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Rj Aug 19
new white dresses bought with
old money earned by the
hard work of
no one who saw a cent.
soft silks on cotton grounds and
red roses with the
thorns cut off.
a smiling bridal party lined up beside tall
ivory columns and
rows of grapes grown by people with
reddened backs and aching feet.
a bride and groom kiss under the
hanging tree and the
branches deformed by the
weight of the ropes are
cropped from the photo.
the lesson that we learn from this is the
blood of one hundred and
twenty eight people can be
cleaned with just
one bar of



this poem is about plantation weddings. i learned of these and they were so horrific that i felt as though i needed to spread awareness of them, especially the way plantations and people who come from old money in the south are trying to erase the history of the slavery that gave them money.
Rj Jan 25
She tells you that you were alone.
Static fills your head,
Air drains from your lungs.
She tells you that you were alone,
That you've always been alone.
You've never needed anyone.

You believe her
Because there's no one here.
There's never been anyone here.
Or, at least,
That's what she's told you.

She's written your whole life down in black and white,
Smooth, looping cursive on thick, yellowed parchment,
Wrapped up in soft leather,
and you swear you've met her before
but you've never seen her in your life.

There's a letter on your desk that no one wrote
and no one sent.
Because you've never known anyone,
you've never had anything.
It's not important,
So you burn it all down,
Your head hurts and you think that maybe you’ve forgotten something,
Someone important.

You can’t find it in you to care that the flames have caught in your skirt,
because there’s a warm hand encasing yours,
(Although you cannot see who it belongs to)
And there’s a heart beat in the back of your mind that tells you

You are so, very loved.

You are not forgotten.

You have never been alone.
Not even now.
Rj Jan 7
nqxg aqw.
dozdbv, dozdbv.
cqxdpq vh cqaxjc rb yrwlqnm bqdc,
qdt y sqd'j iqo q vksaydw jxydw.
xnt bntkcm's gdzq ld, zmxvzxr.
lgg dgkl af qgmj gof zwsv,
dtz'aj fqbfdx iwjfry ytt rzhm ktw dtzw tbs ltti.
pdbeh brx'uh guhdplqj ri ph.
zrxogq'w wkdw eh lurqlf.
.-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- --..--
.- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... --..-- / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ...
..-. --- .-. . ...- . .-. ;
written in code ooohhh. you can probably guess the last three lines are morse code, but the rest of them are all different ciphers. its not very well written, cause i wrote it line by line, but if u care enough go for it. shouldnt take more than 15 minutes anyhow.
Rj Dec 2018
I hurt.
There are no other words to describe it- at least not while my head is pounding and my bones are shaking.
My skin covered in gaping wounds, bruised and blackened until I do not recognize myself
My bones, broken.
I hurt.
It hurts worst of all to know that there is not an end to my pain,
that even when I sleep I ache all over,
blood oozing from cuts and scrapes and caking my skin as it dries.
I hurt.
She is a healer,
all sunshine and sugar,
tea made with honey,
She has a voice soft as silk and her hands are calloused and cool against my feverish skin.
I hurt, still,
She cannot fix what I have broken,
She cannot heal my injuries,
but she tries.
I have been to healers before her,
all of which have given up when they realize I am a lost cause,
the gaping wounds spread out across my skin will never heal,
they leave to pursue a life they can save,
an affliction they can heal.
She does not give up,
her tired hands gently press a bandage to my cuts,
clean my wounds,
and sew them up.
It is not much,
it will not stop the flow of blood,
or the waves of pain,
but she will press her gentle lips to my forehead,
and do it again in the morning.
She is so sweet to me,
all the tender relief of a cool seaside breeze
and I love her.
Rj Nov 2018
I find a small comfort in those slow Sunday afternoons
when time moves like thick molasses,
the sun shines through my window
and fills me with warmth
when the universe feels so much bigger than me,
and you,
and all of this.
I can rest easy,
curl up into a blanket of safety,
knowing that nothing I do matters.
The things I choose to do or not do will not alter the course of the universe,
will not be significant beyond my own small corner of space and time.
The joy I find in the curl of my hair,
or the comfort of this chair,
matter only because I matter to me.
i was at parent teacher interveiws and my science teach called me an ideal student ajdsjfhashj good days happy vibes !!!
Rj Aug 2018
There are no monsters here.
We are not pristine or pure
But neither are we ***** or sinful.
I let my feet touch the ground.
Stable and secure.
There are angels all around me.
Dark grey eyes and soft pink lips.
Hands that softly wrap around your waist,
Wings that can swallow you whole,
Feathers of bright colours and hearts to match.
We are here,
Innocent and free
Bright and beautiful
We are not ashamed of the scars that litter our hearts and skins
The battles we have fought,
No matter if we won or lost
Are why we have found ourselves here
Where bright colours are beautiful
And our scars fill us with pride.
There are angels all around me
But what makes them angels
Is what made them human.
ok I rlly hate the ending but here it is it's very special to me pls be careful with it
Rj Aug 2018
It is true that
The hyacinth flowers on the hill
Will be trampled and muddied
By the calloused, bare feet of all who tread there
Until they are dead and rotted
But I ask you to find a place
Where the streams flow rapidly,
Harsh and unforgiving,
Dangerous enough so that no man will dare cross,
No hand may pluck you from the ground
And grow there.
Next to the water of the stream,
In the midst of all else good and holy,
Safe from the reaches of men,
You will grow,
Bright purple and untarnished,
Stunning in your own right
And I will walk the dead hill,
I will try and brave the harsh waters,
If only to see you with my own eyes.
I wrote a poem inspired by an old poem. Guess which one? It's rlly obvious loll anyways sorry for the weird language and stuff I'm not used to writing in other styles
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