expression
Learn more about other poetry terms
A metallic mind is created by a single word
Many words—
Words that fill the mind with
Confusion
Love
And pain
These dehumanized bureaucracies which compose
everyday life , these system of organs devoid of a soul
Not caring if we have names
or separate goals to pursue
School, work, food pantry
No matter what you say and show
The truth very much, I do know
With me, you cherish to talk
Side by side, you want to walk
Your deepest mind, you wish to share
You also need to breathe fresh air
Oh no, no, I can't find my pen, I really lost it,
I cried like a baby; I can't believe I lost my best friend
It sees me naked, perfectly imperfect and still loves me
Now My Poetic Lessons...
Are A Form of Expression...
Like... " Song or Prose “...
Or... “ Theatrical Shows “...
They Reflect My Vision...
of The World That We Live In...
So What IGNITES The SPARK That FUELS Creative Art ... ???
Sometimes It's Simply Chat That Brings Creations Back ... !!!
To The Mind of a Man Who Has ... Creative Plans ...
full disclosure
i think about you more often
then i would like to
i think about you when i see little things
certain flowers remind me of your smile
Is Poetry ... DEAD ... !?!
Well NOT According To CERTAIN Heads ... !!!
My Poetry Flows In ... " So MANY Ways " ... !!!
Which Goes To Show That My Wordplay's GREAT ... !!!!!
"Your arrogance, will seal your fate !"
Folks ... People AREN'T Joking ... !!!
When They Say I'm ... " OUTSPOKEN " ... !!!!!
Sometimes I Say Things ...
That Leave People ... BROKEN ... !!!!!!!!
EYE write when God moves me.
Consumes heart that soothe hand to
pick up pen and begin to formulate
words fed by emotion.
Why Do We Have MOUTHS ... ?
If We Cannot Talk ... !?!
While Those Who Should SHUT IT .... !!!!!
Are Building A FORT ...
Let Me Make This ...
... CLEAR To You ... !!!
I'm NOT PREACHING ...
That's The TRUTH ... !!!
You DON'T Have To Read ...
If You Don't Want To ... !!!
Do You Believe In ... ?
Freedom of Speech ... ?
Freedom of Thought ... ?
And Freedom To Teach ... ?
Or ..... ?
Freedom To Do ...
The Things That You Please ... ?!?
Love is a powerful force that defies all logic and persuades even the most rigid of hearts.
Love is a powerful force that defies all logic and persuades even the most rigid of hearts.
Is it wrong that I hide,
My true feelings and thoughts inside?
I've never been one to tell my life
or the stories that are behind...
the person that I am today
There's nothing so much that scares me more,
Than the soft and prickly things that start small,
In the cracks of humanity, growing like sponges,
Tears of joy in a rain of hearts.
Clouds spread across the wall with flames engulfed by a passive wave.
In this day I found my pain,
My freedom,
And my closure.
Meetig first time,
Exciting,
Meet halfway,
Compromising.
Get there before you do,
Mind starts wandering,
Think what to say,
Want to appear interesting.
You turn up,
There was a time when these mind crimes
Led to some prime rhymes
With a fine line between "I'm fine" and "Am I dying?"
But I could focus on the hardest parts
Drink, drink, drink until you drop,
Laughs, tears and banter,
Belly hurts so much,
Think I'm going to flop.
Drink, drink, drink until you drop,
Get me an eighth, a quarter,
Backwards, forwards, side steps too, forwards, backwards
I'm getting a little dizzy, can I get off this ride with you?
Not knowing what the future would be, it don't matter,
we're going for it, you'll see.
I'm not sure, I can take much more,
Living my life I'm not,
Things started out oh so promising,
Then I began to rot.
Tiredness and doubt fill my mind,
Even when there is so much to do.
At first the illusion is good and proper, promises a many,
it is hard not to faulter.
Time ticks by and the terms comes through, wow this is expensive,
but we will make a lot of money too.
There in the corner, looking oh so pretty.
Oh my god,
what a beauty,
what treasured a site to see.
How's it possible she's so fit,
She seems so right.
I see her stare, everywhere,
I'm not starving like most of Africa, or trying to flea its war
torn borders.
There is no looking out of a single celled room, an externally
locked door, and a four barred window. This isn't my reality.
Its just there,
On my bosom,
Just there.
Centre point.
It feels heavy,
This weight is wrapped,
Front of my chest,
Penetrates my soul.
Takes away,
Joy,
Open your mind
Ditch the confined
Of the nine to five
Waiting on the weekends
To start the process
Again, and again
What do we believe is in the sea?
How can you believe there’s nothing more to see?
A blue so deep no light seeps through
I wish I could see that part too.
Books put together a powerful message
You can find words that make you sound impressive
For me, a book would make my mood happy, or depressing
The book would speak to me in a conveying way
and I am sitting in my bed and
i see the water turn my doorknob,
dissolve the door hinges
and all I can think is that “orange” is
the only word that has ever seemed to rhyme
Sitting in my 6th grade homeroom,
11 year-old bored of the pencils and the notebooks,
Fiddling with my hands and fingers
Wondering how long this boredom would linger
A mind of wonders,
Imagination locked inside.
Idle hands,
desperate to be untied.
Expressions bleeding,
through the veins.
From the wild mind,
To dormant hands.
