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The minute I set foot in the place,
a rush of emotion overwhelmed me,
every new one a contradiction of the next.
Familiar.Strange.
Friendly. Hostile.
This place was everything and nothing all at once,
my mind could not comprehend it
and my heart shied from my sleeve.
“Nice to see you again.” Familiar strangers greeted me with at the door,
smiling faces with something different in their eyes,
the teeth echoed there but with an underlying undertone.
Naively I wished to see love, and somewhere I did.
Not love, I reminded myself,
conditional love.
Not the same thing,
not one bit.
I gathered strength.
I crossed the entrance into the main part of the building
and immediately wanted to turn around and run.
I’d been in churches before,
been amazed at first by their beautiful decor,
high ceilings and the way the priests
convincing voice traveled through the room.
But just as quickly as I had noticed the beauty, I noticed what it
cheaply concealed with crayola carvings
and thrift-store folk-lore.
I saw through the supposed messenger of God
and the way his dramatic gestures
and loud attire
drew attention unto himself rather than the message,
that his words were the unfolding of a play,
merely theatrical.
Most of all I noticed the absence of the very thing said to be celebrated in this place,
this building said to be its home.
I recoiled in my seat instinctively,
not from the collection plate,
but from the absence of god.
But this was like no church I’d been in, not really a church at all.
The decorations simple, bright but not gaudy,
the preachers many and seemingly without a need for individual importance. Chairs in rows, comfortable but not overly so,
instead of the wooden pews.
Hues of serenity hug the walls, warmth hovers.
This place, where I’d learned, conquered, crushed, played, cried, mourned.
Grown.
The images seared.
Every one of these people served as mothers and fathers of sorts,
referring to me as their sister,
making me feel so included that they became part of me,
literally.
A family, a growth, a friend, a tumor.
They locked themselves in my every cell,
rooted in my genes.
The blame a disagreement, the loss a limb.

And there she was,
the Queen of the Faithful,
dragging my severed limb behind her as she is warmly welcomed by my family,
into my home.
They flock her with smiles and love,
pure love,
although still conditional,
there are no lies in those eyes.
They cherish their own,
shun the rest,
and she will always be one of them, she was born to play this role.
And she smiles with the same teeth she sank into my gut when she threw me away,
grin stained with my blood.
Had she ever really loved me,
were we ever truly friends, so close as to honestly be pronounced sisters?
Yes, only conditionally.
I miss her,
but the Queen must not mix with the world,
a world I now belong to fully.

Does she bear any of the responsibility
for my retreat into
the dark abyss I had always been warned about,
the sins that seemed as sweet as sugar,
as sultry as silk?
Or was my dwindling self-control and my secret,
impulsive longing for the unknown too strong,
a spiritual suicide waiting to happen?
Rejection lead me astray,
and the world showed me belonging of a different sort.
A place my spontaneity could dig its claws into,
somewhere my talents could be used.
Misused.
As I sit in the room and look towards her,
meeting her eyes, I instinctively look down,
guilty for daring to look at her.
The Slave of Indulgence staring down the Queen of Purity?
It is unacceptable.
This sign of defeat so unlike me,
but my minds been misty on the subject of self as of late.

The one thing on my mind throughout this meeting of worshipers is not god, but of this:
Is the Queen burdened by the ****** limb,
as the Slave is left empty without it?
Forever Draining and
Forever Straining.
No relief.

And that’s it.
They announce it.
I’m cast out, rejected, excommunicated, disfellowshipped, forgotten.
Free.
Dead.
I walk out, out of the door, the parking lot.
Out of the search-light, the prison, the circle, the family. Out of their lives.
I run, lungs tangled dusty plastic bags,
heart begging to collapse.
My body always screams, curses, whines, ******* when I use it.
So I abuse it.
I crawl, I claw, I fly down the street.
To a bench, an oasis, a shelter.
I roll, I light, I exhale.
I wonder what they would think of me now.
I pop, I grind, I inhale.
I see in numbers and feel in colors,
the world equals nothing and my corpus is pumped with cold, black, but I don’t care.
Because the world is uncaring and cruel and the Arcadia promised to me, the one that heals, has marked me unfit. So I quit.
What is it you want, why is it I’m here? Does God love us all, or thrive on our fear?
Whatever is out there, here my plea.
No more illusions or tricks of the eye, show me, unmask reality, strip its disguise.
Flames, smoke, and nothing.
I see me, and my sanity,
and the universe speaks back,
“Conditionally.”
Originally a short story, i thought it'd be nice to share anyways. Comments appreciated
                                                  Copyright Krystelle Bissonnette
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Karijinbba Oct 2018
"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play."
sang Paul McCartney in his song
and my first lover to me a long long time ago in the Atlantic mystery by the golf of Mexico.
I believe it's better that,
"when we love someone,
we do so un conditionally- without any expectations no riddles or fill in the blank games or cold computer screen mirror- button- pushing disaster!
Like my wealthy elite did to me just to show me how troubled he really was. Even though hurting to test a woman's heart is acceptable if worthy material.compensation exists.
Nothing really beats the face to face dialogue
embracing his lady with a hug and a passionate smiling kiss
an adorable " I love you"
from a true love lover
who was Lost and~~~~?
~~~~~~

Lost~~~~~~~~
passion~~~~~
change~~~~~
earth~~~~~­~
(Fill in the blanks  please.)
~~~~~~
Revised:03/30/19
By: Karijinbba.
(Asg/Bba)
WHO WHEN WHERE HOW WHY!
"fill in the blanks."
Brian Oarr Feb 2012
Regardless how precise the assay of their life,
Most men must remain an enigma;
Their motivation fired by inner strife
A polymorph for which no sigma,
Nor algebraic symbol will suffice.

No If and then which personality
To a course of action thus relates,
Nor can it be hypothesized conditionally,
The turmoil emotion intrinsically creates,
When alone they stare into death's reality.

Two dimensional is the biography of any man.
We see his length and width, never grasping depth,
Though fortune deems we live within his span.
Much like this into my life have crept
Those I love, yet may never understand.
Nicole Corea Feb 2016
Mommy why, i was just barely opening my heart to  you
Mommy you see me through the screen beating my life to you
120 beats per second ,faster than your heart mommy.
Mommy, I feel your smile broaden
Mommy I will love you conditionally
Moommyy what is this clamp mommy ,
please don't it hurts it hurts please mommy

Seven Weeks , Three Days Pregnant

I lost you my precious , Words will never define the darkness I feel in my heart . The darkness of how unloving my heart became, How heartless humanity was around me like infectious leech. Letting you go was the consequences of the bite. Please forgive me,  I made the biggest mistake in my life. The one mistake, where you won't grow up to learn from. What was left of my heart became stone cold , I let go my true shot of happiness, but I couldn't bring you into a world of brokenness and despair. You deserve better, but better than you will ever receive from me. One day I hope you understand. I promise you , my love lies deep in my veins.  I love you ,Heaven needed you back and I regret not standing like warrior and fighting for you. I never will wash dirt on my back,I can never stop apologizing for the vicious attacks you endured by me . Every sunrise and sunset I will forever mourn the death of my own humanity against you.
*One last breath
,Mommy, I love you Forever
I'll float down the river ