#poetry but not really

[offstage-euthymia]

You know how they say it.

And play the rhythm on it.

From the coast to coast.

To the most common place

Where laces dance

On the floor behind the door.

The more i listen.

The more i see.

The vast sea

I tend to go and listen to the stream.

Behind a curtian.

On a gentle breeze and some light beams

For i am certain that sun and shine

Rain and cloud.

Are bound to merge from time to time

Even snow melts down

And plants sprout.

And some dry down.

When it falls in fall

The colours down below.

And yet again it will snow.

And yet again the winds will blow

And so it will shine and be dry in summer fries

And rain will make a bow and bow beneath the rainbows.

By Marko Tivanovac.

[voctorianwriting]

Wish I could call you mine

But you were never mine to have

That was a chance I lost long ago

No, it was a chance I never had.

We don't talk much, we never did.

But i struggle to find excuses for the way you sometimes look at me.

In a crowd I never fail to catch the way you glance at me.

Maybe it's because my actions catch you off guard too,

But I can't help care about you -too-

No maybe it's me who's hopeful, me who's picking up things that aren't there and never have been.

Because you are already spoken for

And you two are complete together

Even that I can't argue,

So these words might be about you, but never are they meant for your ears to hear.

[leleyro]

The same way you can’t force people to enter your life, you can’t force them to stay.

Let them go; let yourself heal. You’ll be okay, always have been, and always will be.

[chaos-and-ink]

How do you cry your heart out while being silent? Practice.

[country-wizard]

I read poems 

They make me think of everyone 

I have ever known

I talk to my friends

And yearn for an eternity with them 

I dream of soft mornings 

With those I call family 

Eating breakfast at a too small table 

Our shoulders bump 

Laughter fills the air 

Silverware clinks

It'll feel like an eternity 

At that small table 

I am loved 

They are loved 

But the time will pass 

I wish I could spend forever at that table 

In a world 

A future that has yet to come 

In my current day 

I think of my friends 

Of sitting at that small table with them 

They are so loved 

But the future is a secret 

And perhaps the secret it holds

Is them never being at that small table 

Where I am also loved

[boybasher]

Teen Mom 🍼 (my dark aesthetic poetry reading)

[cactusy]

"Sunsets and sunrises always leave me in awe. Their beauty, unfolding in a brief moment, mirrors the fleeting nature of life and love. Like a glimpse of perfection, they captivate and then vanish, leaving us longing for just one more moment of splendor."

[sheepwithshoes]

Sometimes I still miss you

Sometimes I still miss you

But not the way you think

I don't miss you like a little kid waiting for his dad to come home

I miss you like the moon misses the Sun

I miss you because I know that the only time will cross paths again is during an eclipse

And even then we won't speak just a short nod of the head and that's it

I know I'm better off without being burnt

And I know you're better off without being shadowed in

Sometimes just like the moon misses the sun I miss your warmth

My memories of you are almost like fever dreams

Because I know I'll never have them again

And I know we weren't good for each other in the end

But God I just wish we could have been

So yes sometimes I still miss you and by sometimes I mean everyday

But everyday missing you becomes easier

And sometimes the only thing I want is to be held in your arms again

And sometimes the only thing I want is to be able to call you and tell you how my day has been

But you don't want to hear it

And in the end I don't blame you

In the end I know that the Moon if it's out long enough will hurt everything

And I wouldn't want to hamper your brightness

I wouldn't want to be the reason that you were no longer you

But God it hurts to grieve a person that's still alive

Maybe it's the religious guilt

Like a kid who grew up Catholic I wish and pray to God every night that you'll come back

I started wearing rosaries just for good luck

But every night the results still the same

You won't come back and I know that.

But sometimes I still miss you

[poetic-soul]

My fears growing, emotions barely showing.

I'll dissappear, so i can end this whole thing.

[thesun-isinlovewith-themoon]

That urge to have someone break down your writing and maybe just MAYBE see the person who wrote those words within them. Somewhere, lost... Clinging to the words they gave meaning to. All the same maybe it is better to remain unknown. Not let my being damage the gift of meaning a reader can pull from my art more freely without ever really knowing me. It's a balancing act I think. To want so badly to be seen but the hatred of being misunderstood... Or understood perfectly and hated for the very essence of what makes someone who they are. Though that is still attention of some form and many thrive on it, many more crave it without even knowing what IT is. A void. An emptiness that nothing can really fill and we all carry with us in one form or another.

[offstage-euthymia]

Words, the pursim of those.

An extension of scent of a soul.

Perhaps candle lit.

A cinnamon smell

There is never enough of those.

An extraction of the bold.

Perhaps a feeling, perhaps reason.

With a treason of wisdom.

Too much flavor.

Maybe each has their own accompanied.

Perhaps of camomile, perhaps of coffee.

And the dance of aroma.

And freshly ground coffee.

A mixture of smells.

In which some people dwell.

While i pour the coffee before bedtime.

I look at the bottom of my cup.

Next to coffee there's a tea.

A candle lit next to the honey jar.

And while i look at the bottom i see

A set of calm and blurry.

With a grasp of hurry.

With each flavor that buds craved for.

A break from bright and gloomy.

And suddenly cups are empty

And I get back to the everyday hassle and hurry.

But a soothed throat dismantles the worry.

Perhaps everyone has their own aroma.

And some mix better than the other.

A scent, a flavor of one another.

By Marko Tivanovac

[inganikki]

First tweet: “I saw a piece of fabric? on the floor of my room so I went to pick it up but it was actually the moonlight that entered through the window lmao”

Quote RT: “1000 years ago this would have been a poem, not a tweet”

[happyheidi]

by Molly Buford

[country-wizard]

I look at men and grit my teeth and clench my fists as I think of kissing them

I get mad at how I wish I could be everything bodily of a man except

What actually makes a man a man

Simply identifying as one

Because I am not a man but I have always dreamt of a body I do not have pressed against another's that is what I am not

To love men in a inherently queer way

Not as another man

But something else, something that isn't

Yet to carry the body of what is assigned one

So I look at men fists clenched and yearning

[nerdby]

If I could run from you then I would.

This isn't fun for me, either.