Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
One cut
Two cuts
Three cuts
Four
Come on now
Whats just one more?
Four cuts
Five cuts
And lastly
Six
Nothing bad
Its just a nick
Seven cuts
Eight cuts
Nine cuts
Ten
I have missed this
I last did it... when?
Cuts and scars
Across her legs
One day
I think
I'll wind up
**Dead.
 Feb 2014 wah
Elaenor Aisling
I think my grandmother is convinced
that my ovaries will shrivel up
if I do not find a man by summer.

She was married by 19,
and has always wanted great grandchildren
she loves buying baby things, children's toys.
Kindergarten is the golden age of life.
I did not date in highschool,
but if she saw me looking at a boy,
she asked if he was single,
and told me to ask him over for dinner.

When I hit University,
I found a sweet, mad, mess of a boy
and she was quiet,
but we went our separate ways,
she started up again.

Scheming, the unwanted matchmaker.
Asking if the piano player at church was single,
(he's four years younger than I)
and trying to arrange play-dates for me
with unwitting high school acquaintances.

She means well, I know,
but despite the hopeless Romanticism I harbor
I know I need time, (there are still open wounds),
to fall back in love with myself,
before trying to fall for someone else.
 Feb 2014 wah
Someone
Why?
 Feb 2014 wah
Someone
Why?
One simple question
That can never be answered
Why?
All I want
All I've *ever
wanted
Was an explanation
Why don't you love me?
Why do you treat me this way?
Why?
Am I even capable of love?
I must not be
This is the only explanation I can come up with as to why
You scream at me
Why
When you see my tears
You laugh
Why?
Why can't I be loved?
Should I just give up?
Why
Why
**...Why...
 Feb 2014 wah
Seán Mac Falls
Sheer little sun dress,
Lustful Gods gifted my eyes,
Rain took off her clothes.
— after Pablo Neruda
 Jan 2014 wah
Andrew P Marheine
A vast landscape spanning mountains and valleys,
Enter entombed upon the dark marsh and gullies.
-
The trees, all decayed except the weeping willows,
Flattened forests jut up through the hillocks.
-
The call of a raven can be heard betwixt,
The open cavemouth of all silence,
The breeze concerns your cheek’s fine flesh,
And you know inside that God exists.
-
The beautiful darkness that escapes the light,
Shocks as if thunder were having its fright.
-
From the gorgeous hillside at where Cain murdered Able,
To the trepid path leading to Four horses’ stable.
-
The wind’s vague touch clearing fallen leaves,
The spring’s dripping water rids of disease,
Ash of the cremated flows through the air,
Swept up, caught in without despair.
-
Sharing stories around a somber fire,
The warming words do stoke the pyre.
-
The Black Cabal does peak between,
The center valley betwixt mounts obscene,
-
The abhorrent cathedral in gothic fashion,
Does purify in all reactions,
Leaving clean and reborn again,
Remaining free for eternity to gate about Eden.
 Jan 2014 wah
Raj Arumugam
Yeah guys, just back from the doctor’s
Turns out he’s worked at Apple
and Samsung and such –
he’s really into technology and all that,
you know
the latest stuff, really
“The heart,” he pronounced,
“is really a technology”

anyway, he’s given me
a pacemaker for me heart
and the doc, he said also
it’s state-of-the-art technology
so I can also download apps for my liver,
kidneys and my bowels
if needs be
yeah, I really feel good
inside out and all the way down
Note written after Joe Adomavicia's and Timothy's comments:
This poem is based on a joke (dark humour, no doubt) I found online . I am fine and healthy. I thank Joe and Timothy for their concern about my health. Does it not do our hearts good to have friends like that who show concern for one another? (:
 Jan 2014 wah
D Jean B
I met a traveller, from the only land she had ever known,
she was a spring of joy to me with many far away steps along her path.
With such old eyes, that set like stone, so afraid of her own wrath.

Such a beautiful daisy in a field of burnt grass,
yet her stone eyes were fixed on the dead,
devoid of her own beauty, without glass.
Oh darling, there is light ahead.

I was the charred grass around her,
yet our meeting was so delayed.
till the thunder rolled and rain slashed did she stir,
and the traveller need not be afraid.

The forgotten grass soon turned to clean dirt,
oh my sister, I wont let you hurt.
Next page