Art is... Poetry Contest Voting: Home

A loving caress,

a gentle stress.

A compassionate wave,

we echo all we are gave.

Waving back,

you stifle a yawn.

You look on,

through muddy windows,

with longing looks,

while studying shabby books.

Reminisce about the day past,

overthinking what could be our last,

alas.

You are not what you were,

we have bloomed,

your blossoms a blur,

still thinking about her?

She looks on,

not fond.

Her echoes dull,

the gentle stress a great pull.

Her loving caress,

put you to rest.

I was serious when I said there’s nothing you could do to hurt me
I was hurt enough by you to be immune
You turn my mind into mush
You make me regret the small looks I give you
You hurt me internally
Do you even want to love me?
I’m just a quiet trophy
That you keep when you’re lonely

Psychedelic drugs aren’t enough to keep you out of my mind
I’m troubled with the amount of times I gave myself to you
I care for you in more ways than I can explain
I feel as if I’m the only one feeling this way
Save me from tears I’ll cry, I already know that I didn’t mean that much to you
Overthinking became my best friend
Finding tinder on your phone and a woman who makes me self conscious
Constantly being herself and confident, but here I am confused and collided

Breaking my own mind to understand why I feel so enraptured by you
And you aren’t even mine
That’s the problem
I’ll call you my man when I still don’t have an understanding of us
Because you make it so unclear of what it is you want

I just don’t wanna look like a fool
I don’t wanna fall for someone who won’t treat me half as good as I treat myself
Maybe it’s best if we leave this behind
Wasting time
Knowing damn well I will never call you “mine”

There’s sunlight through the window pane
There’s coffee on the stove
The morning birds have come and sang
There’s comfort here in droves

I’ve got dough on the counter
I’m glad it’s rising well
I could never be a downer
With my steaming mug’s sweet smell

There’s a cat a cat around here somewhere
Hiding somewhere warm
Soon I’ll pat her soft hair
I’m sure she’ll purr and purr

There are pictures on the wall
Of people that I care for
Sweet memories I recall
Every year I make more

I have so many chairs
Waiting to be filled
There is no one sitting there
But someday soon there will

Still I sit and smile
The dough still has to rise
I’ll be waiting for a while
It should be doubled in size

There is music playing nearby
I strain a bit to hear
Tires grinding on the driveway
Somebody is here

We’ll hug each other warmly
Head to the kitchen, cat in tow
They could never bore me
It’s time to roll the dough

What do you mean?

Literally what I just said

Take it for face value or don’t

I don’t care!

It’s not complicated.

I’m not the perceived image

Of the person you wanted me to be.

Now you’re pushing your heart break on me.

I told you what I wanted & you agreed.

I was selfish all this time and I took anything that I needed

You forgave me, in hopes that I’d be better, but the truth is, I never wanted to change.

I was never the perfect person, nothing like the person that you claimed

You knew that I was broken

And riddled with greed

I’m not sorry for the intermission, no

You just didn’t wanna come to the terms and conditions that

I hurt you plenty of times

And for you I was never keen

I said I love you

Which brings you back to the first question

Art is poetry without a sound,
A silent song where dreams are found.
Each stroke, a word; each hue, a rhyme,
A story told beyond all time.
A painter’s brush, a poet’s pen,
Both chase the stars, come back again.
One spills their heart in lines of gold,
The other paints what can’t be told.
The crimson swirls, the cobalt deep,
Like verses whispered in our sleep.
A canvas hums, a sonnet glows,
Both weave a tale that no one knows.
The tear that falls on paint-stained hands,
Is ink that poets understand.
A shattered heart, a dream once lost,
Both find their way, no matter cost.
For in the silence, art will speak,
In colors bold or tones so meek.
And every piece—a breath, a sigh,
A love that never says goodbye.
So when you stand before a frame,
Or read a poem soft by flame,
Know that each art, each line, each part,
Is poetry straight from the heart.

