RogueSabotage
American
I am a 18 year old slam poet from Maine. I have been writing poems, lyrics, and short stories since I was about four years old. Poetry is my outlet for everything that I don't know how to say, when I write things in the form of a poem the idea of it being a problem seems to disappear.
Inhale 1-2
am I moving yet?
twisted,
misconfigured,
crossed wires,
short circuited communications from my brain to every part of my body,
aching to flee,
exhale 3-4
lying lifelessly,
limbs limp,
looking lethargically around hoping some way I can save myself,
Inhale
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
Sexualize me
Drip your sweet greed all over my unwanting flesh
Want me
Consume me without warrant
Without regard for the heart mercilessly beating in my chest
I’m not a person to you
Just a *** toy
Look at me and picture me clothed in the wonders of your body
Sexualize Me
Give my female body a real purpose
Let me be what you want,
no need for me to have say
Force me
Show a body I never asked for
Expect me to do anything you ask for
Say it’s all in the name of fun when I thought there were only three letters and two of them are F U
And no that doesn’t mean to sexualize me
I’m not here for you to look at
I’m not here for you to touch
I’m not here for you
Just because I have a body doesn’t mean it’s for the taking
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
Nothing more than glass walls,
Cast stones,
I never used the word until I was old enough to know better.
Home was like a lost four letter word I dropped at the door the day I moved out.
Left echoing in the halls of a building I merely grew up in.
Ditched the memories in the corners with the cat hair and dust.
Secrets screaming from my unmade bed.
I'm surprised you didn't realize I was leaving.
Home smelled like a fresh wound and a sea breeze.
Get to close and it might sting
I don't believe I could go back
Shaking bones from attacks on my self worth
Some days I wished I could crawl out of my own skin
get away from myself
Home felt like an empty heart still trying to beat,
We were just blood,
nothing more.
I still hear the echo of slammed doors on your breath,
Taste the fear of not having anywhere to go lingering in the over sterilized air,
Home is a four letter word inscribed on my gravestone
nothing more.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
I wanted to write you one last time tonight,
Leave echos bouncing off the walls inside your skull,
I wanted to leave you with the ache for my arms I know too well,
I wanted to write you one last time tonight,
See how many times I could tell you I love you before the words were as meaningless to me as I am to you,
I wanted you to feel goosebumps too shy to rise above your skin,
I wanted to write you one last time tonight,
Though all I can say is I love you
I wish I didn't mean it,
I don't think I'll write you this late tonight,
Seems the last time can wait.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Poetry is my ping pong paddle support system,
there for me when I don't know how to get anyone else to be,
my fall net and my launch pad,
Poetry is my life map,
knows the roads I haven't traveled long before I find myself lost on them,
intergalactic space mumbo jumbo is my hands second language leading me to unknown points in myself I never dreamed I could find giving me the courage to take one more breath,
one more step,
keep going.
Poetry isn't always beautiful,
doesn't always make you happy,
but it does make you think,
we all need that
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
I haven't been hungry for weeks,
that's not to say I haven't eaten,
not to say I that I don't want to be.
you see sometimes hunger isn't about an empty stomach
sometimes you can be empty and still not have enough room for more
always wanting more that doesn't fit
like ending the last page of your notebook in the middle of a sentence,
after spending your last dime on a sandwich to fill the void in your digestive,
I can't afford to keep going.
I'm a unicycle with no one to ride me,
abandoned and awkward,
falling over alone.
but my empty can't be filled with food,
eating just makes me sick,
I do it anyway,
but it doesn't help.
My empty is permanent,
no one eats enough,
and I haven't been hungry in weeks
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
No matter how many times I said no, he was still in my house,
no matter how many times I said stop, he was still stronger than me,
no matter how many times I screamed, the music still over powered me,
so I held still,
and no matter how many times I tell myself that giving in was the only way to get it over with, I still wish I had never invited him over.
I'm still afraid when I have to be alone in a room with someone,
I still panic when the person I love wants to be intimate,
I still sweat when I see him with my friends
We were friends.
I wouldn't even admit to myself that it was **** until almost a year later, I just knew I was afraid of him.
I want to warn my friends, but I'm still so scared, and
I wonder what would have happened with his hands around my throat if I hadn't been so still
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
You asked me how my body felt, and I said congealed,
A little rotten,
A little broken down,
Apprehended by my own mistakes,
In a place I don't belong,
Stagnant,
You asked me how I felt about my body and I said
Mortified,
Physically dead,
Damaged,
Insufficient,
You started to say but, and I knew where you were going,
"But you're beautiful, but you're thin, but you're perfect, but I love you, but I just because the mirror shows me doesn't me I have to believe it"
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish I could order expressions the way you order drinks in a cheesy bar on main street of any city.
Hi, I'd like an appreciating smile,
I'd like a sympathetic nod,
A pessimistic stare-down,
Bottle affection and affliction,
Understanding and underestimation,
Love and lothing,
Pain and assumptions,
Longing and wisdom,
Serve mixed drinks of mixed feelings,
With dinners full of clarity,
Get people drunk on emotions and ideas
Make people feel.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
Death grip clasped faithfully together,
A portal from my lips to whoever it is that's listening
If anyone is listening,
Maybe help can come along and clasp itself around these hands,
still purple from holding on too tight,
the only relief in distant worlds,
maybe letting go is more about fingers than hearts,
mine seems to be stuck beating in a path to nowhere,
tracing the pale veined lines in my palm,
tinted nails clawing away tears,
leaving slashes of red on my cheek,
slightly browned knuckles seem to crack,
cracked eggs,
cracked skull,
don't think!
rivers of memories,
hands in a stream,
summer breeze,
catching fish with our bare palms,
can't let go,
pushed on a swing,
"don't push to hard or I might fall"
air rushing past me still waiting for the crash,
layers deep and peeling away,
palms skun raw
and I'm bleeding
crimson teardrops tracing the paths to nowhere
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC