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Maja Sep 2020
The thing about being an artist.

People only look at the finished work.

Not at the soiled hands which made it.
You don't know how low I went,
to write something deep

You don't know the things I had to do,
To find my material

You don't know how I broke my hands,
to create the art before you
Michael A Duff Aug 2020
Our love was an open book

It got dark and we lost our page

I really wanted to finish our story
Some loss is not anyone's fault but it can be just as hard to bare. Heartbreak is hard to repair no matter how hard or who or where... 78 to 64 just like that to 0
Bhill Aug 2020
the road to no-where
who travels this lonely road
is there a finish

Brian Hill - 2020 # 224
Don’t travel this road...!
Lulu Sarmiento Aug 2020
He said: “Let’s start.”
She said: “It’s the end.”
What’s the silver lining between start and end?
Shin Jun 2020
I have held love in the palm of my hand.
Sifting it through my fingers cautiously.
Holding its sweet down against my skin.
Tightening my grip, to squeeze all it has.
Lost within the confines, my world collapsed.
So, beating the door, I begin again.
Another moment, another soft sigh.
Another cycle, another way to die.
Embracing the lavender, I slip to sleep.
Hawa May 2020
Cigarette buds, wine glasses, and hazy memories.

Unfinished conversation, people.

Room a little less Messier than life.

Still, it's difficult to stay alive.

Crushed hair, cloudy Eyes, heavy deep breath.

Broken nibs of pencils.

Twice half-read Sylvia Plath,

Lana Del Rey songs on loop.

Storylines with crushed characters.

Unfinished poems,

Completely finished thinking capacity.

Stained coffee mugs here and there.

Some as old as the blockage in my pen.
I am unable to finish this as much as I try could you all please help me in giving this a decent end?

It's about the struggles of all of us - The writers/poets and their unfinished stories.

Dedicated to all of us and thanks in advance to anyone who tries to help me with this.
Reappak May 2020
Feel the joy, in this race,
adore the clouds
smell the flowers,
Forget the finish line
It's a start
to a brand new race!
Mrs Timetable Apr 2020
If I could read your mind
It would be reading mine
And we would say it
At the exact same time
Funny how that happens
Ovid Present Apr 2020
I  live back always on my day
7 years aged and the day I was made.
From my bed I hear the phone ring,
The kitchen echoed the strike of a match
Cigarette, the smoke scent sounds my alarm
I knew who was on the other side,
I tried, it just didn’t work, those were different times
The teacher, the bearer of School, antagonist
I  knew the result,
he tore into my room  lifting me from my bed by my hair
nothing  between me and the strap
thrown stomach to the ground, peering under the dresser
storm windows placed behind for summer storage
the glass revealed my reflection
my eyes were wide, and I gazed into myself,
Lost in my head eyes growing strong and, in my mind, “Nothing last forever”
His holler fads into the background,
This was far from the first, but this day I became aware
deep into my eyes.
light flashed through my body on the first blows strike And I turned the intended pain to galvanizing pleasure.
Reflecting in the glass, the impact recoiled the small body from the floor, and I am stronger,
“Nothing last forever”
Not a tear dropped, not a blow felt, I’m bigger than pain, aged 7 years
The day I was made.
Now I can take any anguish, and everything passes.

This glorious life and my time laden in adventure
All from the day I was made.
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