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 Jan 2016
jacquelyn
3
One thing they don't tell you when your older is how suppressed childhood memories will effect your life in small and big ways.

"I just haven't found the right guy," you think.

They don't tell you that once the two of you make it official, you'll leave within a week.

They don't tell you how once you kiss him, you can't even look him in the eyes anymore.

They don't tell you the gentlemanly things make you uncomfortable..

You'd rather freeze than let him give you his jacket.

You'd rather walk to your front door alone.

You'd rather open the doors yourself.

They don't tell you how his ***** hands will stop you from loving any boy.

They don't tell you that your father took your innocence at age 3,

but they sure as hell won't let you remember it.
a draft for some slam poetry
 Dec 2015
Ayin Azores
I have finally ended the game. The game I started years ago, only to find myself in the losing end. Always. But after years of countless losses, I have regained my strength.
I've won, several times before. But the victory wasn’t as sweet as I imagined it would be.
It felt worse than losing, the guilt haunted me during my sleep and it was an unhappy feeling.

What I only wanted was to find someone who would challenge me, someone who will try to get into the depth of my existence. But when they almost did, that's when I decide to bail. Called it a night and never showed up for the next round of the game.
I was the worst person. But I never regret anything.

For in all my losses and triumphs, no matter how ***** I played the game, I have learned something.
And that is not to find someone who will challenge me, maybe I should start challenging my own self.
I should dig deep into my soul and find what truly gives me bliss
That winning isn’t everything and that creating an illusion that losing is the answer to finding one’s self worth will not move mountains, neither will create peace on earth.

I have finally ended the game.
 Nov 2015
Sia Jane
(1)

I'm disturbed and yet deeply
comforted by my disturbed nature
I'm comforted because my darkness
envelops me-
it may be cold to the touch
rigid and upright
not soft and loving
but it's loyal
it never leaves.

Today, I'm driving
window down to help me breathe
I capture cold air in my wind pipe
I smell November winter air
smoke from chimneys rising-
when I breathe out I'm smoking too
warm air penetrating cold air
I smell November winter air
we're still in October
it's too early for these memories
I'm unprepared- it's too early.

Sat next to me she appears-
a paler, younger, thinner self
a self I'm sure has passed on
to another life
if it haunted me we'd call her a ghost
but she comforts me
shall we call her an imaginary friend?

"You look terrible!" I state wilfully.

(2)

She's dressed in a thousand layers
"You still feel the cold, eh!" I say
She winks, staying aloof
from any possible conversation
I take a tone of similar indifference.

There she is barely visible
so unafraid of death
arms striped with incisions
a razor blade left behind
hip bones, collar bones, chest bones
she's nothing more
than a white sheath coat
pulled over the skeleton of
a human body
skin screaming for nourishment
to show any signs of life.

If I asked to feel her pulse
there'd be nothing there
no beat
no rhythm
"Maybe it's why the fear of death
has left me!" she commands
"Because in your muffled confusion
your muscles wasting
including your brain-
you mistake yourself for dead." I retort
"You're 21 for Christ's Sake!"

(3)

Distracted by a red traffic light
I turn away-
when I look back, she's gone.

So here I am
talking to myself
the ghost of Christmas past
disappears as soon as my back
is turned.

When I'm alone
the silence
is always louder
than any noise I ever hear-
the silence attracts her back
I reach out to her
trace her face with my finger tips
I whisper: "God Bless,"
knowing some memories are meant
to be laid
to rest.


© Sia Jane


Read on SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/sia-jane-words/winter-air
Contrails have etched powder blue skies , the April countryside enhanced with silver tones .. The collapse of reason coupled with an early morning frost , tender seedlings beg the mercy of the rising Sun , bound for its midday zenith ..  Such is the fragility of love just as the daffodils of Spring , a luster of Silver Maples dancing in the wind , clockwork precision of the Grist mill on Cotton Indian Creek . A brisk walk along the cool , riparian shore , bound for warmth , recalculation and the many miracles of familiar woodlands , across quiet bottom land . Alone* .
Copyright November 17 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

