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Poems

Alaina Moore  Jan 2019
Morning!
Alaina Moore Jan 2019
Eye lashes brase my brow with a flash of awareness.
Of gravity, of heart rate, with fading memories of mental images and sinking in reality.  
Argument insues among the self
"why do I have to get up?"
"I don't know the ******* answer, just get up."
It goes on repeat.
Get up, get up, get up.
Frozen in the warm sheets and safe feeling that just barely lets the pressure fade.
"Why can't I stay in the twilight of REM and awake where my body is light doesn't hurt and my mind has solace?"
"I don't know, just get up."
Get up, get up, get up.
This feeling has lost me GPA points
and this feeling has cost me jobs.
Place my hands on my chest and streach out my legs.
Rip away from the fetal position and complement myself relentlessly.
Get up, get up, get up.
"You're okay" I wisper as though the echo will ensure it's truth.  
Deep breathing to irratic breathing to controled breathing.
Rise, wash, repeat.
Get up, get up, GET UP.
Rip the sheets off like a bandaid and immediately stand.
Run to the warm shower.
Pretend it's rain and back to deep breathing.
Complement what a great job I'm doing, getting out of bed, not even crying.
How proud I should be I'm taking care of myself - by taking a shower.
A basic Target pattern, fortress of solitude.
Consumed in the hot artificial rain drops I find another fleeting moment of solace.
Deep breathing, "you're okay."
Let the water run over my shoulders until it turns cold.
Dry off in the shower, take advantage of the ignored greenhouse gas - bask in the humidity.
Look into my dark eyes in the mirror, and ask questions. And hope they are good that day.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
Why all the scars, please let me explain
I've been through Hell, I've been licked by the flames
I've trudged through the white hot coals
I've been where know one should have to go

And I will not hide the scars
That on my body mars
I wear them proudly
For they speak loudly
Of the agony I've endured
And of my madness that can't be cured
But also that I'm a survivor
A real bad *** fighter

But my heart did not grow cold
Like many people that I know
Instead I know true empathy
Which is so much more than sympathy

It's the knowing of pain and what it can do
Those without gut wrenching agony haven't a clue
So if you find your self in sorrows fiery land
Just streach out your hand
I'll grab ahold
And not let go
I'll not lose my grip
I won't let you slip
mark john junor Mar 2013
beautiful viper
her soft shine hides
the sharp edges in her eyes

she is my perfect intent
my moment sought
my hope

her lean form in the shadows
is covered in a thin sheen of sweat
her fingers streach out grasping at the air pleading
but her cold thoughts show
her pale hunched anger at the sidewalks edge

she emptys her lust on the table
her broken eyes bright
and pumps her blown veins for poisons breeding
its her avaid hope to spread taint and sour

her body the midnight oil of twisted ruin
her mind the meat of the apothocarys to the souless
her drug the sleepless dreamland between dusk and dawn

i would surrender to kiss her
i would die to feel her heat next to me
touch that soft memory

to suckle on her disease like mothersmilk
and languish in the slow death of pale monster
her taste and words on each moment
her cold lips caress and thin fingers fumble
would be the heaven iv hoped for all this torn life

she is my perfect intent
my perfect moment
my hope
my love