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Trust :icondestinyblue:DestinyBlue 17,082 640 Walking on Clouds :icongilad:gilad 6,633 1,135 The Allegory of Foxes :iconalectorfencer:AlectorFencer 2,206 407 Baggage :iconthegirlcansmile:thegirlcansmile 764 276
A message to the broken
You drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 565 229
You're worth so much more
She was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
razor blade,
because looking at what
she'd done
was even harder
to digest
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
s      l  
 p  i    l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
it'll save
her wrists.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 625 214
And the storm broke :iconrgdart:RGDart 349 121 Sunset over the ocean :icontemporary-peace:temporary-peace 1,395 136 Retrospective Wave :iconjustinchristenbery:JustinChristenbery 1,159 196
Sonic the Hedgehog Analysis
If there is one figure that constantly rivals the gaming world's Mario, it's Sonic.
He's been running around for more than a few years and it's a wonder he hasn't aged at all. But surely a series as long-running as Sonic is bound to have a few dark secrets of its own, something that makes it more than a game or two where you pick up chao and run around in circles saving baby animals.
Many of you will noticed Sonic has not aged over the past 15 years. This is a representation of eternal youth and his constant running from place to place symbolizes the desire to never grow up and remain forever young. It also represents youth's irresponsibility and inability of the young to make lasting commitments. Likewise, Sonic's eternally smiling face and cocky attitude symbolize the overall cockiness of youth and the firm belief that he will never have to face the world of growing up or taking responsibility.
Sonic can also be seen to double as a metaphor for the elusiveness of the natural world.
:iconin-the-machine:In-The-Machine 111 118
MM x Pokemon: PokePunk Ashley :iconcherubchan:cherubchan 1,153 66
read when you feel drained
There will be days
when your thoughts overflow,
like hot tea
in the kettle of your mind
and you may feel
steeped like a tea bag,
as everyone extracts
what you have to offer,
and you're  s l o w l y  becoming drained
but just remember
when you're put in hot water:
you have the strength to change it into something greater.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 210 59
Jelly arms :iconthegirlcansmile:thegirlcansmile 357 152 The End lol :iconcaveatscoti:Caveatscoti 200 29
breaking a writer's heart.
never break a writer’s heart
because your name
will forever belong to us.
you will sign it
into every broken bit
and one day, you’ll open a book
with yourself
next to the words
"let me tell you about the time
i was hurt."
never break a poet’s heart
because between the beat
of the stanzas,
you’ll hear that heartbeat,
hammering harder
proving you wrong
with every line.
never break a writer’s heart
because we will take the pain
and make it into something
you could never live down.
you could live with heart monitors,
that measured the damaged pulse,
doctors who told you,
“she's critical.”
but you can’t live with the bold strokes,
smooth as a flatline,
that accuse you of being
the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.
you can’t live with it;
our soulmate, now writing.
You, now replaced
by a pen.
never break anybody’s heart
because you’ll cut yourself
on the pieces of it.
and see, hearts heal.
:iconcolbalt-rain:colbalt-rain 1,798 506
Graffiti Dreams in Black and White
            The strokes are dreamt permanent,
the only lasting demarcations of claiming existence,
and the collective artists who painted them majored in Biology,
or Accounting, or English and Professional Writing, or dropped out
            as so many do when they wake up.
The poet paints them into existence with her words:
                        “ideas are illusions, and all words are untrue.
            And we nod our heads and sip our coffees, indeed,
put a price to labors and words and even to thoughts
because we no longer want freedom if it costs us the freedom
of saving face and keeping pace with the ebb and flow
:iconcarmalain7:Carmalain7 118 80
Hesitation and the Silver Key :iconpallanoph:pallanoph 466 50
first kiss
I will be
the rolling waves,
and you can be
the sandy shore
I'll kiss with salty lips,
and then keep
coming back for more
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 145 63
His house is made of crumbling slats
    of rotted knotted oak
  peeling paint
and weakened joints.
  The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
   dragging fresh sunlight in
      and memories away.
Even on the clearest days
       he visits the front porch
    less and less often.
        He prefers to explore
    those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.         Sometimes
                                     he might be gone for a week.
And one day, too soon
    (not soon enough)
  his ramshackle dw
:iconhavetales-willtell:HaveTales-WillTell 426 213
The Desecration of Adam :iconjflaxman:jflaxman 5,336 826 Picnic :iconmattrich:mattrich 550 88
A midnight confession
When sadness
enveloped me,
I only wished
to put a stamp
on it,
and send it away
(the result always
the same:
return to sender)
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 160 42
A letter to people from my past
You just can't go back,
even to the times you once thought were the greatest.
