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The edge of our bed was a wide grid
where your fifteen-year-old daughter was hanging
gut-sprung on police wheels
a cablegram nailed to the wood
next to a map of the Western Reserve
I could not return with you to bury the body
reconstruct your nightly cardboards
against the seeping Transvaal cold
I could not plant the other limpet mine
against a wall at the railroad station
nor carry either of your souls back from the river
so I bought you a ticket to Durban
on my American Express
and we lay together
in the first light of a new season.

Now clearing roughage from my autumn garden
cow sorrel    overgrown rocket gone to seed
I reach for the taste of today
the New York Times finally mentions your country
a half-page story
of the first white south african killed in the "unrest"
Not of Black children massacred at Sebokeng
six-year-olds imprisoned for threatening the state
not of Thabo Sibeko, first grader, in his own blood
on his grandmother's parlor floor
Joyce, nine, trying to crawl to him
******* through her navel
not of a three-week-old infant, nameless
lost under the burned beds of Tembisa
my hand comes down like a brown vise over the marigolds
reckless through despair
we were two Black women touching our flame
and we left our dead behind us
I hovered    you rose    the last ritual of healing
"It is spring," you whispered
"I sold the ticket for guns and sulfa
I leave for home tomorrow"
and wherever I touch you
I lick cold from my fingers
taste rage
like salt from the lips of a woman
who has killed too often to forget
and carries each death in her eyes
your mouth a parting orchid
"Someday you will come to my country
and we will fight side by side?"

Keys jingle in the door ajar    threatening
whatever is coming belongs here
I reach for your sweetness
but silence explodes like a pregnant belly
into my face
a ***** of nevers.

Mmanthatisi turns away from the cloth
her daughters-in-law are dyeing
the baby drools milk from her breast
she hands him half-asleep to his sister
dresses again for war
knowing the men will follow.
In the intricate Maseru twilights
quick    sad    vital
she maps the next day's battle
dreams of Durban    sometimes
visions the deep wry song of beach pebbles
running after the sea.
Astra Jul 2018
I wish I believe it when people say they'll never leave,
But I still taste the salty tears of the goodbye note you wrote,
The lullabies of heartfelt cries,
An those times I was to good at say goodbye,

Behind my pain-filled eyes,
I see a girl I use to recognize,
A healing heart,
On a open battlefield,

A little girl trying to believe the bedtime story she told,
But being told by her soul the real world,

One where princess have to wait for there Prince Charming,
One where the frog kisses the wrong princess,
One where the fairy godmother is to late,
And one where she broke her shoe,
her carriage has become a cage,
When her hair as faded from every page turn,

The war that has been raged inside her,
Because she afraid to believe in one day,
She afraid to believe the nevers and the forevers,
Because she seen everyday turn to parades of the same fake forces daze,

To never forget that life to short to trust salt,
That was confused for sugar,
That being nice with only take you so far,
And that one day,
You wake up feeling the same,

You'll flap our wings one more time,
And sing your fairytale song,
And your true love will sing along,
You’ll remember what it like to dream,
And believe it could be a happily ever after,

And wake up in a world,
Of your own,
And those goodbyes,
Will turn to mournful cries from forgotten peoples eyes,
Because just than they will realize,
There boring lives,

As she thrives,
She survives,
And now truly now,
She good at goodbyes,
And hardly recognized,
For the rest of her life
March, 20th, 2018, All rights reserved
Asominate Oct 2018
I'm too despressed to notice I'm stressed out
Suppressed emotions inside, shouldn't let out
Seeing is believing but what I see isn't real
I am forced to accept these "realities" and ignore the way I feel

I don't mean to sadden, entertain, bore, or aggravate,
For a decade I find that this is how I communicate
The only way I can precisely speak out on the unhealthy pleasures
As the chemicals of my brain, they fornicate

These levels of relationships aren't supposed to be
It'll **** me sometime later, look at how it has ruined my personality
Seeing is believing, but you won't believe what I see
How can I act 'normal' when you won't acknowledge I can't do 'human being'

My animalistic compulsions are fuelled by my failing brain functions
Don't get too close cause I'll try to bite, I sympathise for your flesh when I malfuntion
Don't be scared, I'm not canibalistic, I just like to use my teeth
Humans scare me, I must defend myself, uh, I mean, to smile and eat

I'm not afraid to say it, but I'm scared when I'm saying it, I have to say
I have been observing your mundane human actions, I really don't want to be put away
I always feel foreign, alienated, out-of-place
But because I'm "considerate," I have to bite my tongue to save me some face

I'm too stressed out to notice that I'm depressed
Wanting mental soundessnes, yes, peace, my hallucinations don't give me rest
My taughts speed down their highway, my delusions are always a-fest
They inflict beneath my exterior, but for the public eye, I wear a crest

