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  Jul 2015 Rachel Lyle
Frame these moments,
For these are momentary...

Now they are,
Not will forever they be...

You can reminisce them,
Your fun will be immortal if you frame these moments...
A spontaneous poem that I wrote on Facebook as a comment for one of the photos from a recent one of the outings with family.

My HP Poem #890
©Atul Kaushal
Rachel Lyle Jul 2015
There is madness in the words
Scattered upon our bed,
While you sit in the other room
Mesmerized, practically dead.
Your eyes are glued wide open
Your mouth it is sewn tight shut,
I cannot help but whine inside
Whilst you look at ****.
There is madness in my head
A certain fragility in my pride
Confusion and exclusion creeping up my side.
There once was a story that my mother read to me
I think that I have lost that now
I never liked playing tea,
Or listening to fairy tales
Or playing make-believe.
I do not give a **** my dear
what you think of me.
And I think this is how I like it,
And I think this is where I want to be,
Sitting in my bed
Quiet as can be.
And if you weren't in there right now
I wouldn't need to cry,
And if you weren't a traitor
Maybe I could fly.
But you clipped my wings time and time again
You left me out to dry,
Ripped my limbs from ball and socket
Left me empty, blackened, dried.
And I am used again ,used again
Tattered as can be,
And I will give again, give again
Hoping you will stay with me.
I tried to send you letters
I tried to keep you mine.
I'd let you rip my nail beds out
If you would just go back in time
But I am asking for a miracle
I am asking for too much
So I will be a good little girl now
Whilst I choke on my own punch.
Rachel Lyle Jun 2015
In the midst of sun beams and clouds
High. I am low. Surfing on the bottoms
With leeches and magical monsters
Shinning. Dazzled and sunken to them-
I follow like my skin is wrapped in woolen fur,
Them with their sharps caught upon mine,
I with my lows wrapped into their depths.

We go deeper, down to a trench- the bright lights,
And I to follow unceasingly like the little lamb
I am naught without it. Naught without him.
And so I shall be naught at the bottom of this trench.
Going deeper but always keeping my eyes on the light
In the back of my pupils, you may still see the light
If you look hard enough you still see us dancing.
Rachel Lyle May 2015
I am beginning to hate the male species
From where did they come?
Where it is acceptable to think a woman dumb?
That she shouldn't have the answers
That she ought to be sweet-
Rearing children, never barren,  
Incessantly caring
Wake-up I want to shout!
Open your eyes and see.
Just because I have breast that are tender,
And a ****** that is moist.
Makes me no less your equivalent
Or dare say more so.
I needn't always wear a smile
Strong-willed doesn't ensure a wretch.
Oh, I won't find a mate if I go on this way?
An old hag I shall be then
At least I'll keep my ****** two cents
Rachel Lyle May 2015
I am neutral as neutral comes
And no I'm not defeated
And no I've not gone dumb

I've got the neutrality of the ocean
The serene of a morning dew
Watch me glisten as I escape you
Rachel Lyle May 2015
I have fears like the hundred year
Swarm of locus in my breast
Bundled up tight and lurching
Through my voice endless breaks
Sobs beneath smiles
Smiles under clenched teeth

I have sorrows like Noah in the belly
Of a ferocious beast
Flopping and sinking in bile
Turning green with stench
Of salted tears
And gangrenous wounds

I have two feet that push forward
And eyes to pinpoint light
Hands to guide me
And a God on my side
I feel I've yet a hard plight
  Apr 2015 Rachel Lyle
Anne Sexton
You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.
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