Lost in my thoughts 

The dreams and nightmares 

So blended  

There is no difference 

I’m lost in myself  

I can’t tell you who I am 

I can’t see what’s in front of me 

The blinders won’t leave 

I beg for freedom 

But my shouts are silent 

They’re loud to me 

But silent to the world 

My eyes can’t see  

My glasses do nothing 

My vision is shaky 

And my thoughts make it worse 

The thoughts capture my soul 

Deep within  

Til I’m drowning in my head 

Banging on my skull 

The escape is a dream  

One I can’t achieve 

Its intermingled with a nightmare 

So I’m running away 

Instead of knowing 

I’m failing 

To understand who  

I’m becoming 

This headspace is killing me  

I’m in a space  

One I can’t escape  

I’m in a daze that won’t leave 

We used to laugh and cry all night

But now I question if it's worth the fight

With late nights and random calls

Each day goes by each memory falls

I called you my soulmate

But now your just my cellmate

You consume my mind

Every thought becomes defined

I miss you, but I hate you

I wish I could just get through

You were my sister

But now your just a blister

I hate you, but I love you

I can't stop, just hit undue

I’ve always loved summer.
The way the warm breeze makes me feel.
It brings me back to the good old days.
When you didn’t care what you looked like nor what others thought.
You were just happy it was summer.

In your little summer dress, you’d spend all day outside.
Your bright bubble personality reflected onto so many others.
It was hard not to love you.

As the years passed, people began to dislike your warm bubble aura.
“Annoying,” they’d said.
Your bright, beautiful eyes turned cold,
And you began to stay to yourself trying to fit in.

Begging someone would love you,
And bring back that warm, bubbly little girl you miss so much.
Now you hate summers.
The weather is too warm, and you can’t stand to be in dresses.
You hate your legs and how men objectify your body,
Like it’s on display for them to desire.
You were only 13.

You hated summer more than anything.
You’d sit in your room all alone and rot,
Rather than be framed a whore for clothes that are only right for the hot weather.
Summer was never the same.

SO so much
I love you so so much
And I love you so so much too
But if the so so much love is fake is the so so much love even real?

So so much love can become real after a while and it can grow!

But if the so so much love was fake from the start will it ever be real?

So when you say I love you so so much does it have meaning or did it never mean anything from the start?

Words are cool, words are grand.

Words fill me up like a garbage can.

But sometimes my words just disappear.

And when that sometimes happens, I feel a certain fear.

A fear of what’s worst to come if I can’t think of anything or enough,

A fear that consumes me, silently, and forms a shell that’s oh so tough.

It’s always hard to break from that shell.

That stupid shell, most likely from hell.

It’s always hard to heal the pain.

That dastardly pain that often comes with rain.

A rain, not of water, but of words.

Those words who, before, flocked from me like birds.

They now come back with sharpened claws.

They use those claws to pierce my flaws.

Depression and anger seep from my wounds with blood,

While I cry, on the inside, an internal flood.

Filling up like a well until it all overflows,

Leads to my outward sadness, and so it goes.

At the end of this cycle, I may shed a tear or more.

However, finding my words is then no longer a chore.

Rather than tears, my words spill out.

But soon enough the last ones leave and leave me with doubt.

Of myself, of my will, of all that I can understand.