"I wear my skin well, don't you think?" I lie, becuase it ill-fits
I am totally normal, "I'm fine." Can't change the fact I'm a misfit.
The beams that bear my bag of meat rust and thus begin to weaken
The lethal sagging's caused by the mental luggage, I'm not heard, even though I'm speaking

Many persons think that I'm overly paranoid, I must admit, that I am
You would be the same way too, if about your health, no one ever gives a ****
Help doesn't come, because their 'laters' always becomes 'nevers'
I am not that superhuman, can't keep myself together, forever

They claim that they would help me, some way, somehow, but their actions never initiate
Someday, sometime, it would all be over, through a thorough death physical or mental
Oh yes, I'm still believing, you can't accuse me of not having faith.
I look forward to my healing, but all the while, my brain chemicals fornicate.
mc Aug 2013
kiss him while you still have the chance

kiss him
because his love will fade
with the summer heat

kiss him again
because his forevers
will turn into nevers

kiss him once more
because summer loves
only lead to winter heartbreaks

kiss him goodbye and never look back
John Jun 2016
**** everything, lets just listen and lay here
stop talking and listen to the sobs in the cheers
you used to jump on me so fast
but all that fun never lasts
then i saw you walking with him
and my light grew dim

you never made yourself out to be
what you really are, just like me
and i hate that, i really resent it
i can't take that, i couldn't recommend it
the reasons why we were washed ashore together
are getting clearer as the maybes turn to nevers
Mary Torrez Jan 2012
the sun splits the sky like a blistered wound
as your tired lips sag upon your sallow canvas-face
like a painting faded in the rain
former vibrancy smeared beneath your eyes
with the deceptions of your make-up bag

and a sleeping dragon curls within your stomach
with its claws maiming your innards
and its nostrils setting you aflame from inside
while taunting spiders begin their twisting dance upon your limbs
as a demon's sinuous-clawed finger etches into your skin
"never never"

you wear the scars like a consolation prize
as if they were a bar code upon your generic flesh
and you are broken nails and missed deadlines and fast food meals
as the words in your head are as large as billboards
but as small as the fine print you never read

the dragon awakens within your stomach
its roars echoing within your skull like a mad symphony
as you collapse and crumple like an unwanted love note
and the dragon rips through your flesh
hollowing you like a discarded cocoon
extinguishing the last of your once-burning passion

the tormenting spiders resume their spiraling dance
and with impassive resignation you extend your arm graciously
to the demon who indifferently tattoos
"forever"
julianna Jun 2018
Never
Never
Never
Things I'll never do and never say
Things I want to do, but will never say
Things I've never done, but will never say
It's a finite of nevers,
But they feel infinite to me.
Maggie McLeod Nov 2011
My
‘Scars of Insanity,’
I called them.
I now think that
‘Scars of Ugliness’
better fits them.
The ugliness I carved into myself,
to remind everyone that I will
never
be good enough.

I will
never
have enough,
enough of anything.
Not enough
motivation,
sanity...
talent.

Never again will I be
confident enough to
believe
in anything;
Except my
faith,
the only stable thing in my life...
at the moment.

Never again will I be
happy,
for my mind will
never
allow it.
I can never go back,
back to when I was
happy;
oblivious,
in my own naivety.

Never
ever
again
will I hear the
laughter
of my
used-to-be clan
of sisters...
all but one have left me;
have abandoned me,
attacked me before giving me a
chance.
But I did nothing wrong.
At least, I think I didn’t.
I don’t know,
they never told me.

And now I’m left in my own
mourning
of the innocence I used to have.
With my innocence left my
naivety,
sanity,
joy.
Just like Everyman in the ancient play,
nothing but one thing remains;
except this time, it’s not my good deeds.
The only thing that clings to me is the
evilness
of my own mind.
It will
ALWAYS
be there, taunting, teasing,
tormenting...

torturing.

Always there to remind me that I will
NEVER
go back again.
I’m trapped,
stuck,
to be miserable the
rest
of
my
life.

But hey,
maybe I’m meant to be miserable.
Everything happens for a reason...
right?
Nobody Aug 2018
I grew up in a religious home,
they implemented this dream
that one day ill be come a priest
And it was the only way to make them happy.

I lived this silly dream up until the end of 5th grade when i realized,
There is no god.

Fore how can a man of such holy stature commit all these heinous crimes against his own "children".
I was 10 years old when i realized i had enough, that my voice needed to be heard.

They dont talk about little boys getting molested, almost intentionally looking away as if it never happens.

Us boys are taught a long list of rules from a young age to never cry, never show fear, never back down, just a whole lot of nevers.

But I was never taught to deal with a grown man inside me.

Believe me it hurt, it hurt more than any pain i have felt to this day.
What made it worse was the one inside me, my father.

