random poem of fate

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United States
42° 20' 54.582" N, 83° 3' 37.08" W

Trust is essential
Easily given and quickly broken
Hard to mend and never given again
i was the person to trust my family and my closest friends
Now i just think how i put that to and end
its at the end because it never began and it was
that way because it wasnt mutual from the start.
i trusted them with all my heart and they took
that from me and stabbed me in my heart.
i blamed myself because i opened to them like a book
Now i think how i became so spiteful
because they took my niceness for granted
i felt that was only right
but deep in my heart i cant be as spiteful
because my heart is pure and i couldnt let that come from me
So i just mind my business and stay out the way
because i know they will regret what they did to me one day.


The Valid Other

My gender

is between my ears.

It is not

between my legs.

It is not defined

by biology or by my blood,

it is defined by identity

and by knowing

that I am not the young lady

you thought I would turn out to be.


My gender

is the person I want to go to bed as,

not the person I want to go to bed with.

It is not determined by my desire

to hold a woman.

It is determined by understanding

that while my body

may tell you otherwise

I am not a woman myself.


My gender

is the way I see myself

not the way the world sees my appearance.

It is not the skirt

that hangs in my closet,

nor the bowtie

I wore to synagogue last week.

It is the choice to shorten my name

to an androgynous "Em"

so that whether I am Emma

or I am Emmett

in that moment I am only me. 


My gender 

is a spectrum

not a rigid binary. 

I am not my mother's daughter

but I am also not her son. 

I am not one who can simply

"act like a lady"

or "fight like a man",

I am a person

whose identity is as complex

as as quantum physics

and whose life 

is a daily struggle to be understood.


Because my gender 

is other,

but my gender

is also valid.


18 Weeks

It’s time to move on says everyone.

But I can’t quite figure out how.

It’s scary.

I don’t know anything.

I’m lost.

What really is life?

Are we really living our lives?

A trial and error process?

But if so

won’t the hypothesis never be proven right?

We will all be with you 

one day.

some day.

But we are blind men 

being led by God.

All we have is trust. 

Live says everyone.

But I can’t quite figure out how.

Society is a teacher discipling us for getting out of line.

Is life worth living if we aren’t really living?

Maybe you got the easy way out.

Life is backwards. 

Everything is fought. 

The roughness hurts

it builds and it escalades.

More and more steps are added every day.

You lucky girl

you beat us to the top.

Don’t worry,

I’ll meet you there 

one day.

some day. 



This poem is about: 
My community


Setting the Stage

Tue, 09/03/2013 - 01:40 -- JNdoum

It's dark

The painted flies flit across my skin and I think

One, two, three, one, two, three

I stretch and get warmed up to sing, I say

One, two, three, four, five, six

The lights,

O! The lights!

They dazzle, they shine!

The lights,

O! The lights,

They are mine!

My lights, my name, my song, my scene,

All mine



One, two, three

One, two, three.

Curtain call

The stage is set.



This is a wonderful poem which gives insight into what goes on in the mind of a performer. Often, the audience only sees and hears the performance without knowing what the person on stage is actually thinking. I really like the quickness you bring to the poem with lines like "My lights, my name, my song, my scene" and the repetitive "One, two, three" because it gives the sense of adrenaline and excitement the performer feels before going on stage. Have you ever performed this poem? I think it would be even stronger with your voice. Maybe you could turn it into a video with clips of your performances? Check out the Resources section for ideas on making multi-media poetry and more.

What Was Happening Wrong

What was irrefutably right and blazing; was infinite beams of Sunlight streaming full throttle and astoundingly from the fathomless expanse of sky,
But what was happening horrendously wrong; was that people sulked in derogatorily malicious despondence despite the same; within the spuriously morbid waves
of the artificial airconditioner.

What was irrefutably right and ravishing; was enthrallingly exuberant whirlpools of breeze; which unrelentingly caressed the atmosphere all day long,
But what was happening pathetically wrong; was that people viciously leaped for each other's throat despite the same; coldbloodedly locked within cisterns of ominous manipulation.

What was irrefutably right and resplendent; was ebulliently mesmerizing and milky rays of tenaciously silken moonlight,
But what was happening disastrously wrong; was that people wailed in hopelessly greedy unison despite the same; entirely camouflaging their dwellings with
parasites of indiscriminate hatred; in the heart of the romantically marvelous midnight.

What was irrefutably right and vivacious; was perennially bubbling streams of pricelessly majestic water,
But what was happening ludicrously wrong; was that people remained lugubriously famished despite the same; mercilessly toying with the vital elixir to scrub even the most inconspicuous iota of their; sordidly bombastic floors.

What was irrefutably right and tantalizing; was unfathomable cloudbursts of torrentially titillating rain; pelting in harmonious tandem from the aristocratically crimson sky,
But what was happening maniacally wrong; was that people lambasted corpses of vindictive abuse and lechery despite the same; sank into a spell of remorsefully frustrated exasperation; although the tunes of lovebirds; reverberated
handsomely through the air.

What was irrefutably right and melodious; was the enchantingly everlasting nightingale singing synergistically with the rhythm of the serene wind; inundating each cranny of the sultry ambience with gorgeously twinkling sound,
But what was happening brutally wrong; was that people incessantly sank into a well of despondent boredomdespite the same; cacophonically pulverizing God's most panoramic elements of celestial creation.

