Alfa Nov 4
Empty the sea water into my veins,
discard your ice on my worn body,
give me up against the tides,
cast me away so no one finds me,
and if they try all they’ll find is an abandoned body.
how it feels to drown
Alfa Oct 26
                                    from my mummified state, and lift me from the grave I dug, don't depend on me anymore to continue beating myself up
                                         i want to feel alive again
I feel like myself when I write poetry, when a lot of the time I used to feel pretty numb inside. Thank you for that.
Alfa Oct 23
your last dying words release from tight lips slowly letting go of the fist from my shirt,
                                                                             it sounds like freedom.
Alfa Oct 22
Warm sauce
as hot as my blood
splattered all over the floor.

Spit out,
puked up,
you slammed my head on the floor.

Mop up or eat it.
You used my mopped head to clean it.

Ever since then, I couldn't eat spaghetti again.
Alfa Oct 19
A circular poem about the corrupt cafeteria system I used to work in. "Don't improve the system" refers to the corrupt system we had in place. "They'll reject our own mistakes" refers to if we put a new system in place, it'll be rejected by students, so there's nothing to do- either way we were *******, and everything continues to rotate just as the dishroom trays did.
Alfa Oct 18
whispering rain tapping on the window
flooding my ears with sound, fluorescent
light screaming inside my brain, lift
your hands towards me again, you
won’t see me de nuevo. Wilt
beneath the demanding life you’ve beaten,

and maybe your fear will agitate
you, into a comatose state you
had put me in.,and hidden
me away from the world, mauling
innocence out of me with incremental,
unwanted touches that cannot be undone.

from handcuffs on wooden poles, foaming
mouths pouncing on my skin, melting
within myself as you drowned wearisome
unhinged fantasies onto me, and use
children for your pleasure to continue
terrorizing freely while we all trickle.
Abused as a child, here is my testimony about my abuser. Six lines in each stanza, she truly was the devil.
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