It began when I was 8
Haikus, ABABs, acrostics
It came
It develeoped
And it's magic still provides
Poetry grew up with me
Friends came and went
The good times faded
Enid Ibarra
Human: A Lesson
When I was fourteen, I pressed my hand against
A stranger’s chest and learned that a heart
Has four chambers and cannot feel
A way to spread happiness
A place for joy
A way to educate
and no place to be coy
A method of reflection
And a way to foresee
A method to make a connection
And the best way for me.
words fall out of my mouth like coins from a machine
words
words
words
so many words
the world is made of words
I hurt so bad, it's getting hard to breathe
How I feel inside, well you wouldn't believe
Thanks for making me cry, what I total waste of makeup
This nightmare feels so real, come on Maddie, wake up
The emotions forming within me need some form of releaseSwirling, seething, the anxious beast lurks beneathTo bury inside what needs to come out, it is a dangerous feat nonetheless
Poetry taught me how to be proud of myself
When I used words that expressed things heartfelt
A message that I believed in.
Poetry taught me how to express
Things that I couldn’t naturally profess
Poetry taught me to express myself
A gift that I hid away
Not knowing how much I needed it.
When you're taught to hide your emotions.
You hide from everything.
Poetry is now a necessity
It has taught me expression,
but not through hate, anger, or ridicule.
It has taught me to show my feelings,
without foul language.
It has given me an outlet,
to express my hate towards society.
The words
Put to paper
Made to make
Expressions
Feelings
and Life so REAL
3 things fixed together
To Explain
Living
To Understand
The Sun shine
Wind blow
Personally, combining thesaurus with meter with soul
Offers satisfaction of expression and communication and release—
Emptying an ever-filling well-spring by waxing eloquent—
In a state of grief I was in complete disbelief,
How could someone hurt me so deep?
How did I cope feeling as if there was no hope?
I'm telling you it's no joke.
I am free
I am open
I am a flowing river with words streaming
from my fingertips
pooling on paper.
Expression.
I am alive in a world where many are dead
or maybe not really dead
Who the fuck your talking to?
I am aloud to speak
I am aloud to cross my arms
Suck my teeth
Sway my hips
Stomp my feet
I am aloud to speak my mind
Tell my truth
Pages; pages I write and pages I seek.
I search to find a source of comfort,
I strive to find a pen and paper,
But my hands are shy; my fingers weak.
Ink; ink that splatters, ink that stains.
Dear hands,
Stop shaking stop picking.
I wish you'd be still and
Stop scratching stop flicking.
Listen,
I want to express what’s buried in my heart But words can be fickle things that trap and hurt I want to use them to describe something wonderful and chaotic
I grew up calling my vagina a 'chhee-chhee'
('Chee' being a Hindi interjection for 'disgust')
Honestly,my vagina wasn't that bad a stuff,
But,my mum taught me that,
So,it got to be correct
A single lie says it all,
A love that blossom after all,
Can be ruined by a single roll,
Without your way to overhaul.
I made a mistake and I felt sorry,
But saying sorry adds only weary.
It’s not about me and it’s not about you
its about us and what we do
never too late to see, never too late to do
follow your dreams and hope the rest falls through
as the sky clears up from dusk till dawn
Love is the way the sun sets each day to reveal the moon.
The way the ocean unforgivingly clashes against rocks is not love.
Passion is the way leaves dance calmly in the crisp autumn air.
Families are supposed to accept you because they love you
They love you because they understand everyone is uniquely different
Red Green Gold Red White Blue, what is it in color what is it in you, what is it about me, my color makes you hate and doubt me, my color is my reality, my color seems to make you mad at me, my color is brown, not lay down on the ground and shut u
Every last word is meIs a part of what makes meWell.... meThey are an expression of my beingAn expression of what I'm feelingEvery last word
She asked oh no do you do spoken word too, To which I answered did you really think that question through, Cos as far as i know, Spoken word is written on a page but performed for an audience, It relies on heavy use of rhythm, rhymes, word play, a
Expression: showing emotions through colour --
Music -- words -- creation.
You give other people insight
Into your feelings, because
Humans Are Social Creatures.
When you're healthy and young,
Writing
My one true love that helped me know me
We met through a mutual friend that suggested we would be great together
But I thought, it wasn’t right for me, so it got blocked
Our lungs full of oxygenOur heads full of thoughtsOur bodies full of energyYet I feel so emptyConversation seems pointlessThinking proves difficultSleep never happensWe are full of many things
Poetry to me, keeps me from feeling blue.
It takes away all negative thoughts, leaving my mind free.
It provides meaning for my life without necessarily having to be right.
I act to breathe in the gift of life.
I act because a stage is the safest home and the strangest dream, and it welcomes every individual with open arms.
I search around my head
I look inside my heart
To find those key words
That make this sound
More like art
It’s the simple way
You can frame
A panaroma of feelings,
I writeBecause I mustBecause, sometimes, spoken worddoesn't express everything that needs to be said
I've heard of poetry
and read about it too
but never thought of the doors
it would open for me and you
I had the power in my hands
to connect with my inner self,
a girl whose held back many words
I like words
To pin them in my head;
repeat them like mantras
apply them where I can
throw them into thoughts
small prose, poetry
ways to express
the catacalysmic feelings
of being alone
Face me,
I'll tell you what
The style of expression
It's like we are robots
Focus on the words
Attention must be given
Emotions like a tipped bucket
Nothing less than driven
And she felt a deep longing
A need.
To fill a beautiful world that wasn’t hers with beautiful words that were.
And she was filled with a desire
A need.
Touch the paper with a pencil
Shouting thoughts come alive
My mind is leaking ideas
The words explode on paper
Eventually coming together
To create a world of mine
Thinking becomes out of control
The reason I became a poet?
What ever do you mean?
Poetry flows seamlessly
Like a river stream
I don't have much to offer
But when I grab my pen and paper
Words just flow
You told me to look inside myself.
And find the answer to your riddle.
To reach into the deepest caverns,
Of a heart that’s damn near shriveled.
