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#prose poem
faedaimon · 19 hours ago
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I wish we could go back or bring back a time when we could study for enjoyment; when studying wasn’t about getting the best grades from standardised tests that barely make you think outside the box; when people genuinely sought knowledge for the sake of learning. Nowadays it’s all about getting a good degree just to make money, we want to finish our education quickly so we can start earning money quickly and in between we miss out out on the learning and it’s more of just racing to the finish line. It pains me so much that so many people who could’ve contributed a lot to society, are now lost just because of a piece of paper, or because they didn’t have enough money or they just lost the motivation for their passion.
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a-moonlit-poet · 3 days ago
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First Love
I may have loved you
way more than I thought I would.
But your sudden touches
lightened the senses that I thought loathed.
You are here
yet; I miss you
Holding you close
so no one can have you.
I stroked your curves
fearing;
you will break if I'll let go.
Guiding you slowly
so that I can enjoy your beauty.
You are a dream that came true.
You made me into someone
everyone looks up to
Promise me you won't let go.
There's a long run we both have to go.
Your shadow forever stayed
when the Sun drowned
and my dark side rose.
And you still loved
the person I once abhorred.
I fell in love with words because they made me love myself first.
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fdhynct · 7 months ago
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to love a poet; to be immortalized in verse
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memoryslandscape · 10 days ago
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At night on the page between awake and asleep, the world makes perfect sense. There we meet again for the first time and you take my hand.
Louis Jenkins, from “The Book,” No Boundaries: Prose Poems by 24 American Poets, ed. Ray Gonzalez (Tupelo Press, 2003)
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siir-poesia · 5 months ago
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Poetry in 5
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Vuelvo a sentir amor en tus labios. Vuelvo a sentir pasión en tus manos. Vuelvo a sentir las respuestas en mis oídos. Contemplo tus ojos y no encuentro otro mejor lugar  en el cual morir bañado de pasado y olvido. Tus ojos, colisión de reflejos marrones. Tu existencia, puerta cósmica al infinito irreal.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ 
★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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I feel love on your lips again. I feel the passion in your hands again. I feel the answers again in my ears. I contemplate your eyes and i can't find a better place in which to die bathed in past and oblivion. Your eyes, collision of brown reflections. Your existence, cosmic door to unreal infinity.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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Je ressens à nouveau de l'amour sur tes lèvres. Je ressens à nouveau la passion entre vos mains. Je ressens à nouveau les réponses dans mes oreilles. Je contemple tes yeux et je ne peux pas trouver un meilleur endroit dans lequel mourir baigné de passé et d'oubli. Tes yeux, collision de reflets bruns. Votre existence, porte cosmique vers l'infini irréel.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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Sento di nuovo l'amore sulle tue labbra. Sento di nuovo la passione nelle tue mani. Sento di nuovo le risposte nelle orecchie. Contemplo i tuoi occhi e non riesco a trovare un posto migliore in cui morire immersi nel passato e nell'oblio. I tuoi occhi, collisione di riflessi marroni. La tua esistenza porta cosmica all'infinito irreale.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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Eu sinto amor em seus lábios novamente. Sinto a paixão em suas mãos novamente. Sinto as respostas novamente em meus ouvidos. Eu contemplo seus olhos e não consigo encontrar um lugar melhor no qual morrer banhado no passado e no esquecimento. Seus olhos, colisão de reflexos marrons. Sua existência, porta cósmica para o infinito irreal.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
siir-poesia ©
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iambrillyant · 6 months ago
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“some people will not like the version of you that you are becoming because the older version of you is more comfortable for them, more understandable to them, more resonant with them. if your growth intimidates them, you’re not obligated to keep making space for what shrinks you.”
— iambrillyant
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enigmaspoetry · a month ago
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it feels weird and sad, you know? when you have shared such giggles with someone that you know everything about them, yet do not know the reason why you fell apart. you know their rainbows, their rain, their sunny days, and their cold winter but now you're stuck in the fall and it feels like autumn is never coming back. the hands that once grooved you to soft beats do not dare to make you smile anymore. and when you read those old conversations, you bury your head in a pillow and call yourself stupid, but the heart still beats. it never stops. time moves quickly slipping out of your hands when you read their words, and you keep reading. you want time to slip letters under your door by their name and you want autumn, and you want to be that stupid again because you realize stupidity is not fun unless there's a person to prove that it's not stupid to love someone.
enigma
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boutiquepoetry · 11 months ago
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by @atticuspoetry
BUY THE PRINTABLE HERE - Download + Print in from home!
https://www.etsy.com/listing/875634844/printable-quote-atticus-poem-i-dont?ref=listing_published_alert
#poetry #instagrampoem #poet #poetrycommunity #poem #writer
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stormykatie · 2 months ago
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if i pass away,
my pen will mourn me longer
than my friends will ever do in a lifetime
it will sit cold on my study table,
its own bereavement fester
with the lifeless body buried somewhere
reeking of lost poetry
an ocean of mystery that seems
unsolvable now that the lead vanished
like smoke
it will try to recollect the words
it used to scribble
and the emotions they carry
it will marvel at the depth of the scars
that resonate on the seemingly flawless pieces,
how many times in a day did i survive
the pangs before i decided the culmination
of a barren life
such a tragedy that it could only lie there
thinking of the past as its yearning
to be held burns with the candlestick
-mourn me longer,
katie, 16th of July 2021, 16:45
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uutpoetry · 3 months ago
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5 Medical Signs You Shouldn't Ignore
Catherine B. Krause 1. A new tentacle on your head. While it's normal for a growing biology to develop tentacles in the process of mutating to the next-level organism, a tentacle on the head is dangerously close to the brain and may enable it to access higher knowledge or food items, ultimately leading it to become more powerful than your puny body. Resist the temptation to transcend this reality, as the next reality might not be any better, and what would we do without you? Think of the oylem-haze. 2. Flashing back to previous poems. Truly there is nothing more poetic than cheese, as a famous person once said, but salanthropists are flowing with salad to give to anyone who needs it, if only they would swallow their vegetables. Do you think you understand where capitalism ends and vegetarianism begins? It's more complicated than you think. Consume less, if you think it will help you. It's a free space between our ears, for now. 3. Being delighted by razor beams. Razor beams are terrifying, like razory laser beams that cut you in half. What sort of sick mind would enjoy this sort of thing? Not me, not you. Stop teasing the cat with a back scratcher; it wasn't meant for such things. It's a carnivorous predator and it's bored; how would a razor beam help it cope with a reality between four walls where there's never enough scritching or food to chase? 4. Unquestionable thirst for power. I've had a painful bump in the middle of my right shin, maybe slightly to the right of the bone in the middle, for the last two weeks. It's the whole group dynamic at a place like that, and people need to question it more. China, Russia and Iran are just competitor imperialists to America. May the world be corrected to such an extent that our descendants will look back on us with a bit of disgust. 5. Too many cats and not enough energy. If you want to live somewhere affordable, start using this spoon to scoop peanut butter out of the jar. Or go to a different country, preferably, because cats deserve all the attention and all the space, so don't get too many, no matter how much you love them. No matter how great it sounds to be a crazy cat lady, always tease them with a back scratcher. This is not mean-spirited but a fictionalized account of something that really happened to me 10 years ago.
Catherine B. Krause is a crazy cat lady, survivor, and dork living in Niagara Falls, NY. All her writing is released under the CC-Zero license because she doesn't believe in copyright. She has been doing a lot of T-shirt design lately under the name dikleyt at Redbubble and Teepublic, and has uploaded much of this art to Wikimedia Commons under the same license.
Art by kimama
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a-moonlit-poet · a month ago
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Monster
Oh Mother!
Oh, were you wrong!
The monster was never under my bed.
It was in Me all along.
Hiding in the shadows
of my melancholic soul,
Afraid to come out
Cause he knows he's alone.
Hearing voices.
Feeling touches.
But he is hiding behind a mask of my smiling whole.
Feeling ugly to even look at his breaming sins,
Covered in blood and went cold.
He is afraid of what the world holds.
He is scared of being the most coward of all.
Oh mother!
The monster in me,
Even hides from the things
That are created for console.
He hides in the dark
Away from the truth.
Cause he knows,
It's better than some pretending angels,
Murdering people
with their smiles dipped in sins.
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boysaints · 9 months ago
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on god & learning to love
taglist + transcript under the cut (ask to be added/removed):
@politropos @thoroughbredsbian @everybodyplaysalong @raystoro @diyas @lovebrew @fairnell @drugstorecowboy1989 @tsnlesbian @bitcheusjackson @summeroflikes @txreznikoff @richardsiiken
[poem transcript: “i only believe in god every second saturday but i think they’re the one that always sits down with me for coffee, that puts their not-hand on my shoulder and says, c’mon, you should eat something with that, or you haven’t slept in three days, it’s gonna catch up to you soon, and even though i pride myself on being a good, practical, head-screwed-on-right daughter, all i want is for someone to put their arms around me and say you know what, it’s okay, you did your best, you tried so hard, that’s enough, you’re enough, but if there’s no one there, i think the sunlight coming through the shutters counts, too, i think the birds clamoring to be heard in the trees count, too. look, i know i was an ugly, bitter, terrible child, but this feels like a second chance, like maybe i didn’t fuck it all up too badly--if there’s no one looking out for me, at least i can pretend the universe is! at least i can pretend there’s someone waiting for me with a smile when i get home; i can name my want a blessing and love it the same way i love the sound of my friend’s laughter and staying up late enough to see the sunrise. look, i know i was an ugly, bitter, terrible child, but this is a second chance, and if you’d let me, i’d hold you like you were the whole world, too. i’d love you like you were a religion, too.” /end transcript]
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shorteststory · 7 days ago
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This week's story is Skysong by special guest Michael Matheson!
Michael Matheson is a genderfluid graduate of Clarion West ('14), with work published or forthcoming in Nightmare, Shimmer, and Augur, among other venues. They also co-founded and co-edit Anathema: Spec from the Margins, a tri-annual speculative fiction magazine of work by Queer/Two-Spirit POC/Indigenous/Aboriginal creators. Find them at https://michaelmatheson.wordpress.com.
TRANSCRIPTION:
The Voice is not for you. It sings with words meant for other ears.
They roar through you, these glacial tides, to crash on other, further shores. Every augury a sluice of change, of brilliant, blazing roil in a world gone mad. One where mountains sing, rivers climb clouds out of atmosphere, and freed firma drifts through firmament. An endless, glorious upheaval. Your body caught in ceaseless skytide, further changed with every note.
The others left drift into and out of your orbit. Each begging tasks for the Great Work, while you rise a second sun, the one above gone black in a cerulean sky filled with impossible, planet-eating shadows.
And with every whisper rung from a co-opted, ravaged throat, you beg without words: when will mercy be given? When will you crumble, at last, to dust?
But the Voice never answers you, only others, as it sings eternal.
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moonbirdy · 9 months ago
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the best revenge isn’t moving on and pretending not to care. if you really want to disconcert people, stick your fingernails in and bring out your insides. leave them there on the table. no one wants to see you cry. that’s why you should do it. 
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iambrillyant · a month ago
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“that thing that makes you unique, don’t dilute it for anyone who doesn’t like how sweet it tastes. don’t drown it for anyone who doesn’t know how to swim in its depths. don’t throw it away for anyone who doesn’t know what gold looks like. your difference deserves celebration.”
— iambrillyant
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