It's like the playground you played on as a child.
You have endearing memories of the unique mixture of warm mulch and cool metal,
but when you return to it years later,
it's not quite how you remember.
The once large play area now seems small compared to the large cities you've explored.
The slide that once seemed to go on for miles
is nothing compared to the walks and runs and car rides you've been on:
the thousands of miles you've conquered.
The swing that once made you feel like a bird high in the sky hardly gets you off the ground-
feet dragging.
(maybe it's due to the weight time has put on your shoulders,
or maybe you no longer need a swing set to fly).
Yes, you can go back, but you can't have what you had.
Keep the memories fond, and carry them forward.
And if the people from your past are aware of this,
you'll see them in the road ahead.
There's one way to go,
and that's forward.
Hope to see you ther
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 184 88
Blue-Eyed Boy
I'd love
to go swim
in your
ocean blue eyes,
but there's
that risk
I will drown.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 424 196
Murdering Tongues To Avoid Controversy :icontylerreitan:TylerReitan 521 61
Sometimes, I feel so very sorry for
the letters that I write.
Born onto a blank page and
trapped there all their lives.
No new sites to see, no unfamiliar faces to meet;
standing in a lonely row
just to express my thoughts as words,
and yet, completely unable to express their own.
They lie paralyzed in their birthplace
lacking the ability to grow and learn.
Immovable to change for the rest of their lives.
And sometimes, I wonder to myself,
why I choose to be the same.
:iconholdthenoise:HoldTheNoise 74 61
He let me touch the stars... :iconborda:borda 628 30 Reigniting The Passion To Explore Life Beyond Our :icontylerreitan:TylerReitan 316 50 Distortion of Lifelessness Within a Dream :icontylerreitan:TylerReitan 272 60
Abandoned Houses
Glimpsed before they were salted with dusk,
each like a deserted scene from Chernobyl
or Three-Mile Island: breakfast tables
abandoned, family photos left behind,
jackets still hanging on the backs of chairs.
Cutlery slowly fossilising, turning the colour
of anchovies. Their undissovable memories
chirp like Geiger counters when the street
is silent, unspooling household wiring.
Sometimes you might see patches
of dandelions in the front gardens bend,
as if in the presence of breath.
:icontigermoth99:Tigermoth99 105 46
[MM] Outfit Meme :iconeeriah:Eeriah 436 40
Death isn't a fresh perspective
I saw my mother
swallowing something small
when I was just a child
The anguish in her eyes
faded, as she told me
it was just a
with a little extra kick
maybe years later,
that's how I convinced
to swallow fifteen,
thinking it'd
give me a fresh perspective;
in the end,
my breath reeked
of death
instead of mint.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 519 181
A Poet's Romance
She was the quiet sort,
tsunamis tucked
within her eyes,
anxieties pinned
to pottery skin;
she would mold herself
into moonlight butterflies
and glist'ning calla lilies,
pure and white and
and when night cast
itself upon her in
heated, hard'ning flames,
she’d smash herself
upon the rocks
and in morning start
:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 384 226
how to love someone
I grow distraught at the thought
that my words will turn cloy
under the weight of the waterfall
imbued with my saccharine sentences;
as my feelings cascade like a velveteen curtain,
the ineffable emotions cover you like a coat-
they continue to fervently flow,
and become foamy pearls and pebbles
pooling by your feet
I know these waves of water
won’t steal the breath from your lungs,
but rather fill the riverine veins
traveling towards the tributary
of your awaiting heart,
and for this-
I’d rather drown you in affection,
than have a drought.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 127 29
You are someone's reason to live
She had skin like a cactus-
believing she
could only hurt
anyone who got
too close,
forgetting that
she held what
people needed
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 326 118
Moon Pie :iconthegirlcansmile:thegirlcansmile 261 137
a timeless ring
she wears me upon
her withered hand:
an angel's halo
with no beginning or
end —
she didn't like
or goodbyes
but he brushed away the
drops of jupiter
twinkling on her
promising to
return but it was
just a fool's
and now i am
a memoir of
because he is
dead but he is
not, he is
gone but he is
here, he is
a ghost
alive with
a memory preserved;
she wears me upon
her withered hand:
the crown of a
king lost in battle
and she
grazes me with her
lips and
because soon i
will be a
metaphor and
she will be the
:iconahintofwanderlust:ahintofwanderlust 185 29
Literal Lion King Series - I'm Stuck :iconnostalgicchills:NostalgicChills 757 105
maybe, i'm a metaphor.