You want to know about my life,
Expression defying oppression
Props to Walker, no ordinary talker
Given a voice, best choice
The pain, rain is entirely insane
The actions, attitude inhumane
When I was about eight years old, my sister asked me to help her with her english poetry assignment because she was running out of time and brain juice. I was so excited I didn’t even realize that I was cheating for her.
Release
Pent up, building, rising
About to break the dam
Emotions, feelings, stirrings of the soul
Relief
Flooding, washing, overflowing
From the rivers of abundant thought
A laborious craft
Where you spin
Words of silk
And satin
Stories of fire
And raging war
Legends of dragons
And battles of lore
Myths of demons
And ancient enemies
The words flow from my head into the pen.
What my mouth cannot convey, the newly covered paper can.
Emotions and feelings fuel what I write.
I know someone, somewhere can identify with the words I put down.
35.1 percent of highschoolers use marijuana before they graduate
And parents wonder why there is so much developing hate
in a world where tiny cartoons on our screens
show more emotion than the average teen
Sending a puppy off to be someone's eyes.
Fighting depression and anxiety.
Making my way through a world with few allies.
Feeling like an outsider to society.
A way to express the feelings inside,
The boy stood at the edgeHe looked up and down, side to sideHe just wanted to end the fight the one he called his life
Ambition, my drive
My mission is ride all of these waves
until the day that I survive,
with my mind, body, and soul.
I hide behind the notes,
And look towards them for guidance.
When times are rough and broken,
They are there to mend.
Because the notes that come from my guitar,
Speak louder than the words from my mouth.
It is my greatest love,
My deepest passion,
The keeper of my sanity,
And the pillar of my strength.
Without it,
I am an abyss.
It resonates within my head,
And within my heart.
in the reds and blues there be a youth,
looking toward mountain and sky,
finding the signal there:
the buzz of joshua.
the whisper of the desert pine.
Tired irrational thoughts Miss the page and end up inked blots What use is this? Too many thoughts for paper to hold I thought this would clear my mind or so I was told Time to be bold
Rhythm;
A regulated beat or pattern of sound.
But that is not how I roll,
that is not who I am.
I am wild, irregular even,
and nobody can stop that.
My beat drowns out everyone elses,
Who am I, you ask? I am me.
I can't narrow it down--that's all I can be.
I refuse to be labeled by what people see.
All I want is just to be free to be me.
I wonder, I wonder if the world can see the pain in my eyes.
My smile torn from my face, it's been stolen by the violence of love.
Empty seats surround me.
I am in a room full of souls, 200.
I don't know what "empathy" is.
I don't know what "feelings" are.
I don't know what gives.
I read people and expression
The same way I read books:
Analytical and critical perception.
Pretty Please Comment
Let me know I am heard
I am a slut for reviews
That aren't just in my head
I need someone who tells
Where they think the story goes
Leaving lasting spells
I am unstable. I am fine. The dark eyed boy in Physics says I'm a dime. He is audacious to call a quarter a dime.
There is no end to the madness.
Yet there is no definite beginning.
Some say it’s all feel.
Others say it’s all preparation.
Creativity is it’s bloodline.
Imagination lies at it’s core.
They say that the sap can cause a reaction
The way the pure, tart blood stains your fingertips
As you puncture each seed with feen and rejoice
I love the depths of my creativity -
My abyss of imagination
That lives with the creatures in my head.
The way paintbrushes can be weapons
To all of the worry in the world
"Simple person with a dream."
"Never been the luckiest."
"But somehow I'm still breathing."
I wonder when it will be easier
to place the letters together.
To form the letters into words,
and the words into sentences,
Broken hands... Empty mind. I look at my watch and it says, ''Go time.''
I feel these chains holding me to the ground and I cannot move. Life is a dance and I just want to fucking groove.
A Penguin can’t fly.
The poor flightless bird, confined to the land and sea, with wings weighing it down: gravity.
Me.
The girl who dreams to be a penguin, yet fly,
Within the consticting walls of social media, I am merely but a single soul, "desperate for attention because I am out of the range of society's normalities."
How about you take a closer look before your fill your mouth with judgement.
I hear you loud and clear
I feel it coming near me
Those feelings I've been hiding are escaping
Now it's just too real
I'm not quite sure how to deal
The wall is crumbling and the fear is rising
Beaming Yellow
Layers of makeup coat my anxious cheeks,
Tutus glimmer under the incandescence.
An eerie silence follows applause,
Then darkness pours into the wings.
I am forced to face my fate.
Without filters
I can fly
While filtered, I was caged up like a dove ...
In Noah's Ark
Through the filter ...
No one could see me waiting
I was going crazy
My anticipation always waiting
To write is to accept the secrets
buried deep within the soul
To write is not to think,
but to realize
It is but the mind's allowance of the heart
to breathe.
Whether you like it or not
I am what I am and say what I say
And as each night falls and I wait for each day
Corrosive stares deteriorate
the fragile filter my fears create.
This pseudo sense of normality,
is a dam for my creative profligacy.
Beneath this exoskeleton of perfection
Adopted at birth, I now know the truth.
I figured it out, you could say I'm a sleuth.
Friendly and happy, a sweet shy kind of guy.
Describes my essence and I'l try to show why.
I am
Many things.
I am blonde.
I am tall.
I am smart.
Sure...
I am those things.
But you know what else?
I am other things too.
I am things that you don't know.
I am fat.
WIthout the filters,
Without the perfect lighting,
Who is that girl?
She looks hidden by makeup
Or the facade of social media,
But who is that girl?
As we walk on this world
Full of anger and hate
Nos vemos nosotros getting dirty of it
De lejos venimos to look for a dream
Un sueño, that makes us forget what really exists
Are you telling yourself that you need to change?
Why, are people causing you pain?
Saying you want to be part of the"in-crowd,"
Don't, instead just scream out loud, be proud.
Do people tease about your looks?
The world: silent dark and dull
No rhythm rhyme or beat
Something was needed to fill the null
A beat, both pure and sweet.
Some to pen and paper turned
To make their world alive
I don’t want to not believe
I don’t want her to become something other than what she sees
In the mirror, is a different person?
Researchers say crying is inborn
I had to learn how to cry
I stifled the sight of my tears
Away from the taste of salty crystals on my tongue
Afar from the expression of my fears
A smile on the face is my disguise...
the truth is hidden behind my eyes...
never was i good at emotional epression...
never did i want anybody to ask questions...
Everyday I tell myself
“If she only knew”
Every morning when I wake
I start thinking of you
Sometimes I just wish
That I could tell you
Just what I’m thinking
Do you see me
Because as the sky turns blue
And the wind stirs hot
You say nothing.
But your eyes whisper sweet loves .
The distance
Somehow so much,
Let me mix my colors
with yours
it’s the human triumph and universal theme
to get the better of your wounds
and turn them to scars
Let me blend mine with yours.
You make me weak at my knees
As I watch you pass by
And get a tingly feeling deep inside
I try to avoid you
Though I want to see you
But I don’t want you to know how I feel
Identity
Who are you?
The biggest question to ask yourself
Who are you really?
Do I know or should I know?
My Voice
The sound shut out for so long
Try to tell myself it doesn't matter
My voice is so little
Weak
No bigger than the flicker of light
on the wick of a candle.
I've grown up around strong women. To be specific, I've been surrounded by strong black women.
That doesnt make me strong though
This made it hard for me to find myself. I wanted to be like them
The catatonic, ironic void of plutonic perception – slips off like sleeves.
Tease a fetish, fleshed by faith
Till base-lines of broader bones – sculpt an age with ease.
The truest pain is the one you don't initially feel Question, what happened? and was it even real?
Normal
It was being nice and standardizing yourself to fit in
But there she sat in her worn out old navy boot legged jeans
With her eyes on the board and some ink machine in her hand
They say I have your eyes.
They say I have your smile.
To fnd out where they came from,
I'd walk an endless mile.
In and out of my existence,
I dont know where to turn.
All I can do is search and run,
For me
For you
But for no one
By faith
By life
By all
My eyes see what my mind won't
My mind sees what my eyes can't
For the love of the words
And fear of the unknown
Working diligently...
Alone...
(humming loudly to myself)
POUNDING LOUDLY AT THE PIANO!
I leave my solitude for a moment to get some water.
(All the while, symphonies compose themselves in my head,
Immersed.
Lost, confused, and unable to communicate.
To express myself,
To express my sense of self.
Two languages, two cultures, two ways of life,
One soul. Stranded.
My emotions are bursting out like a screech on a violin.
I miss you and it's this pain I can not hold within.
Have you ever felt goose bumps on your back , on your face , on the nape of your neck ? Have your words ever become so twisted that you wind up not having any words at all?
I feel so hurt and broken
Casted aside again
Lost and confused
Lead me on and get me excited
Want me and show me you care
Then trample me and drop me
Drop me like a lock of hair
Ladies and gentlemen gather round to see my glorious new invention!
Look at her isn't she wonderful?
See how she smiles and laughs. She seems so happy and no one could ever tell what she's really feeling.
We learn what we are taught. We use crayons to draw up a life that’s already been planned in permanent ink. But we still try.
No matter what,
I will never forget the first time
we kissed.
Walking together on a trail,
completely captivated,
waiting for the perfect opportunity
to make time stop.
I am the master,
the controller,
I am the seargent,
and I am the soldier.
I fight the battles;
I lose the wars,
I reap the winnings,
and forfiet the scores.
Do not show jealousy in the light of a mischievous mirror
For that same mirror will glare back at you in madness.
My name is Aubree,
I love the wide open sea.
Dream job in the Mob,
Naw, I’m too lazy.
I wana be a dancer.
Type that fight cancer?
Grammy died of it
hair tied up
like her toung in her throat
flowers skattered
like her toughts
high shorts zipped up
like her mouth every day
socks pulled high
likepuffs of smoke leaving her mouth
Sinful Rose, Sinful Rose,
Let free your thorns that want to bite,
I am that rose, Sinful Rose,
As words of hurt and sorrow flow from your lips in the most fluent manner, thoughts of depression and desp
If I could change The World i Would change our generation from being Vanity slaves to Vanity owners of inspiration, the found hope of
Though just one job
that many opens an opportunity for me
offering variety like a buffet
vast like an open field
like i can hit a ball so much
yet less than 4
swing and miss
swing and miss
I can feel my heart beat
To the sound of the ground beneath my feet
I see what could be mine,
A prize above all others.
I push myself to do my best
I must go on,
Or else my dream
“YOLO!”-- hold on sorry.......YOWO! Now what exactly can I sway, if I may?
through video or paper -- which matter, which way?
To release many thoughts, through frames per second, no way
As I aged
It faded fast
Although I wished
It would last
One foot forward
One foot back
Now memories are
Of the past
Piano, Forte
Fast, Slow
What I did was stop
Instead of go
It ran away some time ago, or perhaps it was stolen.
Not by a man, a drug, or a mix of the two.
It was stolen by the world.
Wild horses just run free
Nothing to stop them, just run with the breeze
They can believe in anything the world is theirs
They think that I’m redThe kind of crimson that comes from loud mouths and smart remarksThe scarlet of sarcasm that stems from quick witFrom quips that taste like fire and sound like flame
Confident words spoken at night
The rush of telling a secret
As the mask is ripped away
Breath escapes
The heart skips a beat
Words should never dare describe the agony at thy tainted hand
Words be the mistress to thy soul
Thy soul betrays thee.
Wretched is the language, in which one must be expressed
My life is not perfect.
