This poem has been a long time in the making and I still feel that it's too soon to write. I feel like you don't deserve so much of my time and my thoughts. But something deep inside of me knows that this is for me and not you. And I like me more than I hate you, so I'll be uncomfortable and discuss you in the effort of bringing peace to me.
How can someone as shit as you ruin my life? So weak and so young. Owner of nothing but ruler of all.
It hurts my pride so bad to even acknowledge that a person as minuscule as you could rearrange my everything. How I could have been so inferior to the likes of...
It makes me so mad to admit that I am afraid of you. Words that my lips will never utter, a thought that my mind 'force closes' every time, the letters that my pen refuses to form.
I am afraid of you.
So hard to accept that you are stronger than me
I've never known anything so evil
I've never known anything more terrifying than the feeling I feel when confronted by you. Just your presence. Stand alone. Is enough to make me want to run away. To a world safe from you. So that's what I do.
I run and I run and now I'm somewhere foreign. Depriving myself of the things I love to protect myself from you.
When you punched our sister in the mouth and I watched her rip her lip off of her teeth. I died inside.
Literally slipping in her own blood trying to wrestle you off.
Why did you do that?
Where did you learn that?
How did I not know you were capable of that?
How are you capable of that?
Someone so close to me. Became a monster. Slowly, yeah. But still I wasn't ready for that. Wasnt expecting that. Never saw that coming.
It felt like it was all a dream. Still hoping today that maybe it was.
And your lack of remorse keeps my hate for you fiery.
"CALL THE POLICE, BITCH. AND WHEN I GET OUT OF JAIL IMMA BEAT YO ASS AGAIN!" chills tears (This is a part of the process, Domonique. Let it happen. Swallow the lump in your throat. Keep writing)
If I close my eyes I can hear you so clear. I'm there again. Scared. Shaking. Knife in my hand. Knowing deep down I wasn't bold enough to kill you.
And you knew it too.
When she was bleeding everywhere and I stood there too shocked to move. And you pushed me. And mom screamed. And Ravyn cried.
Why would you do that?
I never thought.
I watched my sister try and recover while I just got worse.
To watch her cry every day from excruciating pain as I fed her through a cracked jaw.
It stung so bad that she would refuse to eat.
It stung so bad. And as for Me and My soul. Stung the fuck up.
I cried all the time. To see someone you love plagued with a hurt body and hurt pride is too much for the strongest of us. Wishing I could halve the pain: when we were little girls we halved everything.
But I couldn't.
Never felt so helpless, so useless.
Sleeping in a tiny 2bedroom apartment, living out of boxes. Just wanting my sister to be okay.
Missing my mama. From living with her all my life to not even seeing her everyday.
It was so hard.
And meanwhile I had to go to school, harboring all of this pain.
Never discussing the imminent details.
Rare for a person as vocal as me.
Trying hard to never think of it.
My grades suffered bad, but not as bad as me.
You can imagine how little an equation or a metaphor meant. Absolutely nothing. Because life had just taught me something that academia wouldn't even believe.
This. This is so hard for me to relive.
So I'll stop here. I have to stop here. And when I'm ready. I'll come back and finish.
But this is big. Really really big. Because I promised to never 'go there'. But here I am. And maybe I'll regret it later. And I'll probably never be mentally prepared to read it again.
It's really no fun dealing with repressed memories.
A Song for One Poem Advisor .
Restless Horses .
What Could Be The Problem ?
Poetry of The Waters ,
Whatever Whatever .
What Could Be The Problem ?
Poetry of The Crayon Flowers ,
Mellow Mellow .
Boastful Lion ,
What About The No-Nonsense Leopards ?
Eat Them All ,Eat Them All.
Poetry of The Wild Animals.
Poem a day, day 13
Fuck John Key
Why not, he has pretty much said 'Fuck New Zealand'
We say we don't want something,
He says we are 'uneducated and ignorant'
Well guess what John Key?