At first it started off innocent enough, he was drunk and didnt know what he was doing.
But it soon progressed into a side business he ran under the table
"20 dollars, 20 mins"

At 8 years old, brandy became my best friend. She was the only thing that numbed my pain, although forced down my throat so I wont fight back, I learned to enjoy the burn.

A year later i went to my first party.
Months of getting beat down and broke all was ment for this day.

23 guys; one boy.
I still feel your touch, and it burns.
I hate myself for looking exactly like you father.
Claire Walters Aug 2015
She never had happy parents
He never had caring parents
She never had loving parents
He never had parents
She never had family vacations
He never had house renovations
She never had a home
He never had a pet to call his own
She never felt a hug
He never heard an i love you
She never tasted a kiss
He never wanted to live
She never wanted to die
He was hoping to get the chance
She was wishing upon every shooting star it would come true
They were both happy
And content even through all the never's in life
Because they never knew what the never's were...
JustHayy Sep 2018
let’s write poems
together
tell each other
secrets

stay up all night
it’s the only way
to keep it

let’s scrap book
forever
glue in
all the pieces

photograph
memories

rough-draft
remedies

the trials
and errors

The nows
and nevers

Let’s write poems
together
of life without
regrets
Baylie Allison Oct 2015
i will
Always
go back to
Never.

we both said
things we regret and
promised each other with our
Nevers that we will
Always make sure that this
Never happens
again.

but with eyes as full as
empty skies;
eyes the size of
saucers beg
for this
secret meeting of
Nevers to
Always happen
again.

so one week later,
we find ourselves
at this place once more;
breaking promises
sealed with
Nevers and
one a.m. tear-
stained cheeks.
because
Never will
Always
Never be
enough to keep
You away from
Me.
Lucy Tonic Jul 2012
Perihelion days are here
Whale music and poison kitchens
From rainbows to shadows
This is the ripening

In a house of 1,000 rooms
A girl waved her finger to follow
But swaying her translucent dress
I saw the girl was hollow

Candles in the rain
Battles and butchery
Accidental intoxicants
Take your easel to the streets
Find another road
Avoid the body police
It’s a still world but moving mind
We all end up dead meat

I see them in a psychedelic state
But there’s no love
I met them in an overcrowded place
But it’s no home

Perihelion days are here
As the hours fill with nevers
This is the ripening
Fake flowers last forever
Aditi Jan 2015
I dont want you to write me poetry
I can do that for both of us

I dont want you to compare my eyes to sunset
Or, my mind to some sea of undiscovered depth
I just want you to see me for who im-
Dully ordinary in all my deeds


I dont want you to be breathtakingly handsome
We could be too cute for two ugly people

I dont want you to speak all those fancy big words
And get me a bouqet of rose every night
Just be there with me, be my light, when all i see is in shades of blacknwhite
And on the brightest day, tolerate my lights if i outshine you


I don't want you to understand each action of mine; to decode every word
Just promise not to give up on trying; never give up on me

I dont want you to fix me
Just be patient with me while i glue back all that is left from my last heartbreak
I might run in opp. Direction at your approach
But ill always find my way back to you


I don't want you to give me forevers and mouthful of nevers
Time is a ****, as we both know*

If you can and if you may,
Just love me in this very moment
Cause forever is nothing but all these moments stitched together


I dont't want you to tell me you love me
But please, just do love me
Shlomo Jan 2019
Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,

But they were very much conscious.



Loving every minute of vacation,

Thoroughly adventurous.



An act that seemed to revive not just their souls,

But every atom, cell and ***** in their bodies.



Lived for those nights huddled up in arms (Goals!)

Even though time just couldn’t care less.



Carelessly dashing by without regard (its new foes!)

Even as this act would lead to many more worries.



Fast forward now; and they craved it more than ever.

Would it happen again, or am I forever trapped in nevers?



Can’t handle the pressure, brain’s got a fever.

At this rate, gonna be swiping left and right forever.



Bones dry, deep down I crave love and connection.

Sorely waiting for those sparks to keep an *******.



More like an ***** sin.

Caught between a rock and a hard place.



A truth I once held close, feels like a lie I’m locked in

(I’m everything and nothing)

For where do I belong? Everywhere and nowhere



Except with my first love.

I long to meet someone like you.



Soft lips, beautiful eyes, luscious hair,

and a strong, gentle soul that softens the hearts of the hardest of men.
More about this poem on my site. There is also a link to an audio performance of it there!
https://shlomotion.co/poems/egyptian-beauty/
I


Les prêtres avaient dit : « En ce temps-là, mes frères,

On a vu s'élever des docteurs téméraires,

Des dogmes de la foi censeurs audacieux :

Au fond du Saint des saints l'Arche s'est refermée,

Et le puits de l'abîme a vomi la fumée

Qui devait obscurcir la lumière des cieux.


