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 Jan 2018
Silverflame
Eventually pain became my friend.
An ally I could trust completely.
It would tell me when I was badly wounded.
But this friend became an addiction.
A toxic relationship with no escape.
And when my mind wandered off to other places,
trying to forget everything,
it would drag me back into reality with no mercy.
Scars can only heal if you leave them alone,
but this friend ripped them up every night.
I can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt,
but at least I knew I was still alive.
An old poem I found collecting dust on my computer.
I've been busy with studying, so I miss writing poems.
Oh well, I'll hopefully get some time to write again soon.
 Dec 2017
Marie
Is this what they meant
when they told her love was a hurricane?


                     (it destroyed her cities
                      making her a refugee
                      inside of someone else's body)


If so,
she might have done without.


                     (and she was never any good
                      at building homes in new places)
 Dec 2017
madison curran
i walk around like everyone around me has a death wish,
my teeth clenched,
my smile on defence mode,
i ain't no vulnerable *****,
but that's a lie I have spent years trying to convince myself,
because if I don't give anyone the chance to set off dynamite in my ribcage,
they never will.
my heart has enough cracks in it,
I can feel the cold air circulating inside of every slit,
but like every person I have ever come to know,
it's just passing through.
nothing is permanent,
but these scars have been here for so long,
and I'm starting to feel like being mentally ill really is a death sentence,
depression is a criminal who takes everything you have left,
it kills you,
but there will be no trial.
it leaves you alone, cold in the streets,
holding on to nothing but your self respect,
which is as faint as my life line feels,
we are all dying,
I am dying,
but the problem is I already feel dead.
I have spent my whole life preparing for this loneliness.

mum taught me that people come and go,
i've seen her on her knees enough times,
becoming a puppet to a ventriloquist self esteem
pulling on every string
except the ones that could make those men come back.
she taught me to live life like you've got winter electrifying throughout your body,
be cold, be dull.
don't you ever fall in love,
those brown eyes and thick lips ain't ****,
every sentence brave enough to push through those teeth,
they don't mean anything to anyone,
the artist who painted my bones on this earth,
grinded my bones into gun powder,
which I use to shoot myself in the chest
every time someone tells me I'm beautiful.
now my sentences are shy,
they're fragile,
they are innocent felons locked behind the bars that are my teeth,
screaming inside the penitentiary of my mouth,
but still I swallow them.
still I will never look anyone in the eyes,
because I'm afraid they'll see every nightmare tucked behind my irises.
I don't give anyone the chance to fear me,
I've spent enough time fearing myself.

dad taught me about absence,
which is why I've learned to make the empty side of my bed feel full,
how I've learned to stop missing the pieces of myself I lost so long ago,
how to make homes out of every person i meet,
because he destroyed the only home I ever knew,
what's the point,
he could never make up his mind if i was worth it,
what's a home if you're never sure who's coming back to it,
but i know I am always coming back to every person I have made homes out of,
because i put every possession I own into them,
I heat their walls with all the warmth left in my heart,
I furnish their rooms with my pain that I have learned to transform into something which comforts others,
but they always leave without giving my possessions back,
and I'm still walking around this earth wondering why the **** I am so empty inside.
they always leave because my body is a graveyard to a dead child,
because underneath all this flesh is a dead body,
blood seeping through all seven layers of skin,
I wonder if people can smell the death when they look at me
my father killed three people in his lifetime,
and only two of them got justice,
i wasn't that lucky.

I have always tried so hard to not let this world turn my body into stone,
I was a river flowing through this earth,
fluid, careless.
I was a child,
ready to surrender my heart to any stranger,
now I keep that ***** locked up,
just like my tongue.
I have always been hypersensitive to feeling,
this world is not optimized for my heart,
so in a cell, it will stay.
I mean I've seen enough hospitals in my life,
and their solution to my pain is always to lock it up,
because i'm a danger to myself,
i'm a danger to other people,
like my emotions are sociopathic serial killers,
and I am unstable because I can't keep them locked up,
yet my whole life I have been taught to let them roam freely like a stream,
when they are tsunamis erupting inside of me,
killing me.

they are toxic to my insides,
we were all born dying,
and my head is only speeding up the process.
but my emotions are always just a symptom of being unstable,
and not human.
they do not come in waves,
they come in hurricanes,
they destroy everything I once had,
so I swallow them,
ignoring the destruction occurring inside of me,
and here I will be, suffering,
tasting the pain lingering on my tongue,
trying to spit it out,
but my teeth are thick metal bars,
my pain is still doing time,
hungry to scream out everything these bones have ever felt,
but my teeth stay clenched,
don't you say anything about that child,
don't you even pretend that it's there,
everyone will see the weakness in your eyes,
and they will run.

but I am in pain,
and still I pretend like I'm bigger than them,
walking around like I don't need anyone,
forever trying to clean up the blood pouring out of the scars this life has left on my body,
just so rhat no one flees in fear,
even though I'm drowning in it,
be happy you had the privilege to run,
I was never that lucky.
#pain #heartbreak #depression #borderline #bipolar #sad #poem #poetry
 Dec 2017
Slur pee
I could ignite the lingering spirits on my breath, to delight in the taste of death at midnight; entrusting the right of life to be caressed by bony fingertips and dressed in denial. Inside a specter writhes homing in on the heart’s reprise as it aches from deprival of the love it needs to survive. My crumbled chest rivaled with loneliness can depress the spinal sparks that decipher pain from hieroglyphs; message my brain in simple sentences, pay me with imprisonment. The final toll has long since passed despite flowing sands in the hourglass. Cracked are my lips as they slither in secrets, arrest my thoughts for they’re bound to regress into animalistic urges as the sun disfigures herself against the horizon she dies on and purges the deified notion of immortality. Demise resides inside, a parasite of time that no one shall defy. Intangible and fixed, yet unable to predict. Deep and soft it leaves its mark, like a sensuous kiss.

-SLuR
You that breaks our clay ***
I come in **** body to gather
The remains, a remains tore
To pieces o Libya

Our laughter shards into cry
Our hustling mocks at us
Our homestead broke in smoke
As we are tools of your slavery

Here
I stand
Here
we stand

At bank shore of African glory
Killed us all enslaved us all
Tied us tie me tie we
o libyan

Push the knife
Pierce it I my bones
**** my blood
it is meant for the ritual

To quench you poverty
to quench you grief
To bring peace and love
Here i am a haunting ghost

Cant
you
see

The shores
The pole
Crying
Human
dying

O libyan
Your days
are numbered
The killing must stop

Written by
Martin Ijir
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