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Yesterdays pain is following you
sits on your shoulder 'n don't set you free.
Took the wrong footin n stepped down on those,
lookin thru eyes that di'n't want to see.

We is diff'rent in colour
but skin an' blood just the same.
I am filled up wit' anger,
you is covered in shame.

Scared to look back
at hist'ry past
unable to turn from
what you wanted to last.

Tortured and toubled,
when it came to the clinch
you bought us along
an' introduced Mistuh Lynch.

To you Mistuh Whitey
we ar' lower than low,
Mistuh Blacky does the t'ings
that you don't want to know.

I belongs to the man,
just like-the dogs.
There for pickin' the crop
an' choppin' the logs.

Yesterdays pain's not goin' nowhere
It's stickin to you all o' the way.
Fo' the evil yo' done 'tis stayin' right there.
Never t' move, never t' sway.

Yeah yest'days pain is followin you
it sits on yo' shoulder 'n it won't set you free.
Cos you took the wrong footin' an' stepped down on those,
while starin' thru blind eyes that don't want t' see.
8th April 2016.
I was a very dramatic writer,
once upon a time...
I believed in so many things
as hard truth,
yet they were mere lies.
Melancholy can catch me,
if I dwell on this old life for too much time.
But I rather set my mind on things above,
remembering He has me in mind.

I have been scared to love again.
With only a month left on my sentence.
But I am starting to fear not the challenge of relationships.
knowing I am far from finished.
There's a beauty up ahead,
and I am in it to win it.
 Apr 2016 unwritten
Syaff S
When you said you loved me to the Moon and back,
how did you keep a straight face?

Did you own a calendar of love
measured by time and space?
You were always the one
who kept your distance
and counted down the days.

So tell me,
how long does it take you to get to the Moon and back?
Because I loved you till the Moon
but you never came back.
I love you to the Moon and back only made sense if you said it.
 Apr 2016 unwritten
Gidgette
We are none truly alone,
I've written of this before
I shall write of our souls
And the invisible chains, once more

We are all connected,
By these universal chains
From the beggar on the corner,
To the broker squandering gains

We are seven billion shades,
Different shades of the same hue
From me here in my mountains,
Across the earth to you

Whether you're a dancer,
Stepping to a tune
Or a night fisherman,
Gathering food, under the moon

These universal chains,
They bind us each together
That's what the universe wanted,
And so it is forever

Each time you defame,
Your fellow human across the way
You're defaming part of yourself,
So be careful what you say

This is how its been since the beginning
This is how it is until the end
Be kind to each other,
Remember we're all akin
Oh wow! Thank you my fellow poets. Thank you for reading and liking my words.<3
 Apr 2016 unwritten
woelita
I feel like I should be moving forward but I have been in retrograde ever since my soul looked at you and kind of smiled, kind of went “oh, there you are”,
and I had to run because I knew my mouth would not get me out of this alive

It’s not right but it’s not wrong either
and now the whole world is a grey canvas
with subtle shades of blue
I wish I was colour blind
I wish I didn’t want to kiss your face
and send you every thank you card ever made
for making me feel like a human being
who isn’t all walls and sky rise buildings strategically blocking the sun
but vulnerable and warm and thriving and willing
and open
I want to be open
but I will sew myself shut
and trap the ghosts between my thighs and in my ribcage
and put up a “warning” sign:
to all future visitors,
I will never not admire you for your curiosity
you want to be a connoisseur of skin and quickened breath
a connoisseur of just how far down the road you have to travel before you make them gasp **** in that tone that’s halfway between a shout and a whisper
a connoisseur of just how many words you can make sound *****
if they’re coming from a pretty mouth
I will never not envy you for it
I will tell you about a time in which I relied on it to feel alive
instead of checking my pulse on the metro
How it made me feel like a child again
it's summer time and I am in the yard in a dress with a print like the flowers
and you're bending me over the swing set

to all future visitors,

you can stop for a visit
I don’t mind
you can enter at your own risk
and you can enter if you don’t mind
playing with yourself
 Apr 2016 unwritten
Joshua Haines
The darkest fields, an interlude
to parallel sparkling, suspended
watching eye upon vermilion sky --
like a harbored god pretended.

Killing trees, roots eating deep,
my father mercilessly alluded:
branches high and branches wide
found the sky and intruded.
you say, 'be careful with yourself'
i feel my hands shake
and I reply, 'I don't know how'
Glowing Eyes by Twenty One Pilots
 Mar 2016 unwritten
woelita
“Tell me if it burns” you said
“Not after this” is what I want to say.
No, never.


But my mouth hasn’t moved.
46, 47, 48.
The seconds crawl like my skin
I haven’t spoken for almost a minute.
I smile,
the curve of my lips put you at ease.
Good.

“No, not at all.”
Your hand inches forward, fingers slim like sharpened knives
I am reminded of my mother’s favourite kitchen set.

“Keep going.”
 Mar 2016 unwritten
jls
Week 1: I was laughing exactly twenty-two minutes after I held your lifeless hand. They called it coping. I called it insanity.

Week 2: I haven't slept a full night in a week because I can't remember the last thing you said to me.

Week 3: I still reach for your hand every time an airplane flies by. I still despise planes.

Week 4: Can you ask God if I'm allowed to be angry yet?

Week 5: I mourn the grandchildren you will never meet and I will never bear because they might have your eyes.

Week 6: We lit a cigarette for you today as if God would let such a deadly sin into the pearly gates. Happy birthday.

Week 7: I've never liked this house.

Week 8: I jokingly call other people Dad until it doesn't sting to say that word anymore.

Week 9: "I want to have a better relationship with you," turned into "I'm so sorry," too quickly.

Week 10: Depression is such a mouthful, three course meal of arsenic.

Week 11: You always told me I had a natural beauty, didn't need to paint a face of porcelain. I wear a lot of makeup now.

Week 12: I'm still not ready to write about you yet.
They say you never truly write until you're completely honest with yourself, split yourself open and strip down every layer of your soul. I call this my first poem.
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