothing to a poison-drenched mind,
And though no evidence exists, I’ll make it up, then that I’ll find.
And I would like to have that all be avoided.
So I think my future alcohol purchases can be voided.
Laying down with clean blood and a clear brain
Feels better, even if I have the small sadness ache and pain.
I close my eyes and smile because I was able to keep
Sober for a day, and can be sent to restful sleep.
But….who is standing in the corner of my room…?
Seven feet tall and over me this shadow of darkness does loom.
Just staring, unmoving, as I happen to be,
Since this paralysis demon is here for me.
I kinda forgot that he shows up when I have sober dreams
And he has friends to make sure we are on uneven teams.
Now that I see, I remember, why I was drinking.
Because I can’t move right now? Except for my blinking.
I can’t control my breathing, I can’t move my arms.
I can’t scream, and I can’t protect myself from harm.
Internally screeching, begging this devil to leave me alone,
Feeling icy tendrils dig into my flesh and start breaking my bones.
Then I blink and he’s gone and I can finally move.
I remember now what pushed me to what others disapprove.
I swear I tried to put up a good fight, but my attempt is over.
If I have to see him every night, I can’t go back to being sober.
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most-ment · 9 months
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I haven't unpacked my feelings yet.
Sometimes it's like I'm going through the motions,
Experiencing experiences that I'll eventually forget.
This dunya is ephemeral, just like my emotions.
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I dream of the eventuality;
Of a future I've hurriedly claimed.
Being unsure is my specialty,
I just really want everything to be okay.
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I'm grateful that I'm happy,
I'm happy that I'm grateful.
I don't want good things to pass me,
I fear growing up distasteful.
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I'm fine even with so many emotions repressed.
So why bother unpacking them?
If I think too much it's depressed express
So I quiet my thoughts and pretend.
~
These words may make you assume,
That I don't feel ease with every breath I breathe.
So let me tell you, that isn't true,
I actually feel glee mostly.
~
I just wanted to let some things out,
Even my nafs need to be acknowledged.
The water must escape the gloomy rainy cloud,
So I'll feet at peace at sunset.
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Hello loves, hope you like the poem. Too tired to write smth interesting sorry.
Does my tag list watch the sunset I wonder?: @jayrealgf @jordynhaiku @think-through-pen @unforgettable-sensations @grimfox
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versesandvice · 1 year
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A bit of advice
From me to you
Is don't go wasting
The time they give to you
Hold them close and love them fair
Don't be afraid to show how you care
Life has a habit
Of washing away
The simple pleasures
We enjoy day after day
Find a way to keep them close to your heart
Find a way to love life's smallest of parts.
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1introvertedsage · 10 months
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Read this article here!
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creatingnikki · 1 year
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I could write poetry in rhyme, but to me that's always felt like a personal crime. Do I fear mainstream or am I just more intrigued by a far more vague dream?
Rules of grammar, like all other rules, I love to break. But nothing is consistent about the way I, from art, pleasure take.
I attended a live music show for the first time a few weeks ago with a musician friend. She made me realize all the songs I liked belonged to the Blues genre - isn't that my life's trend?
Today I write poetry in rhyme, because lately I have anyway been committing so many moral crimes. Is this how I break my soul or is this how I finally learn to take up space? My friends may no longer love me but hey that too would be such a consistent trend so you tell me...how is it that everything has changed and yet nothing has changed at all?
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