Nullibicity Kelsi is one of the kindest people I know! She's become one of my really good friends, and she has such a heart that is so big that everyone would love to live in. Her poetry is a gem, too - it's beautifully written and it can be relatable. Her concepts are fresh and lovely.
chromeantennae He's one of the sweetest people I've ever met on this site. I don't know how he has the time to support everyone with kindness, but he still does which amazes me. His poetry can be very contemplative at times and the meaning is always strong.
FuzzyHoser she's a very helpful and kind person. her advice is really good and her poetry is even better. it has this element of wisdom to it and it also comes off in a way that you'd feel like you experienced it, too.
ithaswhatitisnt She's been so kind to me for the past six months or so. She's very generous and very supportive. Her poetry has some kind of concrete element to it that reminds me of stability for some reason -- or more like 'classic' poetry-ish. It's always a treat to read it!
ithaswhatitisnt She's been so kind to me for the past six months or so. She's very generous and very supportive. Her poetry has some kind of concrete element to it that reminds me of stability for some reason -- or more like 'classic' poetry-ish. It's always a treat to read it!
brokenfragilethings She's so kind and I don't think she knows it! She's one of those people that has this old-soul sense of kindness - one that's rare and hard to have. Her poetry is very, very powerful and it's an example of simple-worded poetry done right.
Pack-a-dayA diamond queen
and seventeen,
smoking pack-a-day dreams
for 95 cents more than
zirconium-falls in slim nicotine
(but the cancer in ashtrays never
stops anyone from trying.)
There’s truth in gusts of sleep,
while I struggle in the
security of windbreaking
as heaven opens up to scream.
birdlike bonesit's like you
wrapped your fingers
around my throat
and then had
the nerve to ask me
to breathe.
I lost my innocence, that day.When I was younger,
there was a time where all of my friends
were boys.
Girls wanted to play mommy and ponies
I wanted to play tag and race cars
and so did the boys
so we did.
Not a big deal.
I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.
He was really neat--
He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.
One day, as we were having snacks
(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)
I decided I wanted another one.
It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--
clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.
So I walked up to his mother and said
"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"
And I will never forget the hesitant look I got
the curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;
it's forever in my mind. It's always there.
Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.
Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.
To be honest, I don't remember if she ever
She says it every day.She aches for something--
"Maybe tomorrow."
philosophy has lost its appealYour absence isn't the elephant in the room;
It’s the invisible parasites lounging in the floorboards
Just writhing for a taste of lonely flesh.
My repaired left half is gone;
Without you, I’m faulty once more:
The half-blind broken wind-up doll is here again.
There aren't words to describe the emptiness:
just return soon.
Innovations (Rehash)Innovations (Rehash)
We destroy to rehash. So innovative.
unfortunate truthhearts beat better when they're broken
a grief-stricken moonseti collect small details
like heartbeats
your denim smile
(the smirk i could never learn to unravel...sexsexsex)
your wheat-shocked hair
(my gasoline hands cauterizing the fields, smoldering with adoration)
your sandpaper-husky voice
(you siren-sing to me in dreams, preserved formaldehyde-perfect)
you keep me alive just barely
celadon whispers are never enough
to keep a bereaved heart thudding
like it actually has something to live for
My FatherMy Father
Dad, there’s simply no one like you,
Even after all these things we’ve been through,
You still catch me off guard at times,
But strangely enough, in some way, it doesn’t catch me by surprise,
I guess with you, dad, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected,
And be prepared for anything life throws my way,
Dad, I look at you as the professor and myself, the student,
So just know every lesson you’ve taught me will forever have its place;
To staying strong in even the most trying of times,
To ensuring that I’m in control of my emotions,
To even the discipline when I sometimes fell off of that straight line,
You taught me how important it was to always have that fire;
This is one of the many things that I’ll always admire about you,
And that’s your passion for everything that you do;
You’re the only champion I know who still looks at himself as the underdog,
So this is why I believe you’ve brought your h
Glitch/RipplesGlitch/Ripples
Ma—ma----ma---gnificent sounds of ran—run-random, writhing rhythm,
Lay-lay-ers upon layers only-only adds to the lush atmosphere,
Gl-gl-gl-gl-itching, break-break-break-break-breaking, skip-skip-skip to my add-add-addiction;
My love for the displaced sound-sound-sound-sound waves that cause ripples in a-air.
Don't-don't-don't-d-d-d-d-d-d-don't st------st----stuttering----stop.
Gardening for dummiesHer head is a flowery poem,
filled with pots and weeds
and mother earth
dug deep in roots and taciturn.
Now no one will come near,
but she has thorns
and worm-filled words,
and a spade for planting
the lesser verse…
but the loneliness
she buries
beneath roots and words
and stanza stems
until it digs ant tunnels
to resurface
again.
A Poet's RomanceShe 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
beautiful.
and when night cast
itself upon her in
heated, hard'ning flames,
she’d smash herself
upon the rocks
and in morning start
again.
