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 Aug 2016 N
mk
-
 Aug 2016 N
mk
-
unheard cries;
funeral bells too loud.
 Aug 2016 N
Michelle
What are you thinking
At eight in the morning
When you sit there drinking
Your coffee and yawning?

Is it merely desire
To go back to sleep?
In the bed, by the fire,
Counting your sheep.

Do you think of me
And my unpainted face?
Is it my two sugar tea?
Or my empty bookcase?

Is it reflection of past
Or a fear of now?
Or how I always asked
When you never knew how?

What are you thinking
At eight in the evening
When you sit there drinking
Your red wine, not speaking?
 Aug 2016 N
bee
for my little sister
 Aug 2016 N
bee
your mouth is a door,
and someday you are going to be told that it's just better left closed.

your eyes are the windows to your soul,
and someday people are going to tell you to draw the curtains.

your heart has been unpacked from the basement,
and someday someone is going to tell you to put it away.

and your optimism is a candle in your windows, and someday everyone's going to try and blow it out.

i'm telling you this,
because when that someday comes i want you to know what to say.

you say,

"my mouth is a door, and i hold the key."
"my eyes are the windows to my soul and i'll wash them regularly."
"my heart will not be put away, it goes with everything."
"my optimism is a candle, and it keeps me warm."

when that someday comes,
i want you to know what to say...

you say,
"this is my house, and it's not for sale."
 Aug 2016 N
b e mccomb
apathy
 Aug 2016 N
b e mccomb
i swear these
drum beats
are the only thing
keeping my heart going

and i would run
through the rain tonight
if i thought the cars that go
around the corners too fast
really would never see
a thing

apathy
my friends
is a dangerous game
that i was never
made to play
but i was given
too sharp a lot in life
to avoid it completely

call me a terrible liar
but if you think i'm so
bad at hiding the truth
i guess you'd never know
if i suddenly
got good at it

if i thought it would
do me any good
i would jump out
the window and run

but it wouldn't do any
good when i keep finding
myself too tired to even
turn off the lights.
Copyright 3/13/16 by B. E. McComb
 Aug 2016 N
Rapunzoll
it's the emotional
strip-tease,
the tingling,
depressions hand
on your thighs,
his skin is soothing
enough but his
nails curve red moons
into those pretty
little girl tights.
they ******* so well,
anxieties got a
mean eye,
for the girls with
insecurities,
they're the most fun,
swallowing back
their screams, saving
them for the
bedroom at night.
you find them in
the morning teasing
the pill bottle,
they got a will to live
stuck in their throat.
doctors say there's a
heartbeat but
no heart.
all their red dresses
over the floor,
the first of many
warning signs,
red dresses to funerals,
red dresses to slide
down the underbelly
of dissatisfaction.
they sleep without love,
exhaling demons on
the balcony, until
they burn like stubs
in their eyes.
© copyright

i was kind of thinking of mental health as these abusive figures in a girls life. red is often said to be the angry/passionate colour, i was thinking about a girl wearing it a lot as a warning sign, a sort of cry for help, that keeps getting misinterpreted and leading to more abuse.
 Aug 2016 N
NV
(sinner apologies)
 Aug 2016 N
NV
i know only how to wear this body like an apology.
like i'm sorry i take up too much space.
like i'm sorry,
i don't feel small enough to fit into your hands.
i wear it like a sin.
like a prayer that never feels answered.
like confessions i keep trying to change.
i wear it like a broken commandment,
because i love thy neighbour,
but i hate myself.
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