#31

This is really...horrendous. Seriously. I wasn't feeling it. It was like...blehh. Freestyle, 2:36 minutes, in the topic "what comes to mind when you picture the grim reaper dancing the waltz?"

"Waltz" On May 14, 12:34 AM

A black veil
sweeping over wooden laminate,
and his partner, an angel
in shimmering costume of
bright light and warm snow.

Black and purple fires, lick at the couple's feet,
as they twist and turn
and glide
in each other's arms.

Love and hate can't exist
without each other
and we, the audience
perceive that this dance is beautiful
as the two forces in our mind
control each other
balancing each other
as they sway to the rhythm of the waltz
they dance to

#30

Now...I'm embarrassed about this one. This one SUCKS...well, no, it doesn't suck. But what it's about SUCKS! On AP it says the title is "Boy in Mind" but I'm changing it on here to "Get Out".

"Get Out" on May 13, 12:39 AM

No, get out of my mind

you stumbling, bumbling, mumbling fool.

It doesn't have a door, so you're trapped

but I have no idea how you got in

I suppose you crawled in,

sleepwalking through the windows in my eyes.

I have no idea how you got there,

and you don't know how you got in.

Did I dream you up

for me to long after?

No. You exist. I'm sure of that.

How?

Your words that take no notice

of me cut me like a blade

your tongue is a sword, a

rapier that pierces my heart

and you've made me cry.

You're unaware,

but get out!

At times, I don't want you in there

but sometimes, I paint pictures

and write stories of you

though it's embarrassing for me to admit.

Get out!

#29

Enough with the Emo-sounding poems! This one's cheery, I think. Oh, and written in Freestyle, 3:56 minutes, in the topic, "Life according to me"

"life" on May 12, 9:51PM

I think there's a purpose,

but you may say that there's darkness,

which, yes, there may be

but there's always that one skylight

cutting a rectangle through this

blackness that lets heavenly sunlight

fall and shine.

it exposes the dirt, and exposes the grime

life is a circle, not a triangle

nor a square

if you don't believe so, you'd be squared

because life is made of cycles

and as its light goes into your eye

in conic images received by none

other than an orb of

green, blue, red, purple, or brown

and the in betweens of

emerald, hazel, pink, and caramel

each dotted with a black spot that receives this light.

life is a folder, crammed with photos

memos, tests, and memories

it is a scrapbook of pasted images

and a window of rolling film

it is the air we breath, and the sorrow

when one passes on

that is life, and it is mine

it is yours, it is theirs

it is ours

to share.

#28

This poem is for an English Assignment. It's about me, and this is the actual original, but I had to cut it short to please my teacher.

"Bio Poem" On May 10, 11:46PM (I didn't choose the name, that's just what it's supposed to be called.)

Vera Karlotta

Feisty

Contradicted

Depressed

Blessed

Sister of none,

is one so lonely in this world.

Who loves the wind that cleans the air,

that sweeps leaves and caresses cheeks;

The books that turn their pages

telling stories of old wives tales and

poetry that sucks you in, like a portal to another world –

the world of one’s soul;

and music when on full blast,

or when faint sounds hang from a thread in your ear

the jagged pattern of riffs and chords

as well as the smooth melodies of hushed voices.

Who feels depressed a third of the time,

crazy a half of the time,

and hyper a sixth of the time

Who needs to take a moment or two

to search the tip of her tongue for those long-lost words,

and needs a giant teddy bear to secure and fall asleep with.

Who needs some art and crazy visuals in life,

without taking desperate measures…

who needs freedom.

Who gives the time to those in need

and the service to those who’ve fallen...

and even to those who are too lazy to get up

for a glass of water.

Who fears ninja thieves who come to

steal, kill, and destroy her heart

and those treasures she calls her loved ones.

Who fears the giant whirlpools that result from the pool’s unplugged drain that will eat her up like dirt in a vacuum, to take her to several other dust bunnies.

And who fears the night, when gunshots reign, and disaster falls, leaving the city’s families nearby in a shroud of mourning when the dawn approaches in the next day.

Who would like to see someone to get up

and help out from time to time,

and a giant library stacked with bookshelves,

scented with the fragrance of wizened and ancient books;

as well as for her dreams to become a reality, and solid clouds in the form of cotton balls to float near the ground and carry her away.

Resident of the city of influence,

The divine city of not-so-heavenly hosts,

Los Angeles, California

Cordeta

#27

This is a rant. Idk how I was feeling when I wrote it. It's just...about certain people who have put me on a pedestal, which is actually far from where I belong.

"Compare Me" On May 6

You think I'm quiet, ha!

My laugh roars like a thousand rolls of thunder

and echoes awkwardly in a silent hall of poets

where a head teacher shushes me down backstage

You think I'm smart, yeah right

The electricity emerging from my brain,

the circumvolutions of my mind may be depths compared to you

but I am only average, making you less more so...you're flat

You think I'm talented, but you haven't seen anything.

