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R Sep 2018
Your eyes are the soft waves of a clear ocean
Voice, soft and stern
Skin, lively, spotted
Your laugh a soft hum of a violin
Your lips a soft, flushed rose petal
Heart, full, as mine is full for you
  Jul 2017 R
Words by T
Ive written the note
I'm ready to take the pills
Only to be told that what I'm doing is

Apparently it is selfish to commit suicide as you do not think of those
that you leave behind.
People clearly don't understand
The meaning behind suicide.

Yes you are leaving people behind
But it is not like you did not think of them
That is why I cried while writing the note
I cried while I thought of my mom at my funeral

To those that think suicide is selfish -
They should think of how selfish
it is to drive people into such a deep depression
That the only way to make it stop is to end their life

I'm not selfish
I'm selfless
As the world is a better place
Without me
R Jul 2017
you are
a soft ripple in a pond
but you are also a huge 10ft wave during high tide

Was it her pixie hair cut? no?
how about her blue eyes?
no? not that either?
since when did curly brown hair and green eyes not become your type?

Daddy, the trust we put in you was far more than we should have
we all should have known-
you were here, but you were never really here Daddy.
you've cause so much pain
so much unbearable pain
in me, in your son, in your wife
so, daddy when do you plan on becoming the butterfly? when you do you plan on taking responsibility in realizing you're breaking us apart. you're shattering the fragile glass mirror that's reflecting the people who love you most.
daddy, i don't even love you anymore.
daddy, do you even love you anymore?
  Jul 2017 R
Sylvia Plath
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----

Not God but a *******
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the *****.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you *******, I'm through.
R Jun 2017
my fingers scribble on the sidewalk in red
they are wet chalk being drenched over and over with the blood from my veins that are clogged except at the tips of my fingers which trace over the marks you left on my skin
I fill in the petal of the red rose but ***** my fingers on your thorns
You are dangerous yet beautiful
You are a black rose in a field of red
You are the one that beautifies death
You are a forest fire
You are....
R Jun 2017
My eyes are lifeless and swollen
My cheeks are speckled with the dried tears of yesterday's sadness
My hands are weak
My whole body is weak

I am not able to hold myself up anymore
The empty cage of my body crumbles to the ground and becomes dust
The wind, crisp and lively, sweeps me away and I am one with the small particles of the earth
I am one with the known but not ever seen

As I flow carelessly there is peace
Peace of mind that I will no longer have to hold myself up
I will no longer have to bear the weight of all that life seems to anchor down onto my shoulders.
I am dust
I am free
  May 2016 R
Fish The Pig
she forgot to write a poem that day,
and the day next
and the day next,
she forgot to write a poem that week,
and the week next
and the week next,
she forgot to write a poem that month,
and soon forgot that she had forgotten to write a poem,
she forgot all about words that rhymed
and titles
and tags
she forgot to write poems,
because she forgot to be sad.
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