it’s like i’m six years old again wrapping my fingers around someone else’s hand. it’s as if i’m lost and i don’t even care to be found. and it’s too bright out and the sun is sparking uncomfortably, igniting our bones under the skin. it’s like i’m sleeping on the sidewalk and it’s leaving indents against the side of my face and the backs of hands. but it won’t matter in the morning since the world is on fire. and all i am is a held breath that won’t put the flames out. or a rain cloud without the silver lining that will pour all this worry away.
it’s like i’m sixteen all over with my fingers tight around another glass bottle or the edge of the sink. it’s as if i’m drowning in the past and i know i won’t be saved. and it’s dark in the room and i’m breathing too loudly through my mouth since i can’t keep my anxiety behind closed lips. it’s like i’m kneeling on the bathroom floor
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 197 140
My bones were glass blown:
Crafted to curve lowly -
(un)beautifully - furling like
a fetus,
Imagine me transmuted, bursting through
desquamated skin. Picture my
clay-molded contours liquified
and awakened, shifted:
But I am unseasoned - grape-shelled,
guileless. Esotericism is overflowing
in my veins:
I click
This path is as smudged as
its traveler (skidding yet
never slowed), clotted
with mud:
Watch my fingers splay, breaking
from my tendons to
grasp tangible air
and touch
You can neither scorch nor
whittle me into
nail-sized hopelessness, only
make me
Steeled, my jaw is set -
diffident, not shattered.
Flawed, definitelymaybenot
godlike: Merely
:iconbowie-loon123:bowie-loon123 201 46
You were a mistake
You were vodka
as water;
too much
to my lips,
and I
became sick.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 185 51
red is a power color.
red is stoplights, anger. rage.
red is my nose when i cry about my parents.
“women are more attractive to men
when they wear red,” he says once
so you cut yourself
because red is blood
and when he ignores the bandages, you say,
“no. look what i did.
look what i did for you.”
but he doesn’t fall in love with you
red is the scream that
comes out of your mouth.
blue is the veins under your skin and
blue is depression that tells you to slice them
blue is the weeks you spend after him
and blue is the great, wide sky above you,
trying to remind you that the rest of the world
is still waiting.
your brother says he’s looking for the light
at the end of the tunnel
but the world is full of light.
(you would know. we can hardly see the stars
because of it.)
the world is not full of you
so you try.
black is what surrounds him
and black is burns
and you’ve been burned, scalded
so you blend in.
you’re backgr
:iconcolbalt-rain:colbalt-rain 193 52
If I Were A Line
If I were a line
I think I’d be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
I’d sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a line.
If I were a spot
I’d be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
I’d have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a spot.
If I were a colour
I’d be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
I’d lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
made oh-so dramatic,
my thoughts all sporadic.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a colour.
But I am a human,
so pale and flawed,
and easily bored,
(wishing I was adored).
I twist and bend
(these hinges, you see?);
my shape is no other
than the one I can be;
My colour, it changes
almost constantly,
because I am a human:
a human – that’s me.

:icondailenna:dailenna 816 367
Your feelings are valid
I once read
that a teaspoon of matter
from a black hole
can weigh thousands of tons
upon Earth
so think about that
when someone tells you
your problem is no big deal
it may not look
like you have the weight of the world
upon your shoulders
but it sure can feel like it.
:icontangled-tales:Tangled-Tales 391 129
Peeling a Potato-Shaped You
I picked you up from a gutter in radioactive Russia. Somehow, you had fallen out of the body-bag you were carried in, and I nearly kicked you further into the muck. I heard your pleas though, begging for my hands to pick you up. They ate a hole in the fabric and sent you rolling before my feet. In normal circumstances, that would never happen, but there is nothing normal about a world covered in grief.
You were a real piece of work. It's got to be expected after all, in these parts, but you were still fascinating all the same. For instance, you were covered in that signature brown dirt. Most of the time, it was brushed neatly before you were zipped up. But you'd been out too long in the open and it showed. Reptilian shoots punched through your skin and waved like a many-armed grotesque plant. They looked like bleached coral that decided to grow out of your flesh rather than in the nutrient-rich sea. As I ran my fingers over your suppurating sores, I wondered why I picked up the sort of
:iconjulietcaesar:julietcaesar 563 466
lilting clouds in your glass of cabernet
are imagined weather conversations
with people you used to know,
used to know pretty well and
whether you should have left
the way that you did
all carpet bags and old clothes
the fog funneled through
holes in the train windows like
burned down cigarettes
you light your own and think
remembering is muscle
stretched taut over bone
:icongracelally:gracelally 96 28
First Orgasm
                     I will give in, tempted to aching
                        by offers no one could refute:
                                                                sink fingers in you
:iconalimari:Alimari 43 36
Science and Religion :iconrationalhub:rationalhub 61 59