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Ignitied Jun 2015
Every step he takes towards me, I take two steps back
But it’s not long until my back’s against the wall,
And I have nowhere to go.
His breath reeks of alcohol
His hands are running up my body,
Up to my face and my hair.
I shove his hands away from my hair, sickened at the slimy feel of him against my skin.
I’ve kept it short, and it’s the only part of me that is left,
By the filth of him.
The only thing that is still mine.
I see his fist rushing toward me,
And I swing my head
So his fist crashes loudly, painfully, into the wall.
He howls.
Blows land on my cheeks, my shoulders, my jaw, my arm.
I fall to the ground,
Like a helpless rag doll,
Waiting for someone to pick me up.
He’s there, on top of me, yanking my hair, hands swinging on my body.
“Please. Stop. I’m sorry. Stop, please!” I beg, at his mercy once again.
I’m surprised when he does.
“If you did what I tell you, I wouldn’t have to beat you like this. If you would have just let me touch you,  
It wouldn’t have come to this. I love you, baby. You know I do. I would never let anything happen to you.  
You know I won’t,” he croons into my ear.
As his calloused hands caress my swollen jaw, and his sweet, toxic words pierce my heart, I think back to  
The early days of stolen kisses,
And gentle love, and I am once again reminded of the man I fell in love with.
The one who stood on the altar, who swore to love and cherish me, to never let me go,
And I believe him.
Ignitied Dec 2014
Infinity passes by in the
tick-tock off the clock.
Our eyes bounce off everything
but each other.
It's like we can't remember the time
when we'd rather talk about us all night,
where our breaths mingled together, trying to discover all they could of each other in their fractions of existence.
But I wonder.
If our future
never approaches anything,
not today
not tomorrow
not in years,
then what proof do we have that it really exists?
  Nov 2014 Ignitied
she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.


he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.

but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?

this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

this is more of a story than a poem but i like how it came out so leave thoughts & comments please
Ignitied Nov 2014
Sometimes I wonder,
Was I supposed to stay?
  Nov 2014 Ignitied
Ember Evanescent

I thought it might be nice to do like a secret santa thingy on hellopoetry only not secret and not santa… what I mean is, find a random stranger you literally have never met and do NOT know at all whose poetry you like and spend actual time genuinely reading their work, picking out your favorite lines and responding to them, pondering them, etc. Write something positive to them and post it as a poem with their name in the title. The “DEAR BLANK” challenge only you put their name instead of “blank”. I think we could all use a little recognition that we exist and are worth something since everyone seems a little depressed on here (including myself) which is fine, it’s a great outlet but it would be nice for people to just spontaneously find that a random stranger spent time in their life just to recognize you and care about your poetry. To write a kind poem/letter to them responding to lines in their poetry. If you need an example I just posted DEAR IMALRIGHT which was exactly what I meant. Check out imalright's poetry btw it is amazing.
I plan on doing for more than one person and I'd love for you to do the same. Spread a little kindness, we could all use a little.
Also message me if you are going to do the challenge and message the stranger you do the DEAR BLANK challenge for so they know to look for and read your poem.
I just thought that Imalright who was a perfect stranger to me seemed like a wonderful poet and a wonderful person based on her poetry so I chose her.
You do that too if you accept the DEAR BLANK challenge.
please repost this over and over so we can get as many people involved as possible and try and make a difference in a couple people's lives because I just want to make everyone feel loved but I'm just one girl, I can't do it alone. Please help me with this and join me in the DEAR BLANK challenge. Take time out of your day to properly appreciate someone's poetry who you do not know.


Ignitied Nov 2014
My momma went to Paris
She danced near the Eiffel Tower
She shopped at L'Oreal
She walked through the streets of the City of Lights

My daddy waited for his wife to come back from
dancing near the tower
shopping at L'Oreal
walking through the streets.

My sister, a waitress in a quaint Texas town
Waiting for the woman she adored to come back
to their little town.

But momma never came back.
She found a better life
dancing near the Eiffel Tower
shopping at L'Oreal
walking through the streets of the City of Lights.
Ignitied Nov 2014
Don't you see?
Don't you see why the stars no longer come out at night?
Don't you see why dreamers have gone sleep and awoken and cynics?
Don't you see why the moon despairs upon its palace among the stars?
It's because you.
Your inability to love,
to give,
to wonder.
You did this.
The love of Romeo and Juliet curse you.
For you are no son of love

— The End —