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Literature Text
I can perceive that
your
eyes are half-open.
Are you awake
your
eyes are half-open.
Are you awake
or
are you dreaming?
are you dreaming?
Can you see this huge
mess
we made together?
Or are you more or
less
mess
we made together?
Or are you more or
less
a mere sleepwalker?
You shut out the pain
but can't fall asleep;
you hold onto faith
but won't take a leap.
Your blood runs lukewarm,
neither hot or cold;
you seem to be young
but act like you're old.
Where is your passion
to
break down wicked tropes?
What happened to the
new
generation's hopes?
What are we living
for
when we're just sleeping?
Are you awake
or
are you dreaming?
You open your mind
but never your ears;
you act confident
but don't face your fears.
Your blood runs lukewarm,
neither hot or cold;
you talk a big game
but you tend to fold.
Don't close your eyes.
Blindness isn't
liberty.
Ignorance won't
set you free.
You'll find yourself
when you forgive
yourself-
Are you who
you
want to be?
Literature
She
When she left home
she would leave her doors unlocked
in the hopes that her life would be a little more exciting.
she would strut the streets at night
marveling at the neon dance of traffic lights and stars.
the photons would hypnotize her
and make her move her body in ways she never imagined.
She would kiss girls until her lips bled
because men's lips don't taste like cherry balm.
She would stop by the liquor store
and brush her hand on the bottle green glass
and end up buying coca cola.
When she finally stumbled home
she would shed her clothes like a snake sheds skin
strip teasing for an Invisible Man.
shaking her hips and touching her legs
Literature
Freckled
Have you ever dashed
sea salt in a puddle
of vanilla and watched
the white rocks tumble
in exactly the right space?
Well, I have,
and the result is your face;
The minerals stand out
like stars against darkness.
They mimic the way your
freckles
spangle across the bridge
of your nose
like diamonds caught
in smooth black oil.
still,
with a million ways
to describe their
divine placement,
I've not yet seen
anything like them
and I don't think I ever will.
Literature
Welcome To The Internet
Welcome To The Internet
Welcome to the internet, young one
The place where it’s normal for “trolls” to roam,
And where an internet thug will “bust a cap in ya’,”
For disagreeing with him on the debate of Russell Westbrook vs. Derrick Rose,
Where we have pseudo-politicians spewing their nonsensical rhetoric,
And if you dare even disagree with THEM?
You’re a “dumbass;” or you’re goin’ to Hell and are a fake (insert-nationality-here, my friend)
And how if they knew you in real life, they’d bring your life to an end,
The place where it’s okay to call someone &l
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
Does coasting through life count as living? Regardless, I prefer to thrive, not just survive.
The second poem in the conclusive "Limitless" collection.
Previous:
Next:
The second poem in the conclusive "Limitless" collection.
Previous:
Life AwaitsThis one is for the brokenhearted:
the failures,
fools,
sinners,
and misguided.
When the world is weary
of itself
it becomes difficult to
find yourself
and confidence is left on
the shelf
next to former symbols of
your health…
Hey, chin up-
your life awaits!
Idleness is death
and harsher fates.
Don’t succumb
to apathy-
try to accept that
we’re meant to be.
I’m writing this for the bleeding hearts:
the teachers,
nuns,
leaders,
and young upstarts.
When the world rejects your
charity
it becomes difficult to
give pity
to critics and cynics of
society
who measure your love as a
scarcity…
Hey, chin up-
your life awaits!
Resentment is death
and harsher fates.
Don’t let go
of empathy-
be the person
you want to be.
Oh, don’t let go!
Please don’t let go…
We both must know
this planet could
use another
enlivened soul.
Next:
All is FairIt hurts to be close,
kills to stay away-
this war inside me
is waged every day.
Battlefield of
both love and decay-
I'm so torn apart...
more than I can say.
Deep within my heart
I'm lost and confused-
I try hard not to
feel I've been used.
I poured out my soul
yet I've been refused-
can't shake the fact that
my love was abused.
It's much like being
punctured with a knife-
such pain can only
be described as rife.
Yet I still hold out
for a decent wife-
a needle girl
in my haystack life.
I know this issue
is far from unique-
I know I've yet to
reach my highest peak.
I know that I'll find
the answers I seek-
yet I see reason
for me to stay meek...
The age-old belief
that life isn't fair
can still be applied
to love and warfare.
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its called deviantART not devaintPOETRY retard