But it is not in shambles.
I cry sometimes,
just not to my defeat.
I hold on.
Just as sure as the sun will rise,
I hold on.
My present may not be exciting.
Its almost magical.
This thing called cosplay.
Dressing up.
Putting on a wig.
Doing the make-up.
Having a photoshoot.
Its my way of expression,
To be someone else,
When your lips fall upon mine, the feeling is divine, a spark starts a fire and my doubts fade away.
Freedom comes with each word that pours out of the speakers
Every step I take and move I make
Grace is wrapped around my arms and legs
While my mind is at rest and my body performs.
Que Arte!
Bright colors fly
Men and women sing
Twirling and spinning
Has always been my thing.
It began when I was five
I watched my mother prance
And began to ponder deeply,
What is it like to be her?
Never sure of what to do; Unsure of every decision
How to describe her?
Fickle, Fickle, Fickle
She can never seem to stick to one path
Hey Girl!
Why are you walking alone on the beach?
Hey Girl!
Don't you see a storm is brewing?
Girl turns to me,
with her long hair and dress billowing in the wind,
and she says,
Like a high tide,I drown in you.You suffocate me.I can't escape your grip.I begand pleadfor the painto terminate.For the humilationto vanish.And you show meno mercy.
Conformity is like a box,
Your as sly as a fox.
You try to sneak in your ways,
This is not a game everyone plays.
Its so serious,
Dont act mysterious.
I have my beleifs as you do yours.
I am a poet, and I guess I know it.
But who wrote these lines.
Oh how I wish they could be mine,
tell my story,
And if you ask the others of how they would define, me
I dance because God made me to dance.
I dance because even though sometimes it’s the most painful and hardest thing I do,it can only make me stronger and more dependent on God.
Writing is my way of saying things I wouldn’t dare say
My paper and pen are my way of yelling at myself, the world, and all the sources of pain in the world
You can take away my paper and pen
I’m here to justify
All the boys and men
Who cunningly lied through
Their teeth saying
“I love you”
Maybe they thought it was true
Maybe they felt it in their heart
Make a mark in your name
no two fingerprints are the same
You dream your dream
I'll dream mine too
Don't let me falter what you want to do
Soak in life
Create your own voice
Not even the Crayola Company can keep me in that box
Rose Art never stood a chance
Sandusky couldn’t capture my essence
Prang dulled faster than my curiosity of Dixon Ticonderoga
I am a work of art
Adolescence is only
but a piece in my puzzle
Its reminiscence
cascade in parts that portray
the whole image
Appearing in glossy
bent forms,
But my experiences
are only components of my
One runny nose and two puffy red eyes says she's being irrational,
A barrage of words only partially heartfelt,
Unstoppable and not the least bit held back
Tongue. Teeth. Lips. Air.
Hail and praise I, The Judicious Jason;
Gentleman, Scholar, and Lover extraordinaire. Sired by Johnny,
Lord of the Smiths. Mothered, nurtured, and taught by Debra,
I broke the bonds,
Climbed out of the cave which was my ignorance,
Into a new world--a beautiful world,
Some embrace this servitude,
Vibrant or dull
Oil, acrylic, watercolor
Charcoal or pastel
Marker, pen, colored pencil
Multimedia collage
Color, shape, line, form, texture, value, space
I push myself beyond all limits, laugh doubters in the face, nothing and no one can keep me from reaching,touching, breathing you. My oath is to pursue you everyday and never tire of being by your side.
I dream of the glistening glare as I look up into the sun.
I dream of the limber grass bending as I touch.
I dream of my little boy making a homerun.
Is this all too much?
Yet, you still ask me if I could see
(I write for) the angelwith molten noir feathers(his grace) that was taken(and) his hunter's (love) letters
(I) write for the hunterwhose one greatest (sin)was wanting approvalof his brother, his kin
Why I write there's so many reasons!
I write to feel joy.
To feel pain.
To feel despair.
To feel angry.
To feel appreciated and free.
To feel wanted.
To hope and believe.
I must confessthat it is difficult to find the proper wordsto express how, exactly, I feel.I must confess that I dread explaining myselffor fear that my eradic thoughtswould convince you of my unintelligence.
I write to empower; I write to impress
I write for myself, it's my way to express
Emotions and feelings, they pour out in words
Like waves crashing down, I want to be heard
These words are like music, fluid and loud
Why write poetry?
Why bother at all?
Now, it might seem like it's going to rhyme
like I just stepped out of a story book,
but it's not going to tinkle;
it's not going to be pretty
It’s hard enough to get my thoughts together,
Especially when I have to speak and have others try to understand me.
While words fly around my mind at a thousand miles per hour
Emotions overwhelm my soul as I experience life.
Over time I store my emotions in a jar,
And ever so slowly, I feel the glass starting to crack,
Suddenly, the bottle shatters, forcefully pushing my emotions into the open.
why i writesuch a complex questionbut to save time, ill take the simplistic approachwriting is just a part of me,it comes deep from within my soulit give these people a look into my journeyinto my life
The flowing dancer
spinning with the tongue
the pen
the pencil
sentences tumbling at times
only to stand once more
graceful as ever
Moving quickly
then slowly
I close my eyes as I fall asleep,
I dream I can change the truth into reality,
My understandings shallow,
But still gradually expanding,
Searching for the profundity,
and only found a shadow,
Poems are my purpose, my resolve
A analyzable way to express myself
Follow along as you feel involve
To a meaning that could include yourself.
Writing gives me the power to feel free
Takes away the anxiety
Enforces me, encourages me, strenghtens me
When i'm too shy, too scared, too timid, not having the gut to say something out loud
Seeing the lines right in front of me, like everyday life --
I notice the sparks and lights mirror what's inside.
