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Lipsticks, painted red
      A smile on my face,
              Not seen before,
     Take a big swig from a bottle,
Drink more and more
      Until I end up on the floor
     Finally the *memories
are gone
When my sanity walks out the door

        I'm now on the ceiling,
   Though quite possibly dreaming,
My thoughts are far from clearing
            In muddled moments
    I find comfort and forget
             No longer chained
      Or to my own head in debt

Swishing the thoughts around my mind
    Like a good year of
         fine white wine
   Spitting out the rotten ones
Swallowing down a few,
        just for fun
     Intoxication at its finest,
Brazen, daring, brave and bold
           Leaving the past behind us
     Out in the bitter cold

          Frozen behind,
   No longer catching up to me
     I can stumble forward
            In my plastered euphoria
     A smile on my face
I can pick up my pace
         Audacious now, I feel
Doesn't matter how much of this is real

Reality is just in my mind
           Not easily defined
    By dreams, nightmares or ghosts
             From the past
       Reality is in this bottle,
                This pipe, or this needle
     Down to the very last
Drops of fantasy and candy
                   But ****,
           *It tastes so sweet
What a joy working with the young, yet so talented WickedHope, amazing.  :)
 Dec 2014 Tupelo
WickedHope
what am i supposed to do

                 when the people
                 who picked me up

        taped me back together

        shattered and ripped me

walked away
   and never
     turned back

      ~           ~           ~

*cut open
i bleed water
rusty and brown
in myself*
i've started to drown
Put away your scissors, I'm not sure who of us will hurt me more, but I'd rather it be me.
- - -
I can't control anything.
 Dec 2014 Tupelo
Luna Lynn
you ask me what it's like to be black
and i'll tell you it's a warm soulful fulfilling feeling
like a pair of new Chucks on the hot pavement jumping scotch on a busy summer day
eating cool iced pops and not ever being afraid
and smelling the warm carmel cake cooling on the stove
and the togetherness on a Sunday evening in grandmama's home

but you ask me what it's like to be black
in america
and i'll fall silent of conversation
because as you see history repeats itself
i don't understand why there is still need for explanation
in deep adversaries and hateful unappreciation
here we stand to be questioned by an authoritative negation

and ignorant folk,
why do you ask me such things?
why are you people mad?
why is it about race?

and i'll ask you, why does the caged bird sing?
is he not entitled to his song or his wings?

as green as the earth and as blue as the sky
i will only explain to an ear willing to listen
to a being with a sound heart and a firm mind
because as God as my witness we were created as equal

and for that given right we must die?

i will sit back and in turn ask you why;
i bet you couldn't say
and maybe we will all learn the answer some day
so join me in prayer will you?
join me as i pray:

to the children of Chicago
who can't go out to play
to the sons and fathers of
Missouri and Florida and New York
who will never again see the light of day
to the mother's pain that may fade
but won't ever go away
to the hateful people and their hateful words and their hateful ways
God won't You heal their pain?


they're so ******* us, Lord
now we're ******* ourselves
and on our knees we have fallen
needing guidance and help
because it isn't about being privilged
or living for the light we're consumed in

being black in america is no longer about being accepted as black

it's about being accepted as human.
(C) Maxwell 2014
White walls,  white floor,  white ceiling.
Stuck in this cage I cant bare the feeling.
I scream for help but no one hears,  
As I sit I drown in tears.  
Running fast,  and panting hard only makes me panic  more.  
Out the door,  down the hall, returning to the same door.
Out the door,  down the hall,  returning to the same door.  
Door,  hall,  door.  
Door,  hall,  door.
As I wallow in my sorrows my thoughts of escaping end.  
Every time I leave I end up at the same door.
I dont know where to go anymore.
I think everyone can relate
 Dec 2014 Tupelo
curlygirl
I'm found wanting the lion's share
of life,
often reaching for the stars and
taking the moon as well.
Youth courses through my veins
like gemstones as
blind ambition promises the world to me,
served on a platter forged of wanderlust and
childlike curiosity,
as a dowry.
He pecks my cheek and speaks of
what's to come,
of our progeny-
every wish that's made on a falling star and
every innocent kiss between lovers.
These and more I'm to have-
nights spent under foreign skies,
sincere love notes that were never delivered,
and cherished songs who lost their lyrics but
are still hummed to little ones.
Because of him,
these are to be my gifts,
they are to be my children,
they are to be my legacy.
 Dec 2014 Tupelo
curlygirl
Romanced by beautiful words
that carry me to another time,
I let myself be dressed in a flowing gown,
stitched together with the delicate
memories and intentions of the
master craftsman.
He makes it possible to live in a
brilliant haze of nouns, verbs and
extravagant adjectives.
My mind is full of wonder
and my heart is full of longing
as the dress is stripped off and
folded away.
I'm ****** into my street clothes,
into my daily drudge,
but I know my escape will be made again,
thanks to Mr.Fitzgerald.
Mr.F Scott Fitzgerald, that is. Love his work
 Dec 2014 Tupelo
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
hiding in the shadows was always a way of life for me.
but I grew tiresome and bored of that lifestyle.
I've gone on my own path, whether its a path of destruction, or success.
it is my path of my own making.
I am a ticking time bomb close to exploding.
I will be broken down to less than nothing ,
and when I do I want to do it in solitude.
don't try to come to my rescue because this is not something you can fix by hiding it.
I am no longer going to allow lies, and secrets control my life.
I am not a fragile lap dog.
I am a cold, heartless, heartbreaker who deserves solitude while I die and resurrect myself.
my life at the moment is already full with things that you cannot protect me from.
I am spiraling down a steep mountain losing all control
and frankly my dear, I love it.
so save yourself the time and tell your loved ones im dead.
because indeed my soul is, im just a walking corpse.
and if anyone tries to interfere with my life well...
I cant be blamed for collateral damage.
sometimes we have to die and be reborn again to escape and rise to a new life. don't be scared to hit rock bottom.
we all do.
The ocean reflects the scenery of the sky,
But the sky does not reflect the ocean.
The ocean and sky never touch ,  
But…
The ocean still holds the reflection of the sky.
And when night time comes the ocean still reflects the sky.
Forever faithful to the sky.
The ocean tries its best to reach for the sky with its waves,
But the sky just sits there with no effort.
The ocean is so still at night,
in solitude when it realizes the sky is so far for a reason .
But when the sun rises again the ocean tries even harder.
Why does the ocean try to touch the sky knowing it is impossible ?
When people love something strong enough they will try their best to be with them. But you always want what you cannot have.
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