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Body stomping
like crushed bones beneath lead feet
my cheek meets the ground
my teeth start to bleed
hi it's nice to meet you
says the concrete to my jaw
I said I didn't know you cared so much
it's not often that I fall
 Jun 2014 Hakeem Jenkins
l m
Just pack up all your feelings, emotions and memories in boxes and hand them out to strangers because it's better than giving them to him
 Jun 2014 Hakeem Jenkins
Wanderer
I am sorry.

Three words that can help heal
Yet we often find it so hard to utter
Our pride gumming up our tongues
So they lay silent, our lips mute
I have never understood that difficulty
To take responsibility
Regardless the action
We are built to withstand pain
Not create it

Look around you.

Pain is an art form
One we have perfected
In what could be the sunset of our civilization
We are still as un-evolved emotionally
As our dawning
Such great pains are taken in the name of progress
Foul atrocities that stain our hands
When working together, as one heart
One whole
We could have sparkled bright in these last rays
Instead we are judge and executioner
With little thought to how we will look
When that sun rises again
Apologize. Swallow your pride. Take the steps to help rebuild every bridge burned. You never know when that bridge will be the only one left when you need to cross.
she was as pale as they come
smooth and silky skin
white as fresh dripping paint
all he wanted to do
was take a gliding pen
and draw his story on her body
in the darkest of ink.
her eyes held rain and cloudy weather.
they stored lightning and harvested thunder.
they churned waves and teemed with froth.
they were as bright as who she was,
and she was as bright as what they were.
as they flickered over the clumps of warm masses,
he hoped with shaky breaths
that those eyes would land on him,
if only for a second.
I wrote a short story told in poems on Wattpad, so I thought I'd post some of those poems here.
It's
always
the ones
who've
done
the least
and
sacrificed
nothing,
who
always
seem
to have
the
most to
say.
even if I screamed until my throat went sore and punched everything in my way til my knuckles bled; even if I ran a million miles when my lungs gave up on me 999,999 miles ago and even if I scribbled across every page of my favourite book until the stab marks began to fade and even if I beat myself up everyday until my body became permanently numb; even if I stared at old pictures of us til my eyes were on the verge of blindness and even if I cut my wrists with pieces of broken glass that resemble my heart-

it would NEVER compare to how hurt I am and how sorry I am and how much I want to tell you how I feel but I can't because it just wouldn't be fair

and I know you've moved on but that's something I'm trying to teach myself how to do because no love will ever compare to the way I felt with you

*a
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