L'Antéchrist est venu, qui parcourut la terre :

Tout à coup, soulevant un terrible mystère,

L'impie a remué de profanes débats ;

Il a dressé la tête : et des voix hérétiques

Ont outragé la Bible, et chanté les cantiques

Dans le langage impur qui se parle ici-bas.


Mais si le ciel permet que l'Église affligée

Gémisse pour un temps, et ne soit point vengée ;

S'il lui plaît de l'abattre et de l'humilier :

Si sa juste colère, un moment assoupie.

Dans sa gloire d'un jour laisse dormir l'impie,

Et livre ses élus au bras séculier ;


Quand les temps sont venus, le fort qui se relève

Soudain de la main droite a ressaisi le glaive :

Sur les débris épars qui gisaient sans honneur

Il rebâtit le Temple, et ses armes bénites

Abattent sous leurs coups les vils Madianites,

Comme fait les épis la faux du moissonneur.


Allez donc, secondant de pieuses vengeances,

Pour vous et vos parents gagner les indulgences ;

Fidèles, qui savez croire sans examen,

Noble race d'élus que le ciel a choisie,

Allez, et dans le sang étouffez l'hérésie !

Ou la messe, ou la mort !» - Le peuple dit : Amen.


II


A l'hôtel de Soissons, dans une tour mystique,

Catherine interroge avec des yeux émus

Des signes qu'imprima l'anneau cabalistique

Du grand Michel Nostradamus.

Elle a devant l'autel déposé sa couronne ;

A l'image de sa patronne,

En s'agenouillant pour prier.

Elle a dévotement promis une neuvaine,

Et tout haut, par trois fois, conjuré la verveine

Et la branche du coudrier.


« Les astres ont parlé : qui sait entendre, entende !

Ils ont nommé ce vieux Gaspard de Châtillon :

Ils veulent qu'en un jour ma vengeance s'étende

De l'Artois jusqu'au Roussillon.

Les pieux défenseurs de la foi chancelante

D'une guerre déjà trop lente

Ont assez couru les hasards :

A la cause du ciel unissons mon outrage.

Périssent, engloutis dans un même naufrage.

Les huguenots et les guisards ! »


III


C'était un samedi du mois d'août : c'était l'heure

Où l'on entend de ****, comme une voix qui pleure,

De l'angélus du soir les accents retentir :

Et le jour qui devait terminer la semaine

Était le jour voué, par l'Église romaine.

A saint Barthélémy, confesseur et martyr.


Quelle subite inquiétude

A cette heure ? quels nouveaux cris

Viennent troubler la solitude

Et le repos du vieux Paris ?

Pourquoi tous ces apprêts funèbres,

Pourquoi voit-on dans les ténèbres

Ces archers et ces lansquenets ?

Pourquoi ces pierres entassées,

Et ces chaînes de fer placées

Dans le quartier des Bourdonnais ?


On ne sait. Mais enfin, quelque chose d'étrange

Dans l'ombre de la nuit se prépare et s'arrange.

Les prévôts des marchands, Marcel et Jean Charron.

D'un projet ignoré mystérieux complices.

Ont à l'Hôtel-de-Ville assemblé les milices,

Qu'ils doivent haranguer debout sur le perron.


La ville, dit-on, est cernée

De soldats, les mousquets chargés ;

Et l'on a vu, l'après-dînée.

Arriver les chevau-légers :

Dans leurs mains le fer étincelle ;

Ils attendent le boute-selle.

Prêts au premier commandement ;

Et des cinq cantons catholiques,

Sur l'Évangile et les reliques,

Les Suisses ont prêté serment.


Auprès de chaque pont des troupes sont postées :

Sur la rive du nord les barques transportées ;

Par ordre de la cour, quittant leurs garnisons,

Des bandes de soldats dans Paris accourues

Passent, la hallebarde au bras, et dans les rues

Des gens ont été vus qui marquaient des maisons.


On vit, quand la nuit fut venue,

Des hommes portant sur le dos

Des choses de forme inconnue

Et de mystérieux fardeaux.

Et les passants se regardèrent :

Aucuns furent qui demandèrent :

- Où portes-tu, par l'ostensoir !

Ces fardeaux persans, je te prie ?

- Au Louvre, votre seigneurie.

Pour le bal qu'on donne ce soir.


IV


Il est temps ; tout est prêt : les gardes sont placés.

De l'hôtel Châtillon les portes sont forcées ;

Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois a sonné le tocsin :

Maudit de Rome, effroi du parti royaliste,

C'est le grand-amiral Coligni que la liste

Désigne le premier au poignard assassin.


- « Est-ce Coligni qu'on te nomme ? »

- « Tu l'as dit. Mais, en vérité,

Tu devrais respecter, jeune homme.

Mon âge et mon infirmité.

Va, mérite ta récompense ;

Mais, tu pouvais bien, que je pense,

T'épargner un pareil forfait

Pour le peu de jours qui m'attendent ! »

Ils hésitaient, quand ils entendent

Guise leur criant : « Est-ce fait ? »


Ils l'ont tué ! la tête est pour Rome. On espère

Que ce sera présent agréable au saint père.

Son cadavre est jeté par-dessus le balcon :

Catherine aux corbeaux l'a promis pour curée.

Et rira voir demain, de ses fils entourée,

Au gibet qu'elle a fait dresser à Montfaucon.


Messieurs de Nevers et de Guise,

Messieurs de Tavanne et de Retz,

Que le fer des poignards s'aiguise,

Que vos gentilshommes soient prêts.

Monsieur le duc d'Anjou, d'Entrague,

Bâtard d'Angoulême, Birague,

Faites armer tous vos valets !

Courez où le ciel vous ordonne,

Car voici le signal que donne

La Tour-de-l'horloge au Palais.


Par l'espoir du butin ces hordes animées.

Agitant à la main des torches allumées,

Au lugubre signal se hâtent d'accourir :

Ils vont. Ceux qui voudraient, d'une main impuissante,

Écarter des poignards la pointe menaçante.

Tombent ; ceux qui dormaient s'éveillent pour mourir.


Troupes au massacre aguerries,

Bedeaux, sacristains et curés,

Moines de toutes confréries.

Capucins, Carmes, Prémontrés,

Excitant la fureur civile,

En tout sens parcourent la ville

Armés d'un glaive et d'un missel.

Et vont plaçant des sentinelles

Du Louvre au palais des Tournelles

De Saint-Lazare à Saint-Marcel.


Parmi les tourbillons d'une épaisse fumée

Que répand en flots noirs la résine enflammée,

A la rouge clarté du feu des pistolets,

On voit courir des gens à sinistre visage,

Et comme des oiseaux de funeste présage,

Les clercs du Parlement et des deux Châtelets.


Invoquant les saints et les saintes,

Animés par les quarteniers,

Ils jettent les femmes enceintes

Par-dessus le Pont-aux-Meuniers.

Dans les cours, devant les portiques.

Maîtres, écuyers, domestiques.

Tous sont égorgés sans merci :

Heureux qui peut dans ce carnage,

Traversant la Seine à la nage.

Trouver la porte de Bussi !


C'est par là que, trompant leur fureur meurtrière,

Avertis à propos, le vidame Perrière,

De Fontenay, Caumont, et de Montgomery,

Pressés qu'ils sont de fuir, sans casque, sans cuirasse.

Échappent aux soldats qui courent sur leur trace

Jusque sous les remparts de Montfort-l'Amaury.


Et toi, dont la crédule enfance,

Jeune Henri le Navarrois.

S'endormit, faible et sans défense,

Sur la foi que donnaient les rois ;

L'espérance te soit rendue :

Une clémence inattendue

A pour toi suspendu l'arrêt ;

Vis pour remplir ta destinée,

Car ton heure n'est pas sonnée,

Et ton assassin n'est pas prêt !


Partout des toits rompus et des portes brisées,

Des cadavres sanglants jetés par les croisées,

A des corps mutilés des femmes insultant ;

De bourgeois, d'écoliers, des troupes meurtrières.

Des blasphèmes, des pleurs, des cris et des prières.

Et des hommes hideux qui s'en allaient chantant :


« Valois et Lorraine

Et la double croix !

L'hérétique apprenne

Le pape et ses droits !

Tombant sous le glaive.

Que l'impie élève

Un bras impuissant ;

Archers de Lausanne,

Que la pertuisane

S'abreuve de sang !


Croyez-en l'oracle

Des corbeaux passants,

Et le grand miracle

Des Saints-Innocents.

A nos cris de guerre

On a vu naguère,

Malgré les chaleurs,

Surgir une branche

D'aubépine franche

Couverte de fleurs !


Honni qui pardonne !

Allez sans effroi,

C'est Dieu qui l'ordonne,

C'est Dieu, c'est le roi !

Le crime s'expie ;

Plongez à l'impie

Le fer au côté

Jusqu'à la poignée ;

Saignez ! la saignée

Est bonne en été ! »


V


Aux fenêtres du Louvre, on voyait le roi. « Tue,

Par la mort Dieu ! que l'hydre enfin soit abattue !

Qu'est-ce ? Ils veulent gagner le faubourg Saint-Germain ?

J'y mets empêchement : et, si je ne m'abuse,

Ce coup est bien au droit. - George, une autre arquebuse,

Et tenez toujours prête une mèche à la main.