And my last train of thought in my mind waves goodbye,

With a frail little hand

It’s cold and I must die again

My stem trembles as I drift from the tree

Sap leaks sticky down its trunk

I will miss you too

Dear friend

I land upon a hill

Face deep in thought

A child sits beneath the home I just departed

Part of me wishes

I knew them well enough

To reach out, and ask

What was on their mind I wish I had a mouth so I could

The wind drifts me away before I have the chance to ponder it

The laughter of children

Their joyful breath wafting into the air

Warm grabbing hands

Reach for me

I am in the palm of a hand

Tiny fingers rubbing over my vines

My veins

Warm flesh beneath me

Reminds me what it is to be

Alive

I have never felt a touch as gentle as this before

The wind sweeps me away

This time I hear a shriek

I wish I could stay longer too

Small human

I land on the ground

The rough ashy surface

Scratches my margins

A crunch echoes

The harsh stomp of a shoe crushes my ribs

I gasp

I dissolve

I become everything

And then

Nothing

Anxiety.
What is anxiety?
Anxiety is defined as an unease about what’s to come.
That’s how society sees it but to me anxiety is:
a feeling when I don’t exceed the out of reach expectations set for myself
no relief from the voice in my head telling me I can’t do it, I’m not worth it, I don’t deserve it
the extreme tightness i get from my heart banging against my chest begging to escape from the grasp of unnecessary fear
the indescribable isolation that reminds me that I’m always alone in a room full of people
the endless encompassing of my minds biggest fears
the traumatic experience of your creativity turning against you
the yearning for a quiet space in a place where you’re surrounded by deafening sounds you can’t escape
Anxiety is…real.
It’s a creature lurking in the darkness ready to strike in your weakest moments when all you can do is watch, wait, and suffer.
Anxiety.

I knew a little girl who would sit on her bed and pray, 

To a God, she didn’t fully believe in. 

Because all she knew was that there was that one small chance, 

He could fix what was so clearly broken in her. 

Because that little girl thought that all the other little girls were so pretty, 

And she knew that it was wrong. 

But at the same time, she thought that just maybe it wasn’t. 

That same little girl grew and changed, 

Never quite forgetting that feeling of praying, crying, and pleading 

With this supposed God who loved all. 

The dark thoughts of how clearly, he didn’t love her. 

Because if he did, then he would help those who pleaded 

And cried to him for help. 

Then came the days, when getting out of bed was too difficult, 

That fatigue that seemed to seep deep into her bones, 

But then there came a day when that feeling changed. 

And maybe those days never disappeared completely, 

Perhaps they came and they went without any warning 

And even if that supposed God did hate her, 

She had others who didn’t. 

And that was enough. 

The quietness of the unknown. The solemn winds as they sweep upon dusk. Rain whispering down telling us secrets we will never understand. We see the rain fall like our head upon the pillows of dreams. The rain is not always kind, much like our lives and fantasies. Ripples upon the puddles of our pasts and presents. Torrential downpours of what was and what could be. Our lives hanging on the dark fog set upon us by our own minds. The hour becoming blue and green hues tinged by the void

Do you ever wonder…
what would life be like
if everything was alright?
Where things weren't so bad?

Yeah, I know it hurts
but you should know your worth.
Don't let the pain take over.
Keep on fighting,
do the right thing.
I know you're stronger.

Do you ever dream…
about how life was before.
Do you ever feel…
like everything is war.
Like everything you've worked for
won't be enough.

Trust me I've felt your pain.
I haven't been the same.
But I grew to learn,
To put myself first.
I had to believe.

Know you're not alone.
I won't let you go.
We’re fighting together.
It’s going to hurt,
I'll teach you your worth.
We still have room left to grow,
please don't let go.

I have been silent for a time / For fear that I would be silenceD / FOr fear that my voice may draw the tempeSt to my door / And tear the rings from my parents’ fingers / And tear the seal from my wOmb / And tear the papers from our safe / And tear the words from my books / And tear the people froM my phone / And tear thE diploma from my wall / And tear the credits from my record / And tear the money from my account / And Tear the medicine from my cabinet / And tear tHe job from my weekends / And tear the professors from my week / And tear me from this country / ThIs haunted house, / My haunted home / This poem may coNvict me of their crimes / This poem may be my elegy / So may it come with me wherever I go / Come home or high water / Let this poem know me still as trans / And if not, / If all goes accordinG to plan, / As Offred / Or a body on the Wall 

The sun breaks through the sky's tears. 

The fairies dance in the storm of flowers. 

Look at their majestic glow. 

They slide down the rainbow  

into the town of the Gobdinkles. 

The Flirks fly high above the mirktiles.  

Shneezles live in fleezles big and small, yellow and green. 

There are craze-sane little Dlurks walking on walls. 

You can hear their ziggles and zaggles  

echoing through the night. 

A doozle occurs every time a half moon purrs. 

Everyone, tall and small, wib or tib, 

Comes to enjoy a little flib. 

The trees are unraveling for the night. 

Say goodnight to the town and the day that we had. 

Don't go out after dark, 

That's when the Sheebles come out, 

And the sound of their laugh in the night 

 just might make you fright.