|Poetry written from the bottom of my heart...|
Such A Noble ManI long to be able to do justice to you,Such A Noble Man by GirlUndefined
but my words fail to arrest your perfect form.
I'm powerless to the supremacy of your eyes so blue,
which smolder and burn deep into my private soul.
Your voice enchants me whenever you speak -
I devour your words with an insatiable hunger.
Your hands - oh, your hands - they make me weak
as they pirouette across the ivory piano keys.
I remain stunned at your immense equanimity
and how you are composed during a tempest quarrel.
You are a passionate lover, you captivate me,
eradicating my self-defense with your gentle touch.
How na´ve I am, to think I am worthy to vindicate you;
my words are futile when describing such a being.
You are truly a man of veracity, respect and loyalty too -
the descriptions are incompetent with such a noble man
MovemberMen, everywhere, forget about the existence of razorsMovember by GirlUndefined
For the glorious thirty-day period we call Movember.
The mustaches come out, the beards are let loose
As men let their stubble grow until first of December.
What entertainment for us ladies, to sit and observe
The men with prominent facial hair, proud and obscure.
Goatee, handlebar, soul patch and Five o'clock Shadow -
Mustaches and beards on display for a month in the year.
So throw away your shaving cream and discard your razor
And cultivate your stubble to display to the world.
Movember is like Christmas, it only comes once a year,
So enjoy this time and let your facial hair unfurl.
Thirteen YearsWill I ever see you again?Thirteen Years by GirlUndefined
Will I ever walk along your corridors,
sit in your classrooms or dash across your fields?
Will my feet ever tread your tiled floors?
Will my fingers ever brush against your weary walls?
Will I get another chance to listen to your teachers
or wear the navy uniform with a heart full of pride?
Will I ever sing the school anthem from the bleachers?
Will my head ever be filled with thoughts of you again?
The walls have kept my secrets,
faithfully guarding them for thirteen years.
The mirrors have noted my every expression,
witnessing the best and the worst of my days.
The windows have captured each and every daydream;
The desks are imprinted with every doodle, every test.
The benches - oh, the scandals they have heard!
Every gossip story discussed on them on Monday mornings.
The classroom doors have seen me grow
from a scrawny, toothless, tomboyish little girl
into a beautiful, intelligent woman of eighteen.
These iron gates watched me enter thirteen years ago
She felt as if he had stolen her wordsShe felt as if he had stolen her words -She felt as if he had stolen her words by GirlUndefined
stolen them right from her poetic core.
For months she had been unable to write,
since she couldn't find a rhyme any more.
The "big reveal" had left her feeling raw
as she got lost in a labyrinth of memories.
His nonchalance, his inability to repent -
she was broken by this behaviour of his.
He acted like she was irrelevant, so small -
too small to deserve a heartfelt apology.
Anger, disappointment, sadness and pain
all prevented her from creating new poetry.
The proverbial shit had hit the fan,
destroying every obstacle in its way.
Her words were gone, he kidnapped them all;
she couldn't get them back, try as she may.
Her father had her words, words she needed,
but he did not seek to obtain her forgiveness.
She gave him another chance, he squandered it,
her words smothered by this emotional mess.
The words she needed to express her pain were gone:
The words she needed to explain why he was wrong.
|Poetry written from the bottom of my heart...|
19 Years OldI was just nineteen years old19 Years Old by CloudNumber8
When I cut myself in two
The boy I wanted them to see
And the boy they never knew
Hid my hollow bones away
I've been hiding ever since
Yes, you may see the odd smile
But only ever a glimpse
But my heart was never broken
It was born in several pieces
And with every passing year
The size of the segments decreases
I was just nineteen years old
When I died for the first time
I did not cope so well
With leaving my childhood behind
I didn't want to face up
To these wretched bent back blues
But will I give in to the struggle?
No, with respect I refuse
See my grandfather gave me
The stubborn heart of an ox
I will die before I collapse
A coward I am not
|These people just blow my mind with their talent!|
the earth doesn't deserve youdear janet,
it is true that I have become
the woman of the dark
who doesn't bring good dreams. i know
some nights you have your hand pressed to your heart
trying to rip the
all of you out, some fucking way
it's got to give in sometime
I know that your bed
(laden with mother's sweet quilts
that tangle like ropes 'round
has become your
chamber, with your legs bent like
chains towards your chest, and the air
an insoluble breath that
drowns you in
I know that God's
fucked you in so many ways
not even a man would,
pulled your beautiful locks right from your skull
and dragged your perfect
humanity straight down the stairs
I know that,
while you struggle for the
dial tone and my
nine oh four five,
your heart has become the desperate ring
of my phone
that I never
I'm an aspiring poet and my poems are the most sincere form in which I express myself. I get my inspiration from everything ~ nature, friends, dreams, songs, you name it. I write all kinds of poems, including haikus, free verse, concrete and sonnets.
I ♡ all types of music, playing piano, eating (a lot), reading thick books and rainy weather ^^, My life motto: "Never regret something that once made you smile" (: