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Welcome to Poetry Critical, an online poetry workshop. To post your own poetry you'll need to create a user id by typing a name and password in the box above and hitting 'New User'. If you just want to critique or jump into the discussion, however, you can go ahead and get started!
Poetry Critical 2.0
Hey guys, Donald here.
In a few weeks, this site will be 9 years old. 9 years! And I still know some of the earliest submissions by heart.
But, boy. That’s like 102 in web-years. So it’s time for something new. I’m building that something now with my nights-and-weekend minutes (and plenty of coffee). Buy me a cup?
Development updates from Twitter:
|Hot Pink Lips, Hers not Mine|
Today my best friend died-
I begged her to stay,
Screamed that it would all be okay.
She laid down, giggled, closed her eyes and died anyway
I knew her all my life, I knew her so well.
She was liquid perfection poured into a tiny frame-
Always gorgeous, alive, and majestically untame
But she had secrets - so many secrets, too many to name.
Her hot pink lips always moved so fast
Glossy black hair always dancing about her porcelain face
Lauging, kissing, loving, mocking, no Sadness about her, not a trace
She was beautiful - delicate but bold - sexy, virgin lace
I loved her like I love every other part of me-
She got me charming boys, fanatic friends, the perfect world...
It was all just so fake.
In the quiet moments, when she and I became one, she would finally let me take
My mask away, I would cry as I stared at myself, and the hot pink lips on the mask would whisper, you're just an ugly empty monstrously horrid, dead and buried fake
And with that, she left.
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