Learn more about other poetry terms
“Drum Major, is your band ready?” A booming voice said over the intercom of the stadium, I turn around on my conducting ladder, facing the judges and the crowd, and out of me shouts the words,
I'm still afraid to make a move That others may not approve. I'm still afraid to be myself As I'm not like everybody else. I'm still afraid to reveal my heart Because I can't let things fall apart.
There it is The Door. You know the one You pass it every single day This time, though You stop and look Just briefly
this is America don’t catch you slipping, NOthis is Americawhere aks do the talking where Krazy Krooked Kut from a differ
Dear Poetry, I used to wanna run away, To hide the words inside. But, then you taught me how to say All the things I've pushed aside.
Dear Self – Doubt, How does it feel to betray the trust of someone who believed in you? Perpetrating as a friend, a perfect someone to depend. A trusted advisor, your logic a realistic perception of truth.
I've never turned down a dare. They call me fearless, I don't tell them I cry most nights because of the unknown. I do what I want when I want. They call me bold,
It takes me back to when I was young, Bold. Fearless, and told to “Rub some dirt in it,” Before being fit into a mold And told That this is what life is.
Flames burned through the night They wouldn’t be put down without a fight. Determination etched off each spark Lighting up every inch of the dark.
Time creates a turning circleWhere my words playTangled and hurtful
There’s something about bold font That stands out from the normal lettering subconsciously hollering within one’s head Because it all started with a young boy entering junior high,
Your skin, it breathes Your hair, it speaks, Your mouth it loves. You speak gods into the minds of men and your silence shakes the Earth that supports you Its hard to feel awesome, when pain lingers
What a damn hindrance
Without the Filters,
Success is something for every one. But success is rewarded to the bold. Thats why it pays to be bold.
My reason for writing is not just because I can, but rather it's who I am Poetry is more than just an art of flowing words together melodically But it is my therapy
I never spoke to you face to face, I am not your friend. Yet you lived so close to me, it was inevitable for us to have some contact. With a text you reached out to me. Hey. What's Up? How are you?
I am dead A vessel without a soul I am careless and reckless Sleeping under the demons that eat my heart I am the bullet, the blade
One day, my shoulders will give inDefiance will admit defeat, and they willDrop, like theBone-weary man wrapped around himself, shivering in the cold.
I met a girl and she was blue. I met a boy and his daddy took away all his fancy toys. I met a mother
We fear rejection, we want attention, We crave affection and dream of perfectionWe wanna screw life; penetrationBut shes screws us over; procrastination In the end we end up jerking ourselves; masturbation
Short Quick Breaths Try and hold Me together But fail In utter Lack of strength. Massive voids Consume my middle Bigger than me Yet part of Me
When you shake my hand can you tell who I really am? Or is it in my voice that makes you understand? For all you could know I am the girl next door, Or maybe even the girl that you have labeled the school whore.
A pure divine to life, beautiful as a lotus that blooms from the dripples of water, and the rays from the sun. From the soil a seed was planted, deep in the womb The anatomy wept from agony and painless fear