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  Jun 2017 Breawna B
Emoni Jenkins
The click clack echoes of cheap stilettos on cracked pavement let you know she's near
There is no fear in her eyes
Lined thick and black as the night sky
For she is the goddess of these blocks
And men would sacrifice their blood and sweat wages to worship in her temple

She is a walking master piece
Crafted in the shaky hands of abandonment and abuse
It took nineteen long years to create a soul so dark you could get lost just staring into it
And she's been trying to find her way back to herself for years

She is a walking tragedy
Of Shakespearian proportions
Her love stories are not so romantic and clean
They usually take place in some stranger's back seat
After some hastily exchanged words
Some stranger's rough cheek
Pressed harshly against hers
And from the outside it could almost be called love
Two people finding themselves in the arms of another
But still being completely alone in the world

This is her existence
Moonlit rendezvous
Short skirts and fishnets with holes up the sides
She's just someone to call during the lonely nights
And as they spread her thighs
They don't realize that they're filling her and killing her at the same time
She sells her body and her pride on these streets just to survive
No one knows of the little girl that hides inside that cries inside
That begs you with her eyes to save her from herself
Save her from these streets
Kiss her on the cheek and let her ride in the front seat
She doesn't care where you are going
As long as its away from here
Where ever you and she stop will be called home
And she will finally be allowed to rest.
  Jun 2017 Breawna B
Adam Childs
The sweet scarlet lady
Condemned by the collective
Piously cursed by all
As they revel in their
contemptuous scorn
As a cocktail of lust and hate
Is dealt to her by many
With a heart crushing arrogance
In this dark hidden world
The spite of the respectable
Is poured over her with a disregard
That burns like a molten lead
While on Saturday roses are pruned
And front doors are painted
She collects the angst
And disappointments of lost youth
Of the sleepy bitter soul
As she becomes a giant dustbin
For this world

What great resilience
What amazing strength
As her ****** center dissolves
All the unhappiness of this world
As she is a hidden angel
Defiled by the world she absorbs all
For she is painted with the projections
Of the worlds forbidden fruit
But she is the rose tinted lady
Dreaming of greater times
A coffee in st Peterburgs square
Oh what a brave dare
filling her sisters needs
With all these gracious deeds

Living in this thankless world
She is the rescuer of many men
Used and abused by
The emotionally inept
She remains centered
In a hidden dignity
Only known by her
As she gives and gives
Many faces made and portrayed
As she gives herself up
She becomes a plasticine
For the childish souls to play
As she lives in a surrender
That no monk would ever know
Her surrender so complete
she disappears into her center
A holiness the devils mock
And all the angels and Jesus flock
Her submission to nature carrying
A purity that says yes to life
In the back drop of this world
The Lord can only find a relief

If we find the surface of a ******* *****
It is only because we project
The dirt of our own soul
As we defile their outside with our inside
As they are truly hidden angels
Sent to clean this world
  Jun 2017 Breawna B
Sapien
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, not thinking anything and just staring. A few minutes later she took a deep breath and opened the drawer. Took out a box and observed it for quite long.
She took out a blood red lip colour and began to apply. While applying the lipstick she remembered how exciting was dressing up was to her when she was a child. This red colour was much brighter to her than now. These bangles were much more fascinating than what they are now. She recalled the days when she uses to stole her mother's makeup kit, She recalled how her mother used to beat up as if she had committed any sin.
Her eyes were much sparkling when she was a little kid, Now even the coal pencil cannot bring that shine again.
She stood up without any emotions, She was as blank as a white paper.
The beautiful red lehnga with golden embroidery suits her perfectly, Her long black hair and wide eyes compliment her outfit completely. Oh, how beautiful she looks but something is missing. There is no happiness on the face of the girl who always loved to look pretty. She was living the nightmare of every girl of her age. How ominous her life is she wondered, with this thought tear rolled down.
Took a deep breath and controlled her emotions. Wore her dupatta and came to a room, Decorated with roses and candles and bloom.
It was perfectly decorated like every girl fascinates. But for her, this was nothing of value here it is reflected by her face. This room was decorated for her like this every day, someone waits for her in the room every day.
Nights haunt her, the moon scares her. Men frighten her. Now she knows why her mother used to stop her whenever she said she wants to be like her, Now she knows why her mother cried whenever she hugged her.  
These bangles are fetters to her, All the colours are not so happy for her. Her innocence is lost somewhere, she doesn't even remember when she laughed last without faking.
She is like a body without the soul. She is like a night with no moon.
  Jun 2017 Breawna B
mk
1.
i fear you more than i love you

2.
sometimes i wish you were dead so that i wouldn't have to leave you but i wouldn't have to live with you either

3.
i went to dinner with a friend you forbade me to see. when i hugged him, his body was neither as soft nor as warm as yours and i didn't like it very much. there was no ****** tension; only liberation, and deep, deep guilt.

4.
sometimes i lie to you about my phone being out of battery. it's on airplane mode because i need some time to myself and you don't like it when i ask for "alone time". why do you need alone time, you always ask. i don't know how to explain it to you anymore.

5.
i wish i had never met you because i am in a cycle of evil and fear and guilt and pain and sure some days you make me feel loved but mostly you just drive me insane. insane, not in the oh my gosh i'm so in love way but in the i don't know what's real anymore way.

6.
i feel weak because i am not strong enough to leave you.

7.
i feel strong because through it all, i have survived.
don't read into this- it's just a poem.
  Jun 2017 Breawna B
brooke
it's strange
where I stored away
all my loyalties, you
think you can bring
someone back with
courage or bravery
but you're only being
a child, really,

i threaded them
through each vertebrae
and stained every moment
with ink, every truck-ride
soaked in an alan jackson
song

I don't want to haunt you,
but at night if you are alone
or with a dead arm beneath
a pretty girl, deeply introspective
with the moon on your face
and you begin to tear into
yourself as if something
is lost or fading

all you'll find is a rung
of brass keys where I
told myself i could
where no other woman
has been, and she certainly
won't,

if storms are named after people
and every place is a concentrate
of you and me then
i have saturated the walls
in your peace and strength
with all my keys and loyalties
hung in the places you go
to find yourself.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
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