The beauty is not new to me, but some of us forget.
The true face of everything -- the beauty that lives.
Some people write to understand
Others do it for empowerment just to take a stand .
But why do I?
See I write to also understand
To understand who I am
Revealing parts of me I never knew existed.
I write because I have too many scars on my wrists
I write because I don't need to add to my collection of hospital bracelets
I bleed ink into the paper
I spill my thoughts to people I won't ever meet
When the pain gets too bad
when the world makes me way too mad
when I refuse to cry
When I just want to die
My anger and frustration goes to words
I may not always be able to speak
Quiet girl, quiet girl
Speak up? She’d rather die
Tenses up in conversation
No one wonders why
Never talks to anybody
Isolation is her self-defense
Hides behind bangs too long
Because I've become a stranger to me
And I wonder what you see
When I'm not in your presence
I promise you, life is just a game of would you rather
But, there is something about those who can take your life away
It is an escape from reality,
reality that is at times hard to bear,
when nothing feels right,
and my heart aches to fit in,
but yearns for privacy,
that is when I sneak,
Expression.A phychological necessity in a human's life.My thoughts are hiddenIn an endorphine-lacking limbic system.When I write, my world is exposed.Beautifully sculpted words,My literal being,
Writing is the passage between conscious and soul,
Purposeful, meaningful, triumphant, and bold-
What you have when you fully express yourself,
Never second-guessing, never once pausing,
I'm writing because I'm angry.
I'm writing because I'm sad.
I'm writing because I'm lost.
I'm writing because I'm mad.
Words are my escape.
It is like they understand.
I can express my true feelings,
An empty canvas
Is as pure as snow,
And as white as the clouds
As time struggles on
The canvas is yellowed and aged,
It is torn and mangled,
The canvas is distraught,
With this paper and pen
I turn my pain into an artistic expressive manifestation
Thoughts strewn across the membrane of each cell
That identify as my being
They help and hinder us
Eyes
Full of Wonder and Death
Nose
Smells of aromas and avoid stenches
Ears
Hears of Wisdom and Folly
Mouth
Who shall I praise in my moment of glory
Who shall I praise in my moment of pity
Who shall I praise when I need to be happy
Who shall I praise when I cry like a baby
Who shall I praise when I don't know who to be
To get away from the drama that just may consume me
I write my hearts true desires
the thickness of the pain
layers upon layers
have taken a painstaking toll on me
writing takes the weight off my shoulders
Bound by silence, my mind a cell.
Blinded, deafened- can't hear the bell.
The bell that sounds freedom to speak
My blinded eyes struggle to peak
Into the land of harmony-
A place where darkness cannot be.
I could lie down on a small black couch
to fill the air with all my petty cares.
Or keep it bottled up inside
and let smolder,
until my face is lined, grey, and older.
Instead I use a pen, blank paper
The familiar thwack of shoulder pads colliding
filled the air. My heart pounded from the
run over. My eyes searched for him on the field.
Then I saw the familiar skinny,
much too pale limbs,
Ideas,
Jumbled in my head, pulsating, spinning, swirling
I look at the blank document, white space
Music lightly decorating the room
Fingertips tingling, a quick impulsive burst of energy thrust onto the screen
There are days that I findI do not identify with the me thatreflects in the sight of others.Lost in my subliminal mind,when ink spills and pen is broken,my quiet tongue is the ripple
You say you want to know my heart
But when I give it to you,
You turn it away.
These words I write are more than words
They are peices of my heart.
These stanzas and lines are all I've got
I write because I'm inspired by my real life's story. Because from my point of veiw it makes 'regular' seem less boring. Ans at the tip of my pencil's point, trust me theres no graphite.
Cuando plasmo en papel dejo huella de mi alma, la poesía libera mis más profundos pensamientos me alivia como el aire del viento.
Today I met a great new friend
Who knew me right away.
It was funny how she understood
All I had to say.
She listened to my problems,
She listened to my dreams.
As the ocean conforts me.
The only thing between,
Me and the sea,
Is the air I breath.
As the tide comes in,
I feel safe within.
As the tide goes out,
It takes my doubts.
The odd thing about silence,
is that;
once it is spoken,
it
disappears.
Silence is imaginary,
It is unreal,
It is—
In trying to be honest but not to open i'll just say im not so good with words so when on that first day i put pen to paper and let my emotions speak for themselves.
It is my rescuer
This written word
It helps me create my own other world
I just pour my feelings onto the page
And everything just seems to go away
I conquer the bad
And celebrate the good
The emptiness consumes you, filling your soul with darkness, you can't run fast enough, you can't hide well enough, Because it is inside you, forever.
When I spoke out
the world spared no glance;
drenched in solemnity, burdened with doubt,
I cursed in frustration at my hope of being heard.
Stand your ground,
It's the law they found
To consider a man innocent
Who killed a child,
Took away his life, his innocence,
Clearly the evidence was fraudulent
Unfortunately,
You ask why I write
I ask why don't you?
Poetry is my thoughts
Poetry is my feelings
My inner self
Expressed so vividly
Through every stroke
Upon each and every sheet
Why do I write?
How can you love someone you know you aren't suppose to?
Yea, I'm talking about me I just don't know what to do.
The love is so strong..
but it seems SO wrong.
How could something that feels SO right be so wrong..
It's a shame to see the crime rate increase,
it's like no one really cares but people like me.
