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Tag Archives: scottshak

broken hands acquiescent poem by scottshak

Acquiescent

The door is open,All my insecurities walk inWhen you talk about leaving.Think it must be my faceThat tries to effaceYour very existence from my life,Or could it be my hairThat goes nowhereNear to complement my style?Or is it my voiceThat makes a weird noiseWhenever it

the crumpled painting poem by scottshak

The Crumpled Painting

Victim to the human condition,I have been torn,Now scars are bornWhere there used to be a picture.I can’t find it now,I had a story some minutes agoThat someone smudged,And I have no idea why –I don’t understand their ways of life.Subjected to some critical liesThat

cosmic poem by scottshak

Cosmic

Words have never been enoughTo fit a story of love,And what it makes you feel inside.You think ecstasy is it,But that barely scratches it,Is it the rapture in your heart?But that barely covers it,And whatever brings euphoriaWhen it ushers in,Or what bliss should all be

she is a writer poem

She is a Writer

Words so tragic,Letters of magic,She spinsA web so wellShe would putAny writer to shame,Or elicit a nodOf prideFrom her kind,And force a clapFrom brooding eyes,And a thumbs upFrom the wonder keeper.Her brain is a marvelOf thoughts insaneAnd she chugs itLike an engine,Her heart beats through

i am a monster poem

Monster

You aren’t so close to me That I start whispering secrets In your ears, These secrets are afraid of distance, And if you were near I would be talking to your eyes More than to your ears, I might slip them down your lips, And

i am paper poetry

I am Paper

Printed stories on my body, I know I become something When I am read, I erupt in words And read someone else’s misery. I stink, But ask a lover How to smell, They leaf through me To find secrets from their hell. Few know I too

living different lives anything and everything image

Anything and Everything

I wish my life could be as erratic as Charles Bukowski changed jobs in Factotum. To be able to quit apathy as it gnaws upon my soul. How magnificent life would be then! To be able to do anything, absolutely anything just for the heck

burning up image for poem

Burning Up

I am seething, Flaming in this impossible heat, Thinking what did I do to deserve this, What loathsome act did I commit To seal such a painful fate? Or was it just a matter of choice That plucked out known faces, Impelled me towards cold

people are crowd poem

People Are Crowd

Walking in, Walking out Of their wretched lives, People are crowd Who don’t stand out; They hum the same song, And shoehorn all along, Till they feel safe amongst each other, And don’t bother About anyone’s radar, Not even for a man, Who sits quietly

fork and spoon creative photo for picking up the discontent

Discontent

Ain’t afraid now Of challenges on my road, I pick them like I pick fallen berries in the woods, Or people who have lost interest In their every day, For it all sounds the same, The quiet makes them sleepy And they think now, Maybe