Allons, tout va bien : Tue ! - Ah. Cadet de Lorraine,

Allez-vous-en quérir les filles de la reine.

Voici Dupont, que vient d'abattre un Écossais :

Vous savez son affaire ? Aussi bien, par la messe,

Le cas était douteux, et je vous fais promesse

Qu'elles auront plaisir à juger le procès.


Je sais comment la meute en plaine est gouvernée ;

Comment il faut chasser, en quel temps de l'année.

Aux perdrix, aux faisans, aux geais, aux étourneaux ;

Comment on doit forcer la fauve en son repaire ;

Mais je n'ai point songé, par l'âme de mon père,

A mettre en mon traité la chasse aux huguenots ! »
Brent Nov 2017
Little by little, I will learn from you
Each and everyday.
All your laughs and laments;
Naughts and nevers;
In every detail of your own story
And in every inch of your soul.

May our journey keep us together
Always and forever.
Hands of ours writing our story yet
Intertwined on the other.
May every moment we make,
Every memory and regret,
Remembered evermore.
I am taking a course in college about Marriage & Family in society. And our professor required us to make a 'letter' to our future spouse. I took this opportunity to make another poem, even though I'm busy with other academics.
wordvango Jan 2019
My little English unstable friend,
Wobbling out of sidewalks onto streets, that lead to nevers
Alleyways and deadends
Along the wharf the parkway bends
The sailor has been thus way forever,
But you are but a drunken carpenter,
Your legs are accustomed to roofs and hallways, the legs get all wobbly on
This stream and even some astute drunken sailors have drowned, but keep up stumble on ways into the blackness become a floating warning
Come tomorrow morn, lad.
You know.
The faults of all are envy lust and too much broth at the bar,
The bar, the bar  down on
Wharf avenue.
Lately I've been all alone
finding myself on my own
my headphones blaring Eminem and Evanescence
All that gloom in my room brings an essence
of sorrow to their eyes and the darker side
of my heart spreads with no place to hide
blackened by the truth of life
bloodied by the blade of my knife
truthful lyrics sting behind my eyes
as rhymes and beats shout lies
poetry dances around my head
some wishing that my heart was dead
but I cannot give in, the urge is too great
I cannot help but feel that this is now my fate.
Resigned to a world of bleak endeavors
passionless protests of never say nevers.
I promise to you, I won't be far.
Just look to the night sky, to the nearest star.
Devin Ortiz May 2016
Monsters are depicted one dimensionally
Paintings illustrate the difficult decisions
This is the observer's farce

Blood on one's hands paint the canvas
Fingers comb through the valleys
Defining the geography of pain

Trauma sets in, and out goes precision
Distorting one image to reflect another

A change is needed in perspective's pallete
Hands soak to wash away the day view
The crimson stain nevers leaves,
Vibrant ideas left to wade in the murkiness
Gigi Tiji Oct 2015
i,
I
am real
my gender is real
my sexuality is real
despite everything and everyone telling me that they're not —
I am real as ****.

Maybe that's why you're confused by me.

Maybe it's because you're used to a resolution that's less than 8-bit.
Maybe it's because you're used to a pixelated existence.
Maybe it's because all that you can compute
are 0s and 1s.
***** and *****
lips and *****

Maybe that's why you're afraid of me.

Because you're afraid of what you're going to see in high resolution.
Because you're afraid to see exactly what you've been missing out on.
Becuase I'm not coded in binary, hexadecimal, Base32 or 64,
but Base∞

and I code myself in a language
that I am constantly learning
and creating simultaneously,
let's have an interesting conversation

...supurfluous, unnecessary, confusing...
words spoken by the able, the unwilling
to take a closer look at my pupils —
dilating in high definition.

In fact, the definition is so high
that you'll have climb from my genitals
all the way up into my heart to see me for who I am.

Yes, I realize that binary is necessary for the basis of computation.

But we're past that now.
We don't only have ifs and thens.
We've got ands, ors, buts, maybes, sometimes, always, and nevers.

We've got infinities.
We've got forevers.
tread Mar 2013
bring me sunken ships. bring me the
daniel that called your name through
can't and nevers. he waited like a
switchback earring for the roller coaster
to simply answer a simple question in
regards to salt flats in Utah. the all-ages
cross-dress was broken in two and
expected to dance for the window washers
incorporated slogans, in what sense did the
teacher employ simile in the following sentence?
I like to like, it's like love but it's like. whistles and
bears make a combination as deadly as nitrogen
and nuclear fusion. any relation would have it's
way in Greek sandals marking Tumblr asks and
wondering where the littler of the 7 was born.
so I closed my eyes and wrote a poem. tears crawled down my cheeks and I wasn't sure. I really wasn't sure. there was no one home but me, and all I wanted to do was never be born again.
Tara Marie Sep 2014
There is so much of you,
so little of me.
Feeling quite encumbered.
Your touch envelops my senses.
Eyes of fire, ignited.
I might be somewhere flying,
when your wings lie still--displaced.

