Best Tumblr Poems
I crashed into a language barrier
So they put me in an induced comma
As they re-calibrated my damaged grammar
Transforming my full stop into a full start
As I wake from my abbreviation
I feel tense in the present
Realising that an apostrophe is now all
and nothing more I will ever be
I have a kindled yearning to compound
my spoken words with good intention
But I’ve become a symbol
that marks a past behaviour into memory
I stand in place of the person
whose ending is, with my start, synonymous
A person with their own tale
which I can read but can’t understand
It’s my story, but a rougher drafted version
Reading it I feel anonymous
Is this where I’m killed off but my character returns?
I find asylum asking questions, with an ampersand
And…
…The blurb on the back of life gives me the shorthand:
This is the punctuation that brings order
In the arc of your lived life
And if you see problems with recalled quotations
Then choose to learn, or live with strife
And…
I’m not ready to die
So here I am
Prepared with notation
The things I’ve seen and learned combined
Swapping the chip on my shoulder
For an indentation
And…
Don’t ever put down the pen while you’re still writing your history
And…
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com
Wrong!
A little boy plays football.
His parents call him a "tomboy".
He doesn't understand what it means.
Wrong!
The boy is now twelve.
His best friend gets her period.
And puberty hits him hard.
Wrong!
His friends put him in dresses and makeup.
His parents are proud of their "little girl".
He doesn't get why this is happening.
Wrong!
Freshman year he gets a laptop.
A friend convinces him to join Tumblr.
He feels acceptance.
Wrong!
He learns about gender and sexuality.
He is relieved and happy.
He is finally not alone.
Wrong!
His helpful friend,
Kills himself due to unaccepting family.
The boy feels alone again.
Wrong!
He goes shopping with his brother.
His brother calls the cute couple in the corner "fags".
The boy doesn't understand how love is wrong.
Wrong!
He starts to wear baggier clothes and bind.
People call him; "dyke", "tranny", and "lesbo".
He just wants to be called a man.
Wrong!
He has hopes and dreams for a future.
He just wants to be himself.
He just wants to be happy...
...But every single time,
he feels better about himself
He sees her in the mirror...
(PROMP:[3:29am] angel!jeongin lies next to you and hugs you as you cry, telling you to stop missing him “it’s okay, I’m here” PROMPT CREDIT TO -imagineskz.tumblr.com POEM BY- Tegan Elliott)
It was tears,
Broken dreams,
Broken hearts,
And a broken body,
Towed away,
He was young,
Seventeen,
He was young,
Soon to be eighteen,
He was young,
The clock shattered,
Windscreen broken,
Crumple zone in,
In on me,
Under covers,
Hidden in beds,
My minds crumple zone in.
Tears whipped,
Crumple zone out,
The bed dipped,
It’s all folding out,
Cover moved,
cuddles ,
Wrapped around waists,
Metal wrapped around young waists,
Gone,
New tears,
Never gone,
Praying for him back,
Wanting not to miss,
But him gone now,
forever ,
Towed away,
Too young.
Angel kisses,
Pressed against cheeks,
A simple halo,
Wrapped around bodys,
Hands playing,
With mine,
Kisses against cheeks,
Only cold breezes,
A freezing drift,
But windows locked shut,
Love wrapped,
In every touch,
Praying to stop missing him,
He’s too young,
Crumple zone in,
Angels kisses,
Crumple zone out,
“it’s okay, I’m here” ,
Silent words,
Crumple zone in.
Facebook twitter tumblr
reddit soundcloud snapchat
4chan imgur instagram
youtube vimeo vine
I tip toe from one to another
on a hypertension link
a thousand different ways
to relay what you think
interspliced into instances
amidst angry avatars
creatures craving comments
sticky slithering sonnets
if that's all you ever find
no matter where you go
it's because in this digital wasteland
you reap what you sow
I have come forth via political poetry.
However, I am being ignored.
The Courts have violated my constitutional rights.
I am a United States of America native-born child who is now an adult.
This human rights violation is not worthy of us.
Social injustice scars.
The Judicial Branch knows that well.
Their intentions are to make their abuse of discretion and error in law stand.
I have went as far as the sky with no relief given.
I know many in LinkedIn.com, Facebook.com, Twitter.com, Tumblr.com, Google+.com, aboutme.com, WordPress.com, PoetrySoup.com, and Thunderclap.com has read my cause.
Why is there the lack of support from all?
Do you stand for what is right?
Do you work in a rightful mind?
Our Constitution governs.
Why are all violating my rights?
No stream from the media
No comments from United States of America citizens
No voice is I allowed?
This must be eradicated right now!
This is a fight against social injustice.
This is a fight for social justice.
Walk a Mile in Her Shoes …
This is support for abused women!
_____________________________________________/
Sponsor: Joe Flach
Contest Name: Walk a Mile in Her Shoes - Support for Abused Women
Entry Date: March 12, 2014
Motif: Empower
googool tumblr.com under adanthemanworld(dan's world).
Stalker
Browses Tumblr
Thinking plagiarism
Stamen penises everywhere
Psycho
I heard all the anecdotes on antidotes
but I wanted my therapy done chemically
so much that, in an approximation of intoxication
my judgments blurred uncertainties with a whispered ‘allegedly’
spectacular vernacular, jailed - minus crime or credibility
capital cliches of an amateur poet, inevitably
a teenagers growing phases annotated in the vaguest of chosen but stolen phrases
regurgitated words and statements
the morbidity of authenticity that is lexicon-artistry
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
Halfway through a laugh
and I get flashbacks
of my black past
that always haunts me
I see it everywhere
even on me
I’m all full of scars
my psyche and body
they’re everywhere
they became too hard
to cover
scars from a number
of wars and battles
cheaters and backstabbers
But today
I look at those scars differently
I see the beauty in them
I’m not the victim anymore
they’re no longer scars to me
they’re defensive wounds
from my helpless victims
they’re trophies
trophies I collected
from every cancer I beat
every fake person I killed
every bad memory I choked
every situation I pissed on
they bring a smile to my face
-Elis Artis
11/17/2015
Follow me on:
www.facebook.com/elisartis
www.twitter.com/elisartis
tumblr.elisartis.com
www.elisartis.com
Both lucky and deadly are the qualities of seven
You can trust me or repress me, it’s astonishing what people can do with stones and sticks
At the age of six I truly believed in heaven
And some semblance of rememberance is possibly why i’m still alive
On a pentagram, those points, those five can represent the devil
And how he’s forthcoming in our penchance for the deadlier side of living
But for luck I’ll take the magic number three and watch for magic tricks
“And I second that motion”, said the man in the boardroom, grinning.
What happened to one love?
It’s looking like we’re heading towards one state
One corporate nation, rule the world and dice it,
It looks more like one hate.
Prioritising, merchandising,
In commodoties I place my priorities.
Fat cats and smack rats,
Decorated in sinful qualities.
What, sin?
Sin is the grease that keeps those cogs moving.
Sin is just the slander in a false gods self help leaflet, literally demonising your base instincts, time to seek treatment.
Give me seven Hail Mary’s,
Give me six white Russians,
Give me a five knuckle shuffle,
Give me four fingers and a thumb,
Give me three minutes to finish,
Give me two’s on a cig when I’m done
That leaves one.
One life, it’s not a joke…
That you can laugh at, anyway
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
You—I know not whether you could recall
My name and my old, dead words. Forgive me;
For my lips are too dry to bring them back, my voice
Too hoarse to capture what used to live, my ink
Too faint to paint all that was once true. But, let me
Now tell you something else—something which
Has never changed:
I know we don’t talk anymore. We
Text, we chat, we send things to each
Other’s ask-box. But, even now, I hope
I am me to you—I hope I’ve been human:
Flesh and bones, pulses and heartbeats;
Tears and blood, hugs and kisses; Not
Inanimate, cryptic texts and mere digital smileys
Flashing on the flat screen whenever
You log into Tumblr, or Viber, or KakaoTalk.
I hope you hear laughter in my every LOL,
I hope you catch the disappointment
Between my O’s and K’s, I hope you feel
Lean arms holding you with my every ‘/hugs’;
I hope your lips twitched from my soft breathing,
Back when I used to text you ILU.
So I write you one last love letter—all pen and paper;
Though I know: I can only mail it, all in HTML codes.
periodontal disease the bane
of *****Sapiens,
and many a canine species
such as Great Dane
or an alien pet smart tumblr trying to feign
bing the best faux pas footed friend
to kind hearted primates of man kind,
which latter perhaps an aristocratic
Anglo Saxon overlord
generously re pay hay'n
his/her diligent indentured serfs,
and more importantly air
unlimited pro bono dental care
at Ivy League storied University of Pennsylvania
School of Dentistry
which demonstrably crafts aspiring
reputable Dentists,
many anon dis track did Engineer
or among other additional
competitive uber pursuits
nonetheless, said accredited blessed charges
per this institution of higher learnin'
paying back every single buck
renown for plethora of duck
quacking supremely smart graduated students
drooling to bark out
bone a fide intelligence fluct
chew waiting genius stratosphere
comprising grueling vetting process
scoring acceptance,
a combination menu demanding
eminent genetic luck
incorporating top notch
flying colors and pluck
initial pre admission screening interview
(from prospective students
leaving a positive first impression stuck
thru rigorous quizzing presentation paces),
which gauntlet on par with Olympic ardor
assiduously, modestly,
swimmingly convincing board
with collective listening ear
comprising decision makers, judging fair
how fated genetic sprig wrought
(from imponderable hereditary blend his/her
that above average intelligent head gear
to be applied at afore
mentioned die hard lessons here
trials and tribulations didst ap pear
at timely juncture at me then young life
A spectrum of memories // etched in // directing
Synaptic obscenities // fetching regrets //
Count those dour mental entities // concepts like insects //
Innumerable enemies // wielding their sketches
Of interlacing, undulating, thoughts I’d never saught to see again
It’s raining, awful tortured claws of water dripping down my neck
Engaging like the famous horsemen four of the apocalypse
A brainwave tells me faught or flew is not an option, it’s past tense
And it’s passed any means of remedy - my enemy’s my friend
And it’s last orders on the corner where I’m standing with a ten
And if I bought at four I might, instead I waited ‘til seven
I test the borders and the corners of the realm of temptation
Daily thoughts of pickin’ up…
…When all the pieces come unstuck
And I thank that’s It’s a familiar pattern
I piece it back together, crumb by speck by dotted flame, refuelled lighters on the bristle of tobacco peering from its paper nesting, used now to light a subtle torch, the lightbulb in my head, a spotlight thats located a second answer -
And I thank that it’s a familiar pattern
As I know how to piece it back together.
Tomorrow, do the same thing again,
But tonight, a glass of water then bed
Dreaming of keeping the faith
Dreaming always
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
Embrace Islam for it means Peace
Peaceful submission to your Creator
Accept the key from God Allah
Or you may regret it later
Islam is the religion of all
Prophets, the faith of Jesus too
As He peacefully believed in God
And did what he was ordered to do
He called his people to Islam
And here I am inviting you
Islam to Heaven? Or lies to Hell?
As God's slave, it is your job to choose :)
Miriam / Mariam Mababaya
MUSLIMARVELS.tumblr.com
That halo looks dangerous, Said the priest to the prophet
The prophet protested his claim:
Whereas danger is that of which leads to your coffin,
on this halo lives a tale that remains
You see halos are gifted to saints and not scholars
We honour what a person has arranged
For it’s deeds we consider, over talking and conference
Who knows what a person might claim?
The danger, my friend, lies in what a person might promise
Even broken promises, much the same
As people will try to adjust and bend logic
If they think they have a chance to attain
A piece and a parcel of something that’s honest
In an irony no-one can name
We all lie to gain truths, and we only will stop it
When we lie six-foot deep in our graves.
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/