What was irrefutably right and towering; was the mystically gorgeous mountain; philandering into boundless paths of rhapsodically intrepid adventure,
But what was happening murderously wrong; was that people had savagely constricted themselves to lanes of disdainfully ruthless monotony despite the same;
choosing to be like the abominably imperturbable stone; rather than gallop towards satiny newness.

What was irrefutably right and indispensable; was the passionately patriotic inferno of unsurpassable breath; that euphorically wafted out as each night unfurled into the brilliant day,
But what was happening diabolically wrong; was that people depicted a profuse inclination to inhale adulterated savagery despite the same; eventually asphyxiating to miserable extinction; although the spirit of pristine youth still lingered for centuries

What was irrefutably right and priceless; was the sky of immortally unassailable love; showering droplets of perpetual love to even the most infinitesimal iota of this gigantic planet,
But what was happening unforgivably wrong; was that people barbarically kicked the same to blend with the thorns of pernicious lies; flooded their chests with gruesomely acerbic decay; although the heart was still throbbing by the grace of God.


I Am From...

Wed, 04/30/2014 - 20:35 -- rmix96


I am from love, life, and happiness.

I am from running towards the sun in summer, and drinking hot chocolate in the winter.

I am from friends that used to be just neighbors.

I am from the Catholic family.

I am from digging my toes in warm sand.

I am from playing in the snow.

I am from family.

I am from never ending homework.

I am from the sound of music.

i am from the movement of Irish dance.

I am from laughter and new friendships.

I am from knowing everything to knowing nothing.

I am from hoping, but not expecting.

I am from truth.

I am from a friend who I consider my sister.

I am from Spanish and English

I am from pick-up-sticks during blackouts.

I am from playing board games in the rain.

I am from tears of happiness to sadness.

I am from all of my mistakes and all of my successes

I am from my experiences in life.

This is where I'm from.




To Thee, I Cling

Tue, 04/05/2016 - 14:43 -- stuey12

Your hair is like a rope

Each strand ties me down

I submit without a hope.

There's no chance for me to drown

This feeling that is most natural.

It's not a painful submission

But a willful one

But yes, I am at your mercy.

Your love is like a drum.

A drum just like our heart.

It resonates among both of us.

Speeding up joyfully

Slowing down painfully.

Your love is like the elixir of old

Turns me into gold

I love the me when I am with you

And despise the deep well that remains

When you are gone

Your kiss is a flint and steel

Setting ablaze the forest of Milam

To ignite the forest is to join the forest.

Welcome my lovely flower.

This poem is about: 
My family



Sun, 05/05/2013 - 15:22 -- MMN

There are people I don't agree with,
people I thought I'd never meet,
Yet when I see them,
I won't let hatred beat me.
Though don't agree with their motives,
their actions and their ways,
I know that I can still be okay.
I know we disagree,
But if I love you like I love me,
God will give me strength to overcome our differences.



Is there any way to improve this?


Firstly, even the greatest poets who lived have room for improvement. If this was not true, how else would poetry grow as an art?

The message you have bottled into this poem is a large one that will speak to many. My best teachers, and this may also be true for you, were the ones who taught me lessons through an anecdote. As humans, we absolutely love stories-- think about the theaters, novels, short-story, Shakespeare, Plato, etc. I believe that this is what your poem is at its foundation, a story of a time when you learned this lesson yourself. Now, in order to teach this lesson you must insert the moral into a story such like the story that plays in your mind's eye upon writing this poem.

Another writing technique that will make your story picturesque is the use of symbolism and imagery. I won't elaborate too much about these techniques because they are better understood when read and used than explained.

Here are some examples from the Power Poetry Resources--->Famous Poets tab:


Pay attention to the line "the world is
a round puddle
of sunless water
where small islands
are only beginning
to cope"


"That you can
Sit, comfy,
By traffic
In the womb-like
Back seat
Of my

Now it's your turn MMN! Give this a try! I am looking forward to reading more of your work! :)


Water never moves

Waves are shifting energy

Oceanic shock


Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! 

Why I Write: By Gervarus Giles


Why I Write.

Well, I write because my lips are sealed,

Im speechless,

The words on the paper stab at my meekness and rips open my flesh,

Only to show that the outside is decent but the inside is a mess.

& thats only because I desired to please the flesh,

I desired to breathe in the sweet leaves of death,


No matter how hard I tried to fight,

To stop inhaling the evil leaves from the tree of life,

That serpent would slither in my ear until I hit the joint.

People were so dull that they wouldn't get the point.

So I write. 

Tell me this, 

If you smoke weed and it makes you sit down in silence, why is it called Loud?

Why is it so hard to break away from the crowd?

Why is it so hard for us to keep an education 

but so damn easy to sit in front of a playstation?

I write because im free,

I write because im me,

I write because through these words I can scream,

Can you hear me?

Can you hear me?

Maybe if I only were like them, they would hear me speak.

But soon they will all see...

                                                    WHY I WRITE






Guide that inspired this poem: 



Amen!! This is amazing poem,keep writing. you have some serious talent.