Honestly, does a sheet of paper with pretty images drawn on it

and with beautiful melodies emerging from it...

is there a blind over your eyes and a funnel covering your ears?

You like, yet you're kind

you give me hope, yet your lies make me hopeless

You assume, but your assumptions are crippled...lame

You don't really know me, you know who I pretend to be

or rather, you've never seen me before,

not really.

You make me laugh

when you put me on a pedestal

and your people say "that's who I want you to be!"

Well, you've never talked to me

you've never seen me

you've never been around me...

the real me

You guys just really don't know me well.

#26

This is...sad. It's me being depressed, though not emo and suicidal. It's just sad. Because I got dissed. :(

"Fade" on April 1, 6:15 (though was actually written a few days before...the April 1 thing is just when I posted it on AllPoetry...)

Talent is a gem,

a sapphire tear in the eye

of its beholder.

It is the gold trophy prize

in this race -- this race

where we clamor and climb

over obstacles, towards goals...

that race we call by its name.

That race which we call "Life."

Talent is the thing I long for --

the thing that which,

if freed, would ever fly so freely.

Talent lies in each of us,

in each is a pool of untapped oil

that brings riches to our very person...

Except mine.

Mine is caged, chained, choked

...disengaged, drained, cloaked

Mine hides inside an iron mask

that veils things so young and fresh

What you call "untapped potential"

is really shame.

Shame of this stake that drives

through me, piercing my heart

and you who pounds the hammer

ever so wickedly,

only hoping to break open the lock

of this suppression.

I warn you, for my secrets are kept,

not in my heart but in another cage,

though this, built of bars that one friend

or a stranger (but most likely the latter)

could peer in, and see.

See the cloudy, black spheres

of my very being,

containing the thoughts, containing the feeling

sheltering my world from you.

This is where I lie.

Though an outer veil encases me,

shields me, much like an artificial membrane

allowing things to surpass

I am a fake, though not plastic

but perhaps I am a soft cashmere to fall on

or a shiny taffeta for decoration --

pasted on some Styrofoam base

of a head...body...limbs...

And I could paint this base to match that fabric

of my fabricated self,

losing all that is me in the process...

That is something, if my hopes are correct,

you would never allow to happen.

Yet as the matter before us lies

and a bridge is yet to be built,

back down a moment,

let me

Fade

to

Black.

#25

I had fun writing this one. Mostly because it's full of double meanings that are for me to know, and you to enjoy, because you don't know what the heck I'm talking about. It sounds funny, and that's the part you should enjoy. It's kinda long.

"Logorrhea" on March 24, 12:22AM

Sing me a song.

Guide my hands

sprawled out over ebony and ivory

the little keys that tap taut strings

somewhere deep inside.

Pop! A message blows,

hurling news at an open window.

An orange light flickers, catching my eye.

Make me cry, pull me down, I'm going with you.

Make me laugh, build me up...

maybe I'll stand on mountains

A beating heart beside two music notes

sadly, isn't the way for me

But I smile, I laugh, I'll enjoy it.

Someday, someway, somehow.

We'll sway to beats

toe sound waves

to color.

We'll jump to the wires of whitecaps

and G-forces, I forbid you gravity to bring me down

back to you.

I am not a tetherball to be swung through the air on a chain

hit after hit only to wind myself around a stick,

rigid and cool...damp from morning dew

while silly children sing playground songs around me

like Indians reenacting their lives around a totem pole.

I am spiritual, neither wind nor air

nor the very laughter of brooks as they stumble over rocks

that once came from boys' hands, as they attempted to skip

one jump, two leaps, three skips, four hops, five...SPLASH

A roaring waterfall pours onto my head

it's called a shower, not a waterfall at all

I let myself be cleaned

smoke and haze wash over my mind

I slip on this rock slicked wet

so smooth, so white

ceramic.

Like your face, where it's chipped

and cracked in places

when toddlers eat leaded paint

of off crackling walls

leaking with water damage

Red pants, I see

and green pants there

floating, bobbing up and down.

Lonely and afraid in this big world we call home,

yet look above you and feel

so small as the revolving ceiling fan spins

like planets around a light.

A ball of gas that orbits around

in cold nothingness, much like your heart

though no light, no provider of heat

could make it a happy place.

Is that why you're so bitter?

Like ripe, pink grapefruits

prior to being dipped in salt and sugar

or maybe honey.

Honey on my lips is water to my soul

but honey is sticky, and water is not.

Water saves lives you know,

yet two dozen wings flew to make

the very honey which relaxes you

so much.

You're an abyss, I wish

for me to push my problems off a cliff

into your depths and never be buried

yet, the sound of a distant crash never comes.

You are an abyss

Your tongue is lava

hot, burning like the rocks that explode

before they take their cool,

up and out before reaching the ground

which, when they meet, they crumble.

At least they have a brief life, unlike I

who, as of this moment, lays back,

flat out, laid to dry,

And I'll cry...of boredom.