Blueuphoric - Hello Poetry

A bitter taste The acid in my stomach invading my throat Mind reeling I sharply inhale Sometimes I do not produce beautiful words Poetry does not rise from every pile of ashes A blank cursor laughs at me Tears blur it’s maniacal glance, And I shut my computer down I shut down Sometimes the piles of ash accumulate My body aches And I ask myself why The pleasantries mock me. Why the remains cannot blow away with the struggling breaths My lungs push in and out Why the toxicity Must burn my skin on contact My fingertips, cold as they may be Are on fire.

0

Nov 20, 2017

Nov 20, 2017 at 1:21 PM UTC

toxic

A bitter taste The acid in my stomach invading my throat Mind reeling I sharply inhale Sometimes I do not produce beautiful words Poetry does not rise from every pile of ashes A blank cursor laughs at me Tears blur it’s maniacal glance, And I shut my computer down I shut down Sometimes the piles of ash accumulate My body aches And I ask myself why The pleasantries mock me. Why the remains cannot blow away with the struggling breaths My lungs push in and out Why the toxicity Must burn my skin on contact My fingertips, cold as they may be Are on fire.

20

Flowers lose petals But their seeds will touch the grass Promising new spring

0

Apr 29, 2017

Apr 29, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC

May flowers

Flowers lose petals But their seeds will touch the grass Promising new spring

3

Praise be to the pain of the pew! Hard wooden bench, you are forever burned into my memory. The way your unforgiving surface cuts into the arch of my back during the seemingly endless lectures, that drone on about the “Light of my life” and how I was created to appease him. That hour dedicated to making me feel like cattle as opposed to the lamb my shepherd is supposedly protecting That endless hour of watching the iridescent light shine through the stained glass and thinking about how I much preferred the shining of the sun As opposed to a “light” that didn’t even warm my face when I looked his way Your beauty is appreciated greatly. Though the glossy finish is deceiving, for when I sit upon it I feel the chill on my bare legs as I am reminded that I was forced into wearing my sunday best Oh mighty Pew, I must give you thanks. You were the only thing that held me up when the weight of the harsh judgement, the intense trailing eyes that raked over your image mercilessly and intrusive mouths full of only the nosiest questions made me want to drop to the kneeler even when we weren’t told to bow our heads in prayer. I am forever grateful for the amusement of peeling flaking paint off of your corners to battle the brain mutilating boredom that came along with the monotone voice of the pastor. You truly are beautiful, You and your clones all lined up one behind the other. All facing towards the front where the cross stood above all, the lord’s painted eyes watching us. All of us! A bunch of sinners. How fearless of you, great pew to harbor such sinning souls. To help them convert to something worth saving. So even if your hard surface cuts into the arch of my back, And your glossy finish deceives me with it’s cold exterior. I must thank you for helping me sit up straight in church. because I wasn’t sure, between the judgemental stare and the hissing threats from my mother, if I could even slouch in my seat Without the need to beg for the forgiveness.

0

Apr 29, 2017

Apr 29, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC

Ode to a pew

Praise be to the pain of the pew! Hard wooden bench, you are forever burned into my memory. The way your unforgiving surface cuts into the arch of my back during the seemingly endless lectures, that drone on about the “Light of my life” and how I was created to appease him. That hour dedicated to making me feel like cattle as opposed to the lamb my shepherd is supposedly protecting That endless hour of watching the iridescent light shine through the stained glass and thinking about how I much preferred the shining of the sun As opposed to a “light” that didn’t even warm my face when I looked his way Your beauty is appreciated greatly. Though the glossy finish is deceiving, for when I sit upon it I feel the chill on my bare legs as I am reminded that I was forced into wearing my sunday best Oh mighty Pew, I must give you thanks. You were the only thing that held me up when the weight of the harsh judgement, the intense trailing eyes that raked over your image mercilessly and intrusive mouths full of only the nosiest questions made me want to drop to the kneeler even when we weren’t told to bow our heads in prayer. I am forever grateful for the amusement of peeling flaking paint off of your corners to battle the brain mutilating boredom that came along with the monotone voice of the pastor. You truly are beautiful, You and your clones all lined up one behind the other. All facing towards the front where the cross stood above all, the lord’s painted eyes watching us. All of us! A bunch of sinners. How fearless of you, great pew to harbor such sinning souls. To help them convert to something worth saving. So even if your hard surface cuts into the arch of my back, And your glossy finish deceives me with it’s cold exterior. I must thank you for helping me sit up straight in church. because I wasn’t sure, between the judgemental stare and the hissing threats from my mother, if I could even slouch in my seat Without the need to beg for the forgiveness.

49