Here come the hound dogs
Sniffing out their prey
Don’t you have something better to do
My emotions is not for play!
I don’t got time for this **** not today!
I shoot bullets from my mouth
And watch the blood splatter on your face
I’m not for games today
I will warn you with grace
But keep antagonizing me
And I’ll bring war into your space
You bettah start praying for gods grace
Because I shoot bullets from my mouth
Into your heart
And watch the blood splatter on your face
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 12:21 AM UTC
Darkness sips into my soul when I'm not looking
It flickers like a movie in my subconscious
And projects on the image I see in the mirror
I tried to remove these new filters
These Photoshop nightmares of imperfection
But
Darkness sipped into my soul when I wasn't looking
It flickered like a movie in my subconscious
And projected on the image I see in the mirror
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
Lust
Star dust
And emotional distrust
Creates the dysfunction of us
**** the traditions of love
Let us live in unconditional
Distrusted love
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
I'm six years old. I'm six years old and my favourite colour is green because it's the colour of my eyes and I think my eyes are the prettiest things I have ever seen.
I'm eight years old. I'm eight years old and I had a nightmare so bad I felt like my eyes were deceiving me. My favourite colour is now the same pale blue as my Mum's floral bedsheets because they make me feel safe.
I'm ten years old now. I'm ten years old and I'm a big girl because I'm allowed to walk to school with my friend instead of my Mum. We walk past fields of buttercups and other pretty flowers but my new favourite colour is the peach of the rose in my front garden.
I'm twelve years old. I'm twelve years old and I can't stand the colour green anymore because the meaner people in my school decided my self worth was less important than their jokes. I don't have a favourite colour anymore, but if you ask I'll say it's purple.
I'm fourteen years old. I'm fourteen which means I've been a teenager for a year and I still can't stand the colour green. My Mum let me dye my hair for the first time and now it is red and red is my favourite colour, but if you asked I would still tell you it's purple.
I'm sixteen now. I'm sixteen and I think I know everything, I met a boy that I like for the first time, my Mum doesn't know, but I think he makes the colour green a bit easier to look at because he told me he loves my eyes and that they are the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He gave me a pair of rose tinted glasses and I'm not quite sure why, but for now my favourite colour is the deep brown of his eyes but if anyone asks, my favourite colour is still purple.
I'm eighteen now. I'm eighteen and I can finally drink without it being illegal, and I have started drinking to forget everything except the colour of my Mum's pale blue floral bedsheets, the peach of the rose in my front garden, the bright red of my hair and the green of my eyes but most of all I'm drinking to forget the purple of the bruises that litter my skin, the purple that I always insisted was my favourite colour for reasons unknown to me.
I should be twenty years old now, and my favourite colour should be the orange of the sunset, the pink of the sunrise or maybe even the yellow of the buttercups in the fields I used to walk past on my way to school, but I did not make it to twenty years old. My favourite colour was never purple and I never asked for my skin to be constantly tainted that way, but you made sure I never healed and now my Mum is laying purple flowers on my grave and she's wishing she fought more to get my favourite colour to be green again like when I was six years old and in love with myself and the world around me, because if I still loved the innocent green then maybe I wouldn't be suffering my greatest nightmare as a child with the only comfort being tucked up in the seemingly endless sea of brown. I always tricked myself and everyone else into thinking things were perfect with rose tinted glasses but the lenses shattered and the last flower you laid on my grave was the peach coloured rose from my front garden, and now the petals have wilted and all of the colour has been drained from me but this new world has more hues than I could have ever dreamed of.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
You saved me , you made
A smile on my face
And then
You left,
Leaving me broken.
Then, I got
Sad.
And now there is blood on my wrists.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
She swings upon her crooked pendulum,
her eyes burning with a scarlet fire.
Her white dress cannot mask what I know to be
her deepest and darkest desire.
-lf-
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
Some say she’s a maverick. She refuses to play by the rule, she’d rather create her own rule. Not that much of a rebel, just a bit free-spirited by heart.
Some say she’s a square peg in a round hole. A black dress amidst a wedding party. Ripped jeans among trousers. A pair of sneakers among pairs of high heels. A cup of tequila between white wines. But really, she’s only a misfit. She has always been one. An unorthodox individual living in a world where people must be the same in order to be freed of scrutiny. She isn’t afraid to cross the line of conformity. Even ever since she was little, she has always frowned upon the game of pretentious act that people around her have been playing. She often finds herself in question, for she is non-adhering to the idea of being a sheep flocking to the herd.
Some say she’s the epitome of late night shots taken by the distressed. Not as the last, desperate resort, but as the first aid.
Some say she’s the embodiment of the bitter aftertaste when you sip a cup of coffee that you got from a store stood on the roadside during your impromptu midnight road trip. She shows up by chance, looking plain as ever. But really, she’s a mild surprise once she gets her way into you. One that you might not expect.
Some say she’s a thorn wire disguised in vineyard. It isn’t quite easy to strip away of her self-defense. But once she’s provoked, she’s provoked.
Some say she’s a train wreck. And boy, weren’t they right. Her life might be a mess, but it is one hell of a beautiful mess she’s proudly living. If anything, she has mastered the art of living in perpetual, concomitant tragedies.
Some say she’s more of a goodbye than a hello. A bittersweet memory than a sugarcoated present. She’s never one of a dreamer, but she puts her hopes in the beauty of imperfections – of the feeling of loss. Experience has taught her not to make people her happiness, for they are but a fleeting moment of enchantment.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
i've always been mesmerized by the concept that sometimes a home isn't always in the form of closed doors and four sides of walls.
sometimes a home isn't always in the form of empty rooms and echoing goodbyes.
sometimes a home is a person.
and for me, that person is you.
there's no place like home,
there's no place like you.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC
a synthetic wave of feelings,
you appear out of nowhere,
like a hologram.
i reach out to be adored by you,
but the virtual illusion creates a
retrospective,
a nostalgic thought,
perhaps a ponder.
05/20/15
r.z.w.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
I have been trampled upon
Yet here I stand.
Shoved and kicked down
Yet I've risen by God's hand.
I have been ridiculed, mocked and teased
For a second did you think it would phase me?
Oh please.
I am the epitome of feminine power
A lady of increasing inner strength by the hour.
I am an impenetrable spirit,
Soaring higher beyond dimension, space and time limit.
I am an infectious disease called happiness
A lady who knows her worth
And won't take anything less.
I am worthy
I am deserving
I am excellence
I am God-serving.
I am an African Woman:
A hand-crafted masterpiece
A conqueror of challenges and hardships
A lady of spiritual wealth and infinite being.
I am beauty personified.
An image of immortal greatness.
Harsh words of cruelty merely graze my surface
Label me a worthless piece of unwanted coal
And watch as I am put under pressure
And manifest into a bright diamond of immeasurable worth.
Unbreakable.
I am power
I am strength
I am an African Woman.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC