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 Jan 2018 krm
George Anthony
so fixated on the idea of a father, just lately;
he's got a firm clasp on his own mouth
to stop himself from spilling,
wishing he could grip hard enough to
leave bruises
without thinking "look at me, becoming him"

pathetic, is what it is
shuts himself down with bitter thoughts and cruelty.
how ridiculous to look at mother's new boyfriend—
who she isn't even official with yet,
who she's only known for maybe four months—
and silently wish, more than wonder
"will i be calling you dad one day?"

his own dad, such a disappointment
that sometimes it gives him headaches,
trying to figure out who's more of a violent failure:
himself, or his father.
he has an ego the size of the moon
that compensates for his overwhelming insecurities
and hides his vulnerabilities;
but he can't escape his own self-loathing when there's
no one
to put on a show for

and since he grew up spending most of his days
alone and self-reliant

loneliness has been the best father he could ever ask for
talking about myself in third person makes things strangely easier
 Jan 2018 krm
Marium Iqbal
Sweet words are nothing.
Words so empty, and fruitless.
No "sweetheart" will fix it.

How can your words still hurt me?
After all, you deserted me.
Time and, time again.

Do you feel like a man?
With my clothes tossed in trash bags.
When you're tossing me out, like the garbage you never throw out.

Do you feel like the man?
When you scream my worthless life lies in your hands.
Wrecking every defense I have put up.

How dare you wonder why I'm so messed up?
Jumping at every shout.
The shivers when I greet authority.

The name calling never gets old.
The words ring in my head like a catchy song.
The shouts echo in my brain.

You wanted to break me.
Wounding me so emotionally.
Scarring me like a ghost haunting me.

Don't try and play daddy.
Now that I have disappointed you.
You're too late.

Remember when you told me?
How you hoped I ended up in a wooden crate.
That's the night you really left me.

Do you feel like the man now?
 Jan 2018 krm
Leah Rae
Daddy Issues
 Jan 2018 krm
Leah Rae
I Am The New Age Villain. No Masked Maccasurer, I Carry My Blades On The Inside.

More Terrifying Than Any Clown, Or Ghost Faced Monster With A Butcher Knife. I Am The Teenage Girl With Daddy Issues.

I Will Swallow Your Sons Whole. I Will Pull Them Under The Covers Until All They Can See Is Black And Blue. I Will Carve My Name Above Their Still Beating Heart, And Turn Them Ugly. I Am Their First And Last Love, Wrapped Up In Old Christmas Bows That My Mother Could Never Bring Herself To Get Rid Of.

With A Tongue Piercing And A Bad Tattoo Of A Rose On My Ankle, I've Got Problems With My Identity, Seems To Me I've Lost It On The Assembly Line Of  You What You're Supposed To See On  MTV , I've  Never Been Given Anything To Really Stand For.

So This Means I Fall In Love Easily.

I Fall Into Bed Easily, Between Layers Of Needing To Be Needed, And A Bottomless Appetite For Hands Across My Flesh. Bruises Make It That More Much Worth The While, Because Hours Later The Marks Will Still Be There To Remind Me Of Just How Badly You Never Wanted To Let Me Go.

He Places His Palm To My Chest, Mine To His, Says "Baby We're Making Love." But How Do You Make Love When You Hate Yourself?

I Have Learned The Hard Way That Your Mother Doesn't Want You To Bring Girls Like Me To Christmas Dinners. I've Felt My Stomach Curl Up Around My Insides, Chewing Me Apart, From The Inside Out, I Am Empty.

So I Beg Them To Fill Me.
Pour Promise Between My Sheets, And Breathe Into Me. I Am Broken.

I Know You're All Afraid Of Me, And Thats Why You Hate Me. I've Seen The Sneer Across Your Lips, Spark Starving And Growling. You Want To See Me Fail. You Probably Don't Know How Often I Cry Myself To Sleep At Night. I Was Bred, Not Built, I Am Human Too. But So Much Less Real Than You, Because This Hollowness Is Like A New Anesthetic.

But Like Every Good Comic, The Villain Was Not Always The Villain. Some Sick And Twisted Past Has Ripped Him Apart At The Seams, Left Him Begging Desperate, Lonely And Fragile, Chasing Down The Kind Of Sweet Revenge That Rots Your Teeth.

I Wasn't Always This Way. I Was Delivered Into The Mouth Of Temptation, And **** Did The Bite Hurt.

Like Any Good Story, It Had A Begging Middle, And End, But Not Necessarily In That Order, Because My Beginning Was My Mothers End, And My Father's Story Seemed To Happen Without My Existence. Without My Permission

Because He Walked Out. Like Backlit Silhouette Of Shadows Against My Bedroom Walls, He Was Always Leaving In My Dreams.

He Met A Girl With A College Degree, Called Her 'Babydoll' And 'Lover', And She Gave Him The Gift Of Three Sons, Who Search For The Thread Of Meaning In Their Father's Speech When He Kisses The Tops Of Their Heads At Night.

He Made This Way. He Tore Our The Seems Of My Storybook And Left Me Screaming In My Sleep. This Lost And Angry Abandonment Couldn't Rest Any Longer, I Now How Streets To Chase Away And Hours To Destroy, And This Would Be The Time For Our Rib cages to Meet, In Hot Heat, And Spark Into Something Bigger Than Me,
So Yes, Call Me Your Villain.

Because Like A Villain, I Am Chasing A Revenge Deep Into Myself, Down Highways Called Veins, Where I Once Wrote The  Word 'Happiness' In Blue Ink For An Older Me To Find Someday. I Am Waiting For A Redemption To Thread Its Fingers Into My Hair, And Tell Me I'm Literally Worth Fighting For. I Am Exhausted, Because I've Got Blooded Knuckles, And Broken Battle Hymns.

The Only Hero I'm Fighting Is Myself.
 Dec 2017 krm
Jack
She loved him,
They were young and stupid,
She was sad, he was happy,
Their relationship moved too quickly,
Although young they indulged in intimate love.

She loved him,
They were young and stupid
She was sad, he was happy,
He was busy being a child, this upset her,
She hurt herself and blamed it on him.

She thought she loved him,
But they were young and stupid,
He was tired and hurting,
He asked to confide in a childhood, female, friend.

It was not taken well.

She loved him,
But she was too young to understand,
There was no reply for 37 minutes,
She facetimed him in tears,
She reversed the camera to show what she had done,

Crimson blood ran down her arms,
It dripped down, corrupting the beige carpet,
Tears fell alongside the dark drops,
Her mum entered. The call ended.

She loved him,
2 hrs later he thought he’d killed her,
He broke up his ******, prepubescent razor,
Without a second thought he dug it into his leg.

Crimson blood ran down his leg,
It dripped down, corrupting the beige carpet,
Tears fell alongside the dark drops,
But no one entered, no one to help him.

She loved him,
She got stitched up and it became like it never happened.
He loved her,
He was left scarred and that image of her wrists never left him.

4 years later he sat in his room,
Alone,
He wrote a piece of text.
This Isn’t a Poem. Its My Life.
This isn't a poem. I know that but im drunk and depressingly happy, this is my story. i hope it helps you <3
Its long but worth the read if you need someone to relate to. Never forget, you are loved.
 Dec 2017 krm
Rainswood
taking things too far,
it's what I've always done

somewhat desensitized
I suppose
you have become.

numb to my assaults
on your peaceful state
the calmness
you carry
so gently

As I crash around myself
with a raging
hurricane in my heart
I am working on not being so self destructive. It just comes so naturally
 Dec 2017 krm
r
Salt of my dreams
 Dec 2017 krm
r
I raise my glass
to you, dear woman
across the horizon
out where the water rises;
here's to all the years
I've spent waiting,
to all the miles I made
myself across, a life
spent wandering in haste,
wondering just how
your salt would taste.
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