If I've missed any of your writes please send them to me so I can have the privilege of reading them ! Thank you very much !
Brown windows beckon a tumid expression ! A proud servant to loneliness rendered agape , monastic inclinations abandoned , standing within the periphery of green pasture with unabashed felicity , a testament for every blade , breathless , sunbeam caressing porcelain , sweet auburn cover , my lovely Mary Ellen !
Copyright November 3 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
A penny for the thoughts of a prat ne'er -do-well could easily garner a million dollars from the wishing well !
The riffraffs field of dreams , vividly troubled , hurried minds with selective memories of the upmost variety !                                                                ­                      Collective apparitions rendered due diligence ? Befuddled reasoning with questionable significance !
If a kite high in the sky was their imagination it would lie in the ionosphere invisible to all of us  
Incredible tales of brave armored horsemen , fighting dragons , extraterrestrial warships !                                                                ­    Lunchtime by the mountains of Mars and Venus , catching twenty winks in the Little Dipper ?                                                                ­    Riding on a comet to the Horse Nebula , hopping from rock to rock in the Asteroid Belt ?
Beware of the creative mind with their allegations , tales that could usurp the kingdoms Court Jester !
I've zero tolerance today for fools , little green men , martians and the man on the moon ?
For I've a prior commitment this late afternoon , a spot of tea with an old chum on the plains of Neptune !
Copyright November 5 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Nov 2015
Sia Jane
You see,
when I escaped your love
I had rocks tied to my ankles in knots,
and I walked into the lake
barely recognising myself,
just caught up in a memory and replaying
the pain in my head, so numbing that
I detached from anyone else’s love.

I thought love, real love, was about sacrifice.
You fed me lies about true love -
never ending ‘happily ever afters,’
and in my naïve mistaken heart,
I trusted to believe real love meant death -
that true sacrifice was self-sacrifice.

So, dressed in the wedding dress
(I was to wear on Monday)
my hair plated the way you liked it,
your grandma’s emeralds around my neck,
earrings dropping as a pendant, and the ring
on my left hand, I walked.

I walked.
I held tightly onto the bouquet of lilies
(were they not always meant for funerals)
and I stepped into the lake.
Cold water rising up my thighs,
cold water which actually felt more ‘known’
than the unknown land of your love.

I wasn’t even scared.

I’d washed down fear with
a bottle of pain.
I washed down fear with
pills of despair.
I just kept walking.
And the only sound I remember,
is my humming of Beethoven’s Für Elise.
In my mind, I could see you dancing
en pointe- your feet as eloquently poised
as the pianists fingers,
never in a race to finish -
just movements of grace.

And that’s who I am today -
I am the dancer
(Odette and Odile).
My humanity is now outdated -
I too, throw myself into the lake,
and, as I take my final breath
we – you and I, my lover –
are seen flying past the moon.

© Sia Jane
Read on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/sia-jane-words/last-dance
 Nov 2015
Jake muler
A bomb to cost millions to put into the hands of terrorist's is the government's game while the blind follow the blind, the economy's crock, what a shame. While taxpayers follow the illuminatis lies, media pushes hoaxes, the USA's suicide. The worst part, the people dont realize they have the power not the big brother above us, so people get the **** power back, stop being cowards! start protesting what really needs protesting and stop believing all CNN and every other news corp Tell's you, mass panic will be coming yet no ones prepared. Were dummies at the government fair
 Nov 2015
Martin Narrod
Some say that I'm wielding the powers,
That I believe in a wood stick I found on the ground, I make magic.
Attractive or not it's all that I got, barely holds me together, with all of my might I'm not sure I can still hold on when the sun goes home for the night, will I wake up and lose my mind or go back to the nightmares I've been trying to let go for so long I can hear my own voice in the back of my head like the shadows I wear across my back, it's sacred but I wouldn't lie about it now, could it be the time, can you say it's the time, I'd move my hand but then I'd start to speak, the kinds of things I've been keeping you from, not because you're dumb I just want to ignore me for a few minutes longer, you're much better off with only my good half, I'd try to unwind within your eyesight but I'm sure I would crumble into the dust. You are the magic, I'm just a kind of catastrophe carrying this story about a boy and the girl who drew star maps on her arms, like wings made to uplift him until they could both fly away, yesterday she put a stone on top of his grave
 Nov 2015
Brent Kincaid
There may be a heaven
And maybe a hell
But there is one thing
I know **** well;
There are devils around
And they do their worst
To put the working man
Into a poor man’s hearse.
They hate poor people
And kiss the royal ***
Of those who they think
Represents real class.

And real class to devils
Is money beyond belief
So they side with the creeps
That hate welfare and relief.
They know what they are doing
And they do it every time.
They gleefully participate
In global-scale crime.
They pump up bank accounts
Of the obscenely rich
And call the working a man
A loser sonofabitch.

They buy the politicians,
Who are devils themselves,
And push helpful programs
Onto a dusty back shelf.
If it doesn’t make money
For the greedy one percent
Then any such bill proposed
On the floor is never even sent.
So, I do believe in Devils
Not so much of the rest of the book.
If you don’t believe in Devils
Turn around and take a good look.
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