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Marissa Kay Dec 2014
Why is it in movies
The characters are so real
So specific
But in reality people aren't even sure who or what they are
We're all in between
Living to slowly create some sort of something we can tolerate calling ourselves
Irate Watcher Nov 2014
The year you were born
was the year I turned 6,
leaving my second home
to a place where I didn't exist.
It was the first time
I remember being scared,
of a knock on the door
to a dark street corner,
not a voice to properly
enunciate my fears,

hands trembling,
I was naught a writer then,
just a poetic mind
inable, hands not stable,
to open doors to
concrete streets,
the gentle ****** or
the careful cat,

daddy loves you,
under my breath.
He only had time to run,
from place to place,
the most logical option,
for his career,
but not his young girl.
The world's forgotten friend,
having not a voice,
to say hi at the door,
or accept the house-warming gift
from the neighbor girl.

Dear Fish the Pig,
The year you turned 6,
I hit puberty.
Grew tusks,
that kept inching,
toward a person
hidden in the swamp,
watching beneath reeds
the blondes and skinnies
courting Hercules.
An ugly pink pig,
jealous of the swans
gliding across water
drowning my squeals for approval,
left behind from highs and *** and flight.
Snarling away the bugs,
company that could have been friends,
retreating to being busy,
terrified of high school eyes
that adjust to the darkness,
and call isolation insecurity.
No worse a disease.

Dear Fish the Pig,
The year you hit puberty,
I lost my virginity,
my naked body
a prime scientific diamond
to the boyfriend who
just wanted to love me.
Two heads rested upon his bed,
vocal chords distilled,
when I replied "love you too,"
and felt hollow inside.
His mirror cracked
with my scraggly hair and fat.
I was a treadmill mess
with no time to stretch.
My secret of the weighted, edible variety.
How could he be skinnier than me?
So I traded being a pig
for the femme version al him,
and gleefully changed
my nickname from stocky
to skinny-Minnie,
until I could wear his pants baggy.

Dear Fish the Pig,
two years from now
you will be 19.
Let me remind you of something
from someone who is 23
and is still uncomfortable with her body:

Don't be.

To be is a simple mistake
with a complicated result,

Because
A haute girl fainting in university,
isn't martyrdom for beauty.
It is stupidity.
Purging friends for a toilet,
isn't just punny.
It is insanity.

Dear Fish the Pig,
Don't turn your fantasy
into my nightmare.

Don't sign the loneliness
that wastes me.
Don't bury yourself in dust
it doesn't feel as good as the dirt,
knowing the roots,
and working through their kinks.

Dear Fish the Pig,
I admire your honesty.
Your struggles
make for great poetry.
But idolizing a girl with
skin pale as white roses
also made a good story.
Longing is beautiful
with the promise
of a happy ending.
But depression
sporn from jealousy
isn't so pretty.

Dear Fish the Pig,
wear your tattered clothing,
blow my mind
with beautiful melancholy,
sit in that obscure place to reflect,
but never forget,
your life doesn't have to be an indie movie.
Weave words into beautiful tapestries,
but when you tire of their decor,
go out into the world empty.
Tint white walls joyfully.
Don't re-write my history.
The words in italics are those of Fish The Pig. Go check out her stuff @ http://hellopoetry.com/fish/. She is awesome!
Sanaa  May 2014
Inable Speech
Sanaa May 2014
it is a dry feeling
in my soul and my mouth,
as though speaking
seems too much of a troublesome act
to commit

as though a crime,
to utter a word
or two
or a sentence
or a phrase

so I’ll stay quiet
in hopes that the people by me
will understand --

and if not, let them be
because I only care for you
and you’re the only
one
who can release me
from this
selective mutism.
“Selective mutism (SM) is an anxiety disorder in which a person who is normally capable of speech does not speak in specific situations or to specific people.”
ME  Oct 2013
Free Association
ME Oct 2013
By the hand of the cursed you walk together
You walk together, but feel alone
Together at home alone

Designed to fight the deepened thought
Provoked to object but over what ?
Independence is taught but cast away
Thoughts slip away
Deceived by
Repetition of what they say
Understand little or none at all
Knowing but inable
Ignorance before the fall

Pride is genderless
Learn to swallow
What made you whole is now hollow
There is no fight in indifference
There is nothing but in ignorance
Balance is key
But we
Are locked
katewinslet Oct 2015
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fm  Sep 2016
Mother
fm Sep 2016
We'd both seen this coming for awhile now
Yet we'd managed to neglect it somehow.

Through the looking glass of tears and stained tiles
Through the cracked and shattered fake smiles.

Through washed blood from opened scars
When I found you emptied out in hometown bars.

Passed blurried eyes and foggy car windows
Into alcohol filled veins and tear soaked pillows.

Instead of you embracing me I cradled you
Passing down dreamless hallways inable to get through.

The war hasn't begun it's been going on for ages
You've set up your defences but I'm not in those stages.

I don't want to fight I want you better
But this letter, I won't regret her.

Please tell me you understand my pain and sorrow
Please get better, I'll see you tomorrow.
i wrote this to my mother hoping she would understand
she didn't
Steaming body, heat stops the rain from falling.
Run far far away my thoughts kept telling me.
I reach you're door, the bell rings three time,
Dig...dig...dig... I am shacking and nervous.
Unwillingly the door opens with a screeching hiss.
I entered when told to, the home ever so quite.
Voices all around me but unable to recognize a voice.
I would reach out for help but fait has already been sealed.
A book left open with names of those I don't know.
Where am I and why am I here.
Flowers ever so beautiful lay in the corner.
The sent of a garden I used to water once a week.
Everyone is dressed so nice but what is the occasion.
I woman kisses me on the cheek and holds my hand.
She apologizes for a reason I do not know.
The sun was shinning like a beautiful woman's smile.
Tears fall to the floor as if a tittle wave hit.
Confusion clouds my mind, frustrated I have become.
I need to leave but something beneath the flowers holds me back.
Grabbing apon me, please let me turn back!
I am frightened, angry, and overwhelmed!
Please take me home! I cower like a child.
I close my eyes and wish this all to go away!
I mustered up the courage to open my eyes.
As my eyes opened from what it felt like to be an ever lasting darkness.
My heart stoped beating as I knew where I was.
Looking down apon you laying ever so still.
Cold at the touch of you're skin.
Inable to open your eyes.
Shame fills my body.
I'm sorry.
Overwhelmed Apr 2014
to the unwilling or willingly inable,
the course of the stream that we float on
like autumn leaves seems beyond control
because we have never felt what it is like
to control where we go, let alone know
that we can become unmovable objects.
Dondaycee Jun 2018
Aboriginal Daytime
I never understood labels… fear as well,
It all appeared as fables and if it were true I’d choose hell,
…******, why do we fall victim to a linear language?
See, look, you already; -******; Kyi!,
“yessir”
It’s your turn to spell,
“Day is frustrated because of the word fables,
Because of how you conceive it, based off labels,
You take it as a “fictitious tale”,
Fictitious meaning imaginary, fabricated, or not real,
Most people are insecure, they have fear,
If earth is heaven, then this is hell,
Because he knows truth,
He’d rather experience pain than have the wisdom from terms like impossible or fail”
Kyi you’re always creating ignorance, give them validation,
“Day… did you forget that “we” experienced a graduation?
That’s rhetorical though… just a little medication,
Day finds it necessary that we turn our attention back towards the word fable,
Understand that; he doesn’t understand labels,
So when he used the word fable, his intentions were stable,
But humans think linear, from past to present, so his perspective was inable,
He meant; a short story with animals as characters conveying a moral-“
-We are victims who enabled ourselves to disable our ability to enable,
Who enabled our self; to give an authority to ourselves, one that disables; to turn off our ability to enable; to be aware of choice?
If we can’t see, we can’t look ahead,
Therefore the paradox is voice,
Because it’s an illusion,
The illusion of expressing your choice,
Because truth is, you already have,
You just couldn’t see the difference because of labels,
That same difference; existed in fables,
I had to reiterate it because I’m constantly crucified,
I’m misunderstood because I validate reasons to consciously unify,
I wonder if this is what it was like to live when you know who had died,
Because I took a reach and lost a hand like I had to choose a side,
I tried to teach and lost a friend,
Like why couldn’t she be a Bonnie, I would’ve taken a shot; if she cried; and if I died; I’d come back as Clyde hoping she remained divine, because it’s a crime to love when you choose a side; you lose a side,
I fought health, she fought self, I’m talking wealth without suicide,
She became wise and intelligent,
She is light and evidence of what potential is when you abide by it,
I remembered happiness and relevance,
Ignorance and arrogance but I became narcissistic when you arrived; miss…
Missed, you will be,
If, it is Yoda I’m speaking,
Double meaning if its solitude you are seeking,
Because them shots I took earlier backfired, now I’m obviously bleeding,
Looking for air, must repair time; I’m focused; perceiving,
Somehow I went from having a home to habits alone,
The death of me is with the best of me, because the rest of me couldn’t address what’s left of me,
Context clues, it wasn’t safe when eye left; contact in alone,
If I stayed in the past my last laugh would’ve came right after my last,
I had grew, I embraced a new path, I was contacted alone,
Because nobody called, nobody talked,
I was sitting in silence,
Then came Gaia,
She said “acid”, I said “that’s it?”, and every since Ye my existence has been timeless,
I  no longer have white fever,
**** was moving to fast,
My nose was caught up in a white girl and I couldn’t even keep her ***,
I tried to keep her balanced but still she turned green,
Truth is lie and lie is truth, if you couldn’t understand I would’ve defined the mean,
How do you live, is it yin or yang?
With the love or with the fear or are they both the same thing?
Are the polarities chaotic? Are you feeling demotic?
Are you hearing the otic and making it hip?
Are you in this illusion; a state of confusion, because the options you’re choosing ain’t me,
Because the green on the paper, is making me think I hate her, because the ***** that saved us ain’t he,
Females… they want the mind,
But men belong to time,
Both will deny this is true,
Males… Material Mind,
Girl friend’s in a line wanting to take the focus of the fact that life is just you,
She was just used,
He couldn’t choose,
She was confused,
And he was abused,
We decided to live, but she was backwards,
I’m only evil cause I draw back,
Dyslexic lid, she’s was bad words,
There’s a cut off in the dab sword,
Hell low like I’m exiting to enter,
High like I’m existing in picture,
I hope she stay hot, and continue to rise,
It’s a cold world, sinking is wise,
I hope she experience the storms that’ll give her supplies,
I hope she **** me before I ever give Advice Versa,
It’s Aboriginal Daytime; twin flame gon issing as Vice Versa,
****… I wish I heard her.
Francie Lynch Oct 2020
Here lies a liar
Because the liar lied here.
Now the liar's stable,
For the liar's inable
To equivocate and lie.
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2018
Everyday
I touch the real suffering,
In Pain.

I try to feel it
Inable to make them in comfort

Sometime I feel,
their pain
probably more than
they do

Later
I cry

They,
Cry with me

Cry heals the pain
in both of us.
Genre: Clinical
Theme: Cry heals, when prognosis is known

— The End —