Confusions of sudden fervor.
Listening, waiting, informing.
Nevers happen when cement dries.
Abrasions don't wash away.

I'm climbing up the traces.
The world's parade of faces.
Searching, never finding hope.
So much of you,
so little of me.
Joel M Frye Jan 2011
I would be content to be a constant star,
or better still, a constellation
shining brightly in your nighttime from afar;
a trusted guide, an inspiration.

Inner motivation pushed me from my place
and sent me hurtling through the skies,
chancing an encounter with your whirling grace
and the shining smiling of your eyes.

Now not driven, only being drawn to you
by planetary force - not gravity,
but stronger still - the sight of someone being true,
the steady pull of honesty.

Plunging, reckless, through your atmosphere of care,
drinking in your warmth until I glow
and burst - a billion blooming wishes everywhere -
too briefly, brightly burning as I go.

I have been condemned to be a shooting star,
one who deals in days and not forevers.
Time too short to catch enough of who you are
to last throughout a thousand nevers.
(c) 1985 Joel M. Frye
Jesha Dec 2017
25
You told yourself 25 was a good age to die
Ghosting on the tail end of youth,
The Grey would never touch you.

But 25 is here, and the razor is coppered from neglect
And the pills in the cabinet have long lost their voice from bitter age.

25 is here, and you're reminded of the deal you made with Death at 18
When the weight of life nearly killed you
And your idea of hope was the promise of an early grave.

25 is here, and you don't want to die
But the burden of years that have not yet arrived
Press down on your shoulders like the heavy hands of unwanted men.

And yet.
You don't want to die.

So you rely on your emergency exits
collecting dust under tarnished jewelry and gold-strangled hair ties.

Like old friends you meet up with once a decade, you pacify their need for acknowledgement,
Weaving nevers into not yets with empty promises and shallow reassurances,
Brushing off their needling whispers as they bounce off another day gone by.

Because you're 25.
And you're not done yet.
To read or not to read at Open Mic night...
brooke Apr 2016
I want to tell him that I
love everything from a distance
but can cross oceans in seconds




that the people before him sopped
through my fingers like wet sand,
were ever flat and disarranged, empty
men with waterless words and exigent
appetites for my body--(that this is where
i learned the only way to please a man was
to give him myself)

I'm still undoing the knots, unraveling the little girls
coiled in lies, and taking mallets to the plaster molds
I built up around myself, mannequins for different men
and if there is anything I am confused
about it is him, his I-could-nevers, his frightening
absolutes, the ways in which he vows he can never change

you think you want me but at the back of your mind you want
something else


I don't want you--not like that. Not  as if
your worth was based on how quick you jump into the fray for my sake.  How many times you make me smile or say your name--however
you are soaked in rosemary and oil, folded up out of my notebook
into a thousand paper cranes--no, not even like that.

How do I tell you that I see your soul? Your threadbare spirits peeking out and the willowy fibers unraveled in your wake, that you are more than your mothers many marriages, more than the women you did not
want to have-- and deserving of a lasting love that transcends your mistakes and leaves your mirrors remarkably clean, did you know you can be clean?

How do I tell you that the broken do not fix the broken, how I cannot share the blueprint for healing but the burden if he asks--are we in the same book? The same chapter? I once heard that two people must grow in a similar direction at the same pace--are we on the same boat? The same road?  On the torrent seas, will you hold your own?

I realize I cannot come at you with such brazen artillery, that the paths I choose have no gates and are often unmarked, not even the grass gives way, nor the trees and twigs their secrets--and the journey is wholly faith, an expedition I have not fully taken but is presently on its way. When I tell you what falls first and where my priorities settle, I speak down the pike of the ways I hope to be and the woman that waits in whole.




So when he tells me I am confusing for the hundredth time and I sink somewhere off the Atlantic with the weight of my own thoughts, I am quiet.  His words are ever resounding but do not fill me up--just the glimmering hope that we will somehow

meet
in the



Middle
I've been trying to write this for a month.


I had so many titles for this:

Therefore, my beloved
Grace to the humble
The Work it Takes

(c) Brooke Otto 2016
Ochre Feb 2010
my nightly escape...
I'll lie down, shut my eyes
and my world is my own again,
and you're all over it again...
I'll dream of you again
and wish for eternal sleep
where lies my perpetual bliss
where lies my favorite kind of high
where lies my 'would rathers'
which are my 'will nevers'
as soon as I hear the alarm
Chasson eli Feb 2023
Astonished and flabbergasted,
How come one can be so different yet the same?
A parallel of a non existent soulmate in which they thrive within me yet invoke no emotions?
A kindred soul, familiar yet uncertain of crooked paths and left roads?