And it's young lives being taken.. or do we NOT see,
In my opinion it's the Justice System that isn't what it's suppose to be,
l’avenir est un voleur. il arrache le moment de son ésprit de présence etl’épanouissement de survie graduelle. on met les espoirs dans le sort d’une conception plus grand qu’on a l'intention de manipuler. après avoir manœvré pour resquiller ce quo
l’avenir est un voleur. il arrache le moment de son ésprit de présence etl’épanouissement de survie graduelle. on met les espoirs dans le sort d’une conception plus grand qu’on a l'intention de manipuler. après avoir manœvré pour resquiller ce quo
To me, art is the ninth wonder of the world,
The yin-yang, the peace, and the harmony of life,
A mystery yet to be unraveled,
To me, ART has boundaries. It must
Be more than expressive ugliness or even sheer beauty. The purest ART holds
An ability to swiftly, discretely, completely arrest its viewer, transforming his eyes into those of the
Some may say we are nothing more than players in an overcrowded game. We're spread in different layers but we're nowhere near the same. We, ourselves hold our destiny they can't control our actions.
Hear their sickened words
their twisted lies
taste the poison
on their tongues
Isolated and alone
i hide in the shadows
away from the evil
away from their world
Poetry is an art,
A meduim of words.
It can come from the mind,
Showing passion or pain.
I write to express,
It becomes an outlet for emotions.
Only for my eyes,
Start here.
Ready GO!
I begin sprinting down many different paths,
one leads into the next and suddenly,
I've fallen;
into a pool of creativity where the possibilities are endless.
Writing a poem is a grand expression Of the man I am and the one I want myself to be Words become lines, lines become poems, interconnected like brush strokes in a painting or the individual notes of a favorite song These words that capture my hea
Why I write:
I write to unleash desire
Like many forbidden dreams, I write at night
I write to control the beast who wishes to devour
Grin at the fact that this page is my shrine.
Where I write what I feel,
It's more than surreal.
It's fact. Written down just like that.
With the snap of my fingers.
Does the impact linger?
Ever since I was young,
I knew.
Knew that my world needed expanding,
to open on itself,
I write to create,
new worlds and new lives,
I write to destroy,
hatred and fear,
I started writing to express the hurt that was wrapped,
twisted, and concocted inside of me.
It seemed to be the only way that I could fully open up
and express where I actually wanted to be.
She breathes into me
Like a gentle wind
On a hot summers day.
She feeds me all I need
And gives me all I like.
Filled with such a beauty,
I am never alone.
For words and writings,
What exactly does poetry mean to me?
When I believe it’s a totally different world to see
Where you express your deep thoughts in words to please
Your wandering mind that must be set at ease.
I write because it frees the words my heart has hidden. These words hold onto my innocence and contain emotions I can not express otherwise.
Writing is liberation, it's freedom, it's experssion, it's talent.
Writing is confidence, intelligence, it's inspiration, it's power.
Writing is a mask, an outlet, a safe place, it's scary.
I am finished.
This has gone on for far too long.
Trying to fit into your box of expectations had been my only goal since childhood.
I see now that your expectations are not me.
I won't let you define my life.
My tongue twists in rapture, Captivated by the banquet of sounds to choose from.
Without doubt, this sundry is a soundboard forced to play only 1-4.
The first slam
took my breath away
showed me how the flow
of your words
makes you heard
takes the weight and makes it
irrelevant
loosens the constriction from
Poetry, the wonderful freedom, The anonymous friend that calms your flares. Poetry tends to ease my mind, Poetry is my vent for life. My anger now will be released, My stress will unwind on paper.
A bare rubber sole taps hastily agaiunst the linoleum tile, pencil erasers bounce continuously all the while. In accordance with a strict militant cadence, the test takers continually lose patience.
Sometimes i
Press an ear to the ceiling
and listen for a voice; the voice.
No one speaks.
Nothing changes.
I remain un-phased.
solitary
in a room of one's own,
The waves of the ocean;
Overwhelming emotions
Push me under the surface
And bury me in the water.
But suddenly a switch turns on.
Maybe it's not so hopeless after all.
Pour those emotion waves
The hood will be the death of you. teens trying to be top man on the block but not trying to be to man of the class. See I'm really trying to do good and get an education, but all these gun shots and drugs are disrupting my concentration .
The blood, the sweat, the cries,
The tears, deception and lies,
All for that one moment in the light,
That's why I do it, that's why it's done
Starting from the little balance beam,
The Point
Expressing myself
with words
words of pain
words of joy
words of love
Expressing myself
The point is-
There is no point
I do what I feel
Colors: I love them
Yet it's something I'm afraid to wear
Vibrant and bright - saturation so high it calls to the eye
Or dull and shadowed - strong and firm and filled with control
There is a time and place
To make a smiling face
At the world that is so wrong
And has been, for far too long.
I frown at the ones that smile
From lies that they tell, all the while
I had a dream one night
That left my mind in a bit of fright.
It began in an inescapable prison
Where darkness drenched itself into my soul
Poetry is a gatewayThe cliché strikes againBut why is a break in a wall what poetry has becomeHumans are not wallsWe are living, breathing soulsWith the ability for loveFor heartbreakAnd for repair
"Dance is the hidden language of the soul."
Quote by Martha Graham
Dance can change people.
Dance changed me.
It showed me how to express myself through movement.
It is entertainment.
It is a passion.
A poem for the lack of self assurance
A poem for the girl who doesn’t always have it together
A poem for the hard times, filled with words we all need to hear
A form of expression for the girl with the quiet voice.
it feels like years ago I had a dream no I had a nightmare a nightmare so terrible no one would ever want to hear
it took me 92 days to truly convince myself without any question that it was not just a nightmare
this had happened
pure freedom
it's a sigh of relief
it's serenity
it is me
a different sight
a new perspective
like a dream or reality
it's all right
the essence of the moment
but through different eyes
It's plain here. Nothing but gray
You shine so bright, like you're on display.
Sparkle and gleam among the dull.
You stand out. You must be bold.
I write poems because it expresses me!
