Real4God: Favorites

Nov 2013 Real4God

Malkin93

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be me?
Have you even taken the time to ever see?
Have you ever seen the pain inside?
Have you even heard the stories I hide?
No one understands the smile I show,
If you don’t know me then you’ll never know.
So here’s the story I've hidden behind,
You’ll understand soon why I want to rewind.

I'm just a kid way deep down,
A little girl from a little town.
I was in love with the girl of my dreams,
Thinking back now it’s not what it seems.
When I'm done I’ll hope you’ll see,
To never trust your heart upon your sleeve.
It all began when I was just fifteen,
It lasted longer than it should have been.
Once all this started I could tell,
This relationship won’t be ending well.
She cheated on me once or twice,
I knew from then she wasn't nice.
She lied to me so many times,
I have no proof I just write these rhymes.
All of this behind my back,
No wonder in confidence that I lack.

I was scared to disagree,
Just in case she’d turn on me.
When you’re in love I guess it depends,
Forcing me to leave my friends.
When I wanted to go out,
She’d go mental hit and shout.
Harm herself and take a pic,
Every time it made me sick!
How can someone be this cruel?
Send me pics when I was in school.
She’d cut her arm the blood would drip,
My love for her began to slip.

I was beaten black and blue,
I was so young I had no clue.
She’d get aggressive and run away,
Silly games that she would play.
I left her house for the last time,
Happiness in my eyes began to shine.
I was so close to the point of her knife,
Was she really going to take my life?!
That wasn't the end of a dreadful day,
I wanted to stop living and just lay.
The police were called they took her away,
I was taken home where I could stay.
When I got home she rang all night,
I just wanted her out of my sight.
Ten months later and I was free,
Where I could begin to really be me.

Nov 2013 Real4God

through my father's eyes

Nov 2013 Real4God

R Saba

through my father's eyes

and one day i thought
i’d like to see the world through my father’s eyes
all roots and vines
and the simple need to create
and the feeling of dirt between your fingers
what does it feel like
to understand how the world works?
not its people, no, more important than that
how the seeds and the buds
and the soil interact
how to make something from nothing
from a small speck enveloped by your hand
i don’t understand
but you do
and we are the same height, but when i look at you
i am looking up
i am looking forward into the horizon
trying to see the sunset like you do
trying to understand the weary way you sit down
and the tired vigor with which you rise early each morning
to begin the cycle again
and i see you standing there, immobile
leaning for a brief moment on the handle of your *****
and i see the world dancing around you
just waiting for the movement of your hands, waiting
for the next order, the next command
the next request, as you begin again
and i try to understand
today, i thought
i'd like to see the world through my father's eyes

he's a farmer, a real one- and I think that's beautiful

Nov 2013 Real4God

hot chocolate

Nov 2013 Real4God

A Duvall

hot chocolate

i need to stop looking at you
as if you aren't made of skin and bones
i idolize you
as if you're made of chocolate, and coffee
and caramel and honey.
you are music and the deeper tones of life.
you are smoke and sleep and lies
you are beauty and starlight
as confusing as a birds cry
because i don't know if you are
negative or positive
a giggle or a scream
you are a mystery
but forgetting you,
that idea is history
because you're my hobby.
you are my foremost thought.
and im tired of not knowing you
so whether you are lovely or not
i will find out
i will take the chance
and see if your kisses run too hot.

Nov 2013 Real4God

The Open Road

Nov 2013 Real4God

sleeplessnxghts

The Open Road

Two ways to go on a seemingly identical path
Both serenading your sense of wonder with the billowy wind
That whispers and provokes you to stitch your footing into the cracks manifested into the ground you wish to walk upon
Energetic trees swallow your perception
Because the road tends to disappear on the horizon
Leaving the destination up to your own imagination
Which is hallow due to the crispy leaves crunching your intentions into ashes
So your blank mind and eager state is left to wander along a deceiving road
But instead of choosing a path
You glide across the yellow lines detaching each side from one another
With no intentions, no expectations, and no destination
You carry on, blind

Nov 2013 Real4God

The Poem Cat

Nov 2013 Real4God

Erica Jong

The Poem Cat

Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.

Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.

Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.

The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.

If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.

Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.

Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.

When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.

As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.