What is this torture, a forever  nonmalleable figure,
built of prisms of me, pieces and bits strung together in the shape of an inexcusable beauty.
This is me, yet it is not.
This is us yet there is me and you.  
A mirror that tells;
a mirror that warps;
might-haves and would-nevers.
A distant yet familiar embrace unobtainable.

Utterly wicked display of one's fate;
To realize that your shadow is what you will never be close with.
Meg Freeman Jul 2011
your nevers are thick, grainy like salt.
i taste your bitter words.
look, young prince, you are not alone.
be you broken, cracked or shattered...

my frame lies beside yours, equally broken.
you're searching for something in the wrong places, dear.
i pray you close your eyes and see,
your stars are all you need...

whether through whispers or wonders
or shadows of love and lust,
you are not truly broken.
look at your palm, love.

those lines, those rivers traveling endlessly
are your guide to peace.
wrap your mind in satin sheets,
in glittering diamonds, pearls and lace.

in your mind seeps a poison so thick,
i choke on it as i speak.
you are not alone chasing stardust, my dear.

i am always here,
parallel to you.
though at a distance,
chasing the same.

and we race, out of breath
and reaching for what is no longer there.
and we fall, we cry,
and think of failure.

but in our dreams we find the strength to believe in something more,
arrows in the mud that point us in the right direction,
or sunlit clearings.
sparkling dew, soul garden.
Parker Vance Sep 2014
When something dies
We are bombarded with nevers
Never touch, never smell, never feel
Never kiss, never hold, never see
When I lost my something
My never was: happy again
Oh was it true
writing on the backs of eagle feathers
nows and nevers play before my eyes
possibilities stomp and my cries
bleed from my lips as i
breathe in knives
Third Eye Candy Jul 2015
it never nevers
until the sun finds you
and the moon leaps
into your hand
by design.

it never loves
until the price is vain
and the sutures are ripe
as snow.
it never leaves
because the kiss
is cruel
when the world
is the
world.... but ask
a jinni for a lamp
and be
nightfall.
see what you get
when your wish
is half full,

when your star
is a tree
and the mountain
a grain of
sand.

and your lovely,
a less lovely
as you
lie...
September Jan 2015
Fall in love with the insane—
Because crazy nevers leaves the honeymoon phase,
sadness can always be romanticized,
and appreciation stems from contrast.

Do not fall in love with the insane—
Because you will never realize it, but you'll know it:
that nothing sober will ever match up to psychotic intoxication,
and you will always be living your life
knowing you can't be satiated on sanity.
You will settle, and you will be happy:
But you will always be looking for the madness in people.
—And you will never be satisfied
DieingEmbers Mar 2012
The camera
        nevers lies
             but your smile
                  was photo shopped.
Sam Chin Apr 2011
14.
I must apologise for myself, dear friend,
for my self worth is not by means, but through the end.
I can't fully nor slightly dare alter my past,
You're so well adjusted, while I'm just aghast.
Issues and problems, I self destruct on a dime,
All the forevers were nevers, this and all times.
Only you know what's real and what's been unsaid,
But I will know, what's drowning and what's been misread.
I am what the players play, insecure up above
One of the hopefuls, musicians and lechers do love
No talks with my father, or walks with my mother,
I'm broken like the rest of you, we're one another.

We'll walk beside the highway, firey-footed steeds, left in town
You'll never pain me again til voices wake and us we drown

We'll walk beside the highway, firey-footed steeds, left in town
You'll never pain me again til voices wake and us we drown
Marge Redelicia Feb 2014
I'm trying to build a bridge
To new chapters and seasons
With hopes that I would get over
You
But I can't help myself
From looking down,
Looking back at
The nevers and if evers.
I'm hitting my head
With these heavy bricks
Instead of just laying them down
And so I'm losing my mind
I don't know why
I don't know how
I don't know what now
I just don't for
Sometimes I just want
To let myself go:
Just jump off and fall
In love
But you are a deep, dark ravine
Too full of mystery,
Maybe even misery
But of this I am certain
That you would be
The death of me.
LaLa Lea Mar 2012
I kiss you, I
  kiss you, every night, I
  kiss you;

in a dream that makes this 3-dimensional reality
seem flat:  I touch your face, and
speak my thoughts out loud.

     [and the sparks are there: red, orange, I swear]

I sigh -
breathing warmth into frozen words I
keep locked up in the light of day; oh, but
at night, I dream of
            -  the nevers
            -  the what-ifs
  ­          -  the if onlys

Sustained by these solitary hours, and
under deep cover of moonlight and stars, these
evenings become my playground, and I
              become what I could never be.

  I dream; and when
  I dream —

I kiss you…

— The End —