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 Jul 27
I brush my hair while deep thoughts run through my mind as I look at the mirror.
Caressing my face in pain, I question myself:
What’s wrong with the color of my skin?
I’m just a girl who was on my way to school when a group of
people stopped me.
Pushing and shoving me back and forth
Language was used and voices in rage exclaimed that I didn’t belong here.
As one of them knocked me down, my face hit the pavement and the beating went on.
Terrified I was, I thought I would be left to bleed and die.
Lifeless with onlookers passing by
I cried in agony.
When will this racism stop?
When will people realize I’m just the same as everyone else?
Do I have to be rich and famous for my voice to be heard?
As I got up with a shaking voice, I murmured I’m just a human being.  
But I don’t think anyone heard me.
 Jul 20
i fall and ascend in a sea    vantablack
spiral light
fire ghosts and ice
that cut the soul to pieces
like scissors
that split rabbits

industry of a hissing creation
polluted altar of sleeping lakes
and scythe
bludgeon and howitzer
prods of push and pull
in a grindhouse
necropolis of craters
scattering snake eggs and tumors

i am here born to you thin of bone
mother of catastrophes
on a colossal ball of scab and callous
that moves sonorous dazzling shapes
careening through
ephemera workhorse torches
of doom

you fill me with knots of terror
and desperate dreams of stairway wings
veils and glimmers
resolutions dissolving
petaled apertures of desire
and night whispers
in a spider web of sonic bulls

before undertows gravity
i was vibrant
but then i died into the rock ash of earth
they called it my birthday
my parents with party hats and balloons
blinked fetters
against nights of concrete and stone

i got deader still
until i was nothing
but an imagineless gob of mud and breath
an eye looking out
behind red nerve forest fires
and tears shook tambourines
down heavy lashes
cascaded fluttering  tassels  

i am born to you mother of senile seas
citadel of shattered glass
in a slate cube of cyclones
mute and screaming
my fate deep shock
encased in mausoleums led nautilus

blatting hells jaundiced shriek

Pluto conjunct Saturn
 Jul 4
Stained Glass
"---I think...
        that every deep thinker is
            more afraid of being understood
                      than of being misunderstood.---"
 Jul 3
fray narte
my soul is stuck
in old, coastal towns;
a cup of strong coffee in hand;
i can drown in its taste
mixed with my heartbeat running amok.

the sound of the rain
threatens to deform the roof,
as if the midnight sky
was trying
to read her sadness out loud
to the unmarked graves
beyond my ribs;
as if the raindrops
were prison guards
chasing after my soul,
waiting to cage it
back in place.

the broken clock
tells me it's still midnight,
but for all i know,
it may yet be another
sleepless night kinda
monochromatic daybreak

i can no longer tell which is louder —
the storm inside my head
or outside.
aiming for that edgar allan poe vibe
 Jul 3
Gale L Mccoy
this is the life i want to live
I say from the ground
no it isnt
but itll be part of it
to have it to waste and wallow
the time to let myself be swallowed
 Jul 3
e l l
is it possible to erase feelings of inadequacy
by overcompensating productivity
will it silence my self doubt
until exhaustion takes over
 Jun 20
Poetry is the open wound
From which the **** of our minds seeps
Infecting the world with it's vitriol
Spreading it's disgusting disease
A scab that never heals, as we pick
And pick away at an itch, letting the injury
Ooze and weep, always there to remind us
We can never resist perverse temptation
And rid us of the addiction that will always
Cause us pain, so open your minds
Let them breathe and pen.
 Jun 18
i was born to the rain
and yet still i find myself
in a sea
my storms
have created.
 Jun 18
I never know what say  

a memory of longing
is painful as it keeps

decaying in my chest

putting my love on paper
doesn't take it away
it amplifies the sting
trying to move on

infecting the open cavity of my being

you read my words like you understand
but I'm lost in a memory of what would have been

trying to collect shattered pieces of my own self

emptied and dancing whisked into the shadows
like the end of a dream

feverishly waking up because my feelings weren't received

give them but don't get them
like as if I sent a letter of longing

never in return
I try to write but the words are my tears
drink up
and only then you will feel the same
as I do
 Jun 18
it is meant to be
give and take
push and pull

the effort
should not be
the struggle
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