So I don't sit there and think of rhyming words
Because the words that comes from the inner in are the words that are Me!
Yea, you might think that isn't poem.
My mind is spontaneous; at times I want to scream.
But that is too extreme.
Sometimes, I can't say what I mean to say.
Oral words are sculpted for the outside's way.
My actions…
Draw me judgment from those I love and those I don’t
Can’t always match the true feeling of my heart
Are limited by my physical body
I Write to express freedom,
freedom is what makes me american,
Though i have no awards or grammys, nor am i a veteran.
Writing is an escape to a place where i cannot be judged,
I Write to express freedom,
freedom is what makes me american,
Though i have no awards or grammys, nor am i a veteran.
Writing is an escape to a place where i cannot be judged,
I Write to express freedom,
freedom is what makes me american,
Though i have no awards or grammys, nor am i a veteran.
Writing is an escape to a place where i cannot be judged,
For the "I Am... Scholarship Slam."
We write, we hide,
we live our lives in coffee shops,
sippin' tea from little mugs,
stains on our teeth,
contemplating the meaning of life.
Every battle ever won was fought with a weapon, that statement leads me to ask you this question...
What am fighting with?
But before we get to that every weapon used in these battles was tailored for the opponent
Because I am weak,
Because I am strong,
I write
To destroy evil,
To create beauty,
I write
Because of peace,
Because of turmoil,
I write
To learn,
To give,
I write
“It is said that Prometheus
ascended into heaven
and secretly lit his torch
at the chariot of Helios,
in order
to bring down fire to man”
I write to express the things I can’t say,
The words that would cause me to break
If I were to speak
This is why I write.
I write knowing that no one will read these words,
I can't say when
But I started to write poetry
To me poetry starts as a feeling
To me it’s important
It gives me a safe way to express myself
Even if I can’t say it out loud
I can write it
Why I write? I write because it’s right and its fundamental value can compensate for what I’m feeling. I write to tell the story of my life, what I’ve done, where I’ve been, what’s my meaning?
Deprived of the purification
my body and soul aches
my spirit dies a little
my heart cries a bit
and i remain physically intact
bound to behave and portray normality
for its a crime to shed emotion
Is it truly never enough for such a word to be understated?
to question its power and under rate it?
to be sorry is it not enough?
When I was young,
I looked up to you,
I saw light in you,
I considered you the sun.
Morning through the night,
I looked up to you,
I saw light in you,
I considered you the moon.
My words are swift and smooth like a lyricist. Words are a form of expression and emotion. Emotion, in which something that can be felt. Expression, in which something that can be shown.
I am Frankenstein’s monster—
a tired traveler yearning to break free
from this cage, this lonely overpopulated
world. Here, I stand in a crowded
grocery store listening to people yell and
My brain struggles to translate.
There are multitudes of boxes and spilled paperwork,
Squares and circles and words running down the walls
All by themselves.
I love them
I dance because of the beat
It touches my body like the sweat from the heat
It’s captivating and nurturing
Like a love to dance so virturing
It feels like I’m in another dimension
Why do I write?
Why do I write...
Why do I write...
poetry?
The answer is hard
to put into words
even for someone as
"literally gifted"
as me.
Solemnly sitting with strings attached
Head bowed low
With no spark upstairs to glow
Nothing to generate and flow below
Because I'm a puppet you see and your commands are all I'll know.
I baked an apple pie today,
Just for him. It patiently waits on the counter'
And maybe he'll see it on Sunday,
People Participate in their own passions.
Some have poetry;
Some have fashion;
Some have jobs.
My passion is dance!
I could dance in the rain all day and be perfectly content;
My song sings millions
Though words are mute
Mute the chaos, the slander, the world—
The world needs to hear my song.
Poetry is a harmonious sound
Poetry is like royalty playing with marbles
Poetry is about intensity of emotions
Poetry is as important as a melody
Poetry is as pointless as a piano
I want to be barefoot.
I want to leave my shoes behind.
I want to feel the gravel,
touch the squish in the tar,
feel the temperature amplified on concrete
She slipped her tender toes
Into my familiar bind
My pink laces swiveled around
Her legs like house cats.
And I animated her.
Beware of Artists for they mix with all classes of society and are therefore the most dangerous.
They study and socialize with any and all people.
They are unafraid of what is different, strange, or new.
My heart is a gun, held by a coward,
Drawn but not loaded, it might even be broken,
But I still hold it.
When my mind's gone, it's my only power,
Giving fake hope when my cards are folded,
Just for a moment.
If we can't dance
how do we show that we can be wild and crazy
or mellow and lazy
that we have the passion that rises from our bones
or that we're so calm we're practically stoned
I touch my pen to the paper and take in a deep breath.
I feel like I'm about to create something breath-taking.
Now to others who put their eyes on it might feel differently.
Music is my way of seeing
the world of its beauty
music is my way of knowing
the political wrongs and dreary's
music is my way of hearing
the ambient sounds of amazement
The black mother could only shed one solitary tear.
To see her only son locked up for having no fear.
For being proud of his color, character, and his dream;
After all she planted the seed.
I DON'T ALWAYS CHOOSE TO TALK ABOUT HEARTBREAK
SOMETIMES I WANT TO VENT
LAY DOWN A PIECE OF PAPER AND GO AT IT WITH MY PEN
BATTLING ALL MY EMOTIONS WITH THE STROKE OF MY INK
LET MY FINGERS DO THE TALKING
In a world full of technology and communication
we all end up in a seemingly endless situation
in a world full of thinkers
and hopeless drinkers
the endless lovers
and overbearing mothers
There is no hope.
What with my cries.
Like a vulture without death.
Like a raven without lies.
The world is flawed
As so many can see.
Like a crow without brothers.
Like a dove without a key.
