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#short poetry
susanburch · 8 hours ago
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4/11/21
cloud shadows her fears breathed on her
Harris, Thomas. Silence of the Lambs, Yazoo, Inc., 1988. P.117, 122.
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tankasocietyofamerica · 8 hours ago
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Pandemic Special Day 11:
these tiny screens
on the Zoom meeting window
will someone hear
the echoes of loneliness
in my quarantined world
Chen-ou Liu
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rincondeltraidor · 12 hours ago
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Corona Tales 24
No lost paradise But what the heart desires, The drawn-out goodbyes
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rincondeltraidor · 13 hours ago
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Insomnia 2
Tumbling in the sheets An ever blinking flotsam The wreckage of dreams
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porkiboidoesthings · 20 hours ago
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Beauty comes in all flavors...
Her melanin glowed like honey and rich chocolate,
And their scars came in rocky road like lines, bumping their way across contrasting supple skin.
Bodies stretched like sweet gum, chewy cheeks like rice cakes on special occasions,
These beautifully, delectable desserts encased in a fearful barrier wishing to be shattered in a way that lets love trickle down like sweet caramel.
This is where you will know that beauty comes in all flavors.
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bitchingaqua · 22 hours ago
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all this time i thought i wanted an apology, i thought that i wanted you to come back to me and tell me you regret everything you did to me, everything you didn't do
i thought that would help me move on, i thought that it would satisfy me to know you still think about me and you feel guilty
but it is not enough, it never is
i always want more
i don't want you to say you thought of me, i want to see you did
i want to see that you couldn't rest at night because your bad decisions won't let you sleep
i want to see how much you think of me, how much it hurt to lose me
i want to see how sorry you are you didn't pick me and how much it is eating you alive knowing you hurt me
i want you to feel my absence in every empty person you keep
i want you to be waiting for me to come back, even though deep down you know i could never do that
i want more, more, more
i want you to hurt more than i do
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willowtreepoems · 23 hours ago
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1920s-1930s Poem
My personal favorite poet to come about in this time frame is Robert Frost. He will in this time make a huge name for himself as he talks about the rualist life style he chose to live.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
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willowtreepoems · 23 hours ago
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Continuation for the 1920s-1930s
As we all came in to the year 2020 we had a wild idea to ask for the roaring 20s once again and sure enough we have a rough carbon copy. From sickness, threatening of war (cross our fingers that there will be none), as well as the stock market never being consistent and easily one of the most frustrating things to watch. This week in 20th century poetry we discussed to oh so loved time periods that was painted to look glamorous by movies like Annie and The Great Gatsby ( we love you Leo ). In this time period there was a big social dilemma in how we should handle war and foreign affairs causing a huge social and economical shift all over the world. Women became much more important to society as the supported the men on the battle field and money was fluid not set. This created a vibrant time for authors and poets alike. Literature was booming since people needed an escape from the issues at hand. With this escape though paved a new way of poetry for years to come.
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awfulpoetry99 · 23 hours ago
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LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
It has been difficult,
for many years,
I really thought I didn’t need anyone,
but then you came,
with that beautiful smile,
and kind eyes,
you came,
with that messy hair,
and stupid sense of humor,
I did not know what I felt that day,
I always thought,
that love wasn’t for me,
but then 
you came.
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savedinmydrafts · a day ago
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i can feel her in my blood
i can feel her in my veins
i tried to bleed this out
but she somehow still remains
in my heart
in my skin
in my mother fuxkin brain
i’m haunted by her face
in my bones i feel her name
she’s a demon and an angel
on my soul she left a stain
and i could run and run forever
but i’ll never get away
// Ophydia
00.00.00
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susanburch · a day ago
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4/10/21
dishmop it all smacked of losing
Harris, Thomas. Silence of the Lambs, Yazoo, Inc., 1988. P.136, 325.
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leveysmusings · a day ago
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This is your sign to take a break <3
This is your sign to take a break
I’ve been exhausted lately And the worst part is not knowing why I want to lay in bed all day And I feel miserable to even try Try having a good day and pretending that everything’s fine But it’s not, I’m not fine And the worst part is I don’t even know why https://www.instagram.com/p/CNLE8kMjEmX/
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Pandemic Special Day 10:
daily statistics
of infections and deaths
grind us down —
time to dig out feel-good DVDs
and pass around the chocolates
Keitha Keyes
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simplemessywanderer · a day ago
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No amount of makeup can conceal the sadness in her eyes.
I was looking at him at a distance, trying to figure him out. Trying and again.. failing.
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mydialect · a day ago
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Buds to detritus
You once promised me an eternity,
Yet sat a wilted flower on the table, a golden smile across your face.
There it was written,
Sordid and blighted.
Worlds were melting as mine was upset at the uncertainty.
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mydialect · a day ago
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Gretchen's Writing: Come Fill Up My Cup
Come fill my cup for my days are ending. Come fill my cup, for my heart is sad and weary from the strife. Come fill my cup for the last time, for I have had my fill on earth, and I'm tired, so tired of unending sadness.
Fear ever shadowing, be kind and before haunting me. Uncertainty, at every door. They stay my hand, and slow my mind, always with me, like specters of a bad dream. Taunting me, daring me to escape their grasping hands.
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lost-khione · a day ago
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Snap
The crunch of a twig being crushed underfoot
is just like how a person gets crushed underneath the weight of snappy words
which can happen in just a snap.
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