Poetry thread

>>39245328
how can you make a post like this without including some of your own work? poetry is gay

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Here It goes i Guess

I thought
a long time ago
that only flowers bloomed
at night

I thought that
flowers could be like me
like the bad bad wolf
who bloomed without light

I really hate this feeling
recluse in my own thoughts
like a brain in echo
screaming so the sun would turn blue

Flourished i was
when the candles shuted their lips
free i trully was
free as the wind


The Wolf came out
angrily displeased
the mockingbirds at night
came to Sing

He cutted every wing
chopped any beak
spit on any feather
his eyes had seen

His eyes stretched
light
just light
he loved those crazy nights.

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>>39245351
Most of my work is in Spanish but here It goes

Fuck this table
i dont like It anymore
It reminds me of my coffee
which left me long ago

That coffee was black
as the back of my mind
that door on the back
so rusty like me

I wont ever have that coffee
ever again
the mug is inside that ugly door
so rusty It makes me sick


I wont ever have that warmth
not anymore
abrasive Orange touch
like that old door.

>>39245366
did you just write that or is it a piece youre brave enough to share?

>>39245463
Wrote It last night while drunk

Toupee or not toupee
That is the question
It refused to stay as it all turned grey;
Beta Anon's receding hair
Please excuse the pun,
'It's hair today, gone tomorrow'
So be thankful
For what precious locks you have

I have no flow or rhymes, but I made some poetry when I was homeless 2 years ago and saved it all on my device. Kinda nice to share this for the first time.
The spirit of winter is evident
Because in my being is cold and barren
Within my stomach is emptiness
And my being is darkened
In this epiphany do I realize

That though the exterior is not the frigidness of winter,
His carcass; his shell still cover the frail,
The weak; those unfulfilled with the necessities
For mental preparedness for what lies ahead
In future times

His laugh still echoes, concealed by the warmness of summer
But his trail in repetitious cycle to return
To haunt me, to threaten me, to rob me of humanity
Of life as knowing, of turmoils afoot

He still scares me
For the rest of my life
I will always fear him

And my wrists ache
And my hand still flexes
For the antifreeze within my grasp
My weakened estate, far beyond normality a new color forms

And invention of thoughts
As letters create words and words form sentences
That phrase into paragraphs and pages form
The nothingness of my existence and is expressed in paper
My life formed into a substance
And in my absence the world can sleep

>>39245596
Really good anon

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my scrotam is like a hefty bag with two grapes in it
i cant make ends meat
people are right to hate me
i fly by my pants seat

so you know what
i wont say it
auto erotic asphyxiate what i hold sacred

then skip to my lou
fall down skin my elbow
something something
go home and eat some jello

>>39245328
I've only written one poem in the last 2 years. I just don't have the energy/drive to write things desu.

>>39245328
I write almost exclusively in classical meter. I could never get the hand of modern free verse. It seems like you just write prose, and but a line break before preposition and after demonstrative adjectives, a token "fuck," and ignore caesura entirely.