You're responsible for the state of our education system.
We arrange referendums on important issues
He states he has no intention of abiding by the outcome.
Fuck you John Key.
You fuck us
You fuck our environment
You fuck our economy.
Screw the masses to promote the elite.
The poor get poorer
So your rich mates get richer
There's one talent you do have.
You don't have a talent for handshakes
Or earning respect
But you know how to keep the poor down.
Take away everything.
Cut their benefits so they can't survive
(Just ask the food banks)
Make getting quality education harder without money.
Take away support systems.
Well you know what?
The poor might get knocked back,
Start to believe there's no point in voting,
Feel powerless... for a while.
As you make the number of poor grow
They will realise they are the majority.
They will rise up, so...
You're going to be FUCKED
Poem thief can have my poems if it means you continue to share pieces of you.
Joined this site to get to know you and will not stay here if you go away.
Not into twitter or myspace but will join to be near you and hope you don't mind.
I pray you allow me to be part of your crowd on your private Facebook.
You inspired me to write poetry and to get better at what's difficult for me.
I don't smoke cigarettes to calm my nerves or drink booze to numb a man's pain.
Admitting I'm a grown ass man reading your leaving comments and about to cry.
You affect more lives than you realize Betty Ponder and I glad you shared about you.
The one who steals poems can steal this one too it will mean more will know my feelings.
Glad that I got to read the pieces of you that you cared to share.
I posed a how do you know question to my parents about knowing if it's love.
Answer was when a person leaves your life and it makes you feel like
you can't breath and you get extremely sad when they leave and you want to
swallow your pride and get down on your hands and knees and beg them not to go.
I'm sad thinking you are leaving and I wont get to read pieces of you but still
got butterflies in my stomach thinking of you and want to beg you not to go.
A Song for Gentleman Hola
Howell était un ouvrier à un tisserand
' sourire Carusos ' jamais tranquille à tous les humains Behaviorals.
Ce sourire Carusos, capitaine de la bonne boulangerie .
A chaque fois qu'un Mellow Man-
pourtant lui-même et eux-mêmes ont fait leur meilleur de pain avec les abeilles ,
emprunté avec du miel .
Après tout ,ce qu'un homme parle serait pas donné un perroquet ou de ce qu'
un ensemble de curieux hommes serait pas donné un spectacle de marionnettes .
Comparaison utopique pois pour cette question ?
Pour c'est surprenant ,pour rien n'est gratuit dans l'utopie"
pour c'est réalisable car utopique peuples ne sont pas que voyante.
Et cet homme Carusos-Teacher sur le naïf tisserands.
Par ses bonnes actions et ses nombreux auditeurs.
Lui-même et eux-mêmes ont fait chanter leur Cirbys remarque dans la comédie musicale.
Il appelle les boulangers Musicien ou les boulangers Laritz Danzas "
qui était une façon de demander leur Ballet de langues maternelles auditoire .
Qu'est-ce que le rhum a eu à faire avec tisane ?
Notre thé a eu à faire avec du thé thé thé ? Notre tisane ,
citronniers ne peut pas être les mangues au Almond aimé
par les hommes du vent et de la Lune .
Seul un Weaver peut dire agréable de décence ...
Written by Graphic Illustrator Hola .
Good D@y To You Sir }
One Poem Advisor...
One Poet Advisor...
1 Bottle of Guinness .
Lawyer Brandy Every Morning .
Literature lulled the longing; left some life.
Eliot spoke of hollow men that could be mutilated but whole. Tempting!
Auden lamented that despite the wish to turn back time we cannot stop clocks,
Volatile as we are: love does not last forever.
Every word etched upon the page made me realise I was not
Miss Havisham; but in my pusillanimous dress I kept close
Every touch and promise, and the deepest secret nobody knew.
Heaney enticed me with warm thick slobber; yellow in the sunshine, but
Eyes not mine own met me in mirrors and I felt sad that
Reality is not a poem, or a piece of prose and despite looking deeper
Each desire reflected back at me were ones I dare not meet in dreams.
Tennyson's Lady of Shallot weaved its magic but not enough for you to keep an
Old wife. I lost my glow, although even now, my lights still twinkle on dark nights in
Dickens' London. Red lights in dark doorways telling tales of a wronged
Rebecca, Jane or Moll all with different dimensions and
Each with her own story to tell, like me,
Although none of it really matters in the end does it?
Maybe now it is time to yield.
First month, first seat change. we were on opposite sides, no interaction. I relish this, i am not a
BOLD or EXTROVERTED person
some might say I am shy or introverted
now that the time has come, I am not ready to change seats,
to take the chance of sitting closer, forced interaction,
I am nervous,
but am calmed with the thought that chances are, we'll be seated even farther apart,
I was wrong.
our elbows will brush, our knees will touch, our gazes will meet.
I hear the words coming out of the teachers mouth,
but am stunned into silence ,
my whole being shaken,
our names are called,
our seats given.
To some, this may seem silly, immature, an overreaction.
For them, this may be true, in this situation calm, collected, thinking: this is no big deal.
But with dread curdling in your stomach as you snap to,
stumbling to your seat,
this is an earthquake shaking the earth, a volcano spitting ashes,
a panic attack waiting to happen.
and it pounces.
seated, trying not to squirm, to shake, to jerk;
wondering what he's thinking, trying not to stare.
he thinks you don't see,
the glances he shoots the short foot between you,
thinks your engrossed in the teacher, the clock, the pencil
any thing but him.
But your any thing but engrossed, you see every shake, gaze,
fell every brush of the hand.
Finally, this long hour is over, the mixture of excitement and torture has come to an end.
As is to be expected, on your way still in has gaze, you trip, you stumble, your face cherry red;
embarrassed, but thankful,
that he doesn't have a class with an even more abundant chance of embarrassment.
over the day,
you forget the way he gazes,
his shy way
different from the others,
the way he's taller,
in a way that makes you feel safe, flushed, happy, even if their is no chance of him being yours.
But then lunch comes,
you sit down,
ready to devour food that can only fill your stomach, not your soul as much as you wish it would, or
but looking across,
you spot him, watching you,
his gaze surpassing the walls of people, as much as a shy person wouldn't like,
is it coincidence that he found the one gap with a view of me?
is he staring at me?
what to do?
with all this questing running your mind,
your appetite flee's,
and so do I,
to my safe haven within the books.
tomorrow, the nervousness has subsided, its over, your over, its done.
but then, on the way to first period,
our paths cross,
You know that this is not over, not done,
the time has come for class to begin.
I've tried to forget, to overcome this nervousness, but I've been defeated,
ground to a fine powder of nerves by a crush.
our knees bounce in anticipation,
our pencils tap,
our feet twitch.
time to share the book,
the dreaded closeness.
Finally it happens,
the brush of the elbows.
we both feel it,
the sparks that glow blue,
the cheeks that grow red.
we have been given a gift, a chance,
to overcome shyness,
to create something wonderful.
but to take that chance, to accept this gift means time, courage.
and every day until then,
this tension will be relieved
and i will be a nervous wreck.
We started on opposite sides,
but fate pulled us together, forced a chance.
now we sit close, still tense, still wired,
but strangely happy,
I am caught between two sets of chains;
One digs into my flesh with patches of rust
Entering my bloodstream through old wounds
I gave myself in years before…
The toxins take action ever so slowly.
Another is of satin,
Gently caressing my knuckles
Making me happier—
Than I’ve ever been in my whole life,
But there’s pressure on my clavicles
As the pull becomes stronger.
I have cried over you
All the while I’ve been saying:
‘I love you’
For I know that I feel more deeply
Than you could ever feel
I see farther forward
Then you’ve ever dared to look,
And I’m trapped here with my
Adoration for you,
And I already miss you.