Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
Soak the pain and strain from my body, hands and fingers. This soul needs, a cleanse, with some Anthony Hamilton. Dude, singing, like plate of BBQ chicken, macaroni, pie, sweet potato and
By ©I.M. "That Girl," Inure Muse6 years ago in Poets
He was a mysterious looking man. I didn't notice him at first. This guy, who was waiting on the park bench, outside, by the bus stop.
Write about anything that grieves, my heart, soul, and anything keeping me from feeling whole. I'm going to make my pen deliver my soul.
And I got as far as opening up my email. Then, continued to the icon. In the browser dialogue box, I typed: G-M-A-I-L dot com.
Don't try to alter them, or repost it, like a twitter post. It's got be revealed, in the same way, the world showed me what it was, when I wrote it down, in my notebooks.
It's tough, honestly, trying to get accustomed to people who only, look out for themselves. When you'd do, anything for them.
I must push you, force you, make you. — You won’t move, speak, walk along the line without me attempting to guide you
By Cali Hollyhill6 years ago in Poets
The after thought of some bad decision. Resulting in a two and 1/4 pound, mistake one night, eventually, sliced open by a C-Section,
Buddha, says: The foot feels the foot when it feels, the ground. Ergo, now that I've found my footing (and the seeds, in my feet, have found soil)
I just went to dinner, with a friend, today. An Italian spot, everyone said was pretty hot. So we went and checked it out.
We are not fucking cool. You can't just, say the things, you've said, do the things you do, hurt a persons soul. Rip their heart to pieces,
They come in all shapes and sizes, deviant fiends. Disguised sometimes, as civilized human beings. Suck, at the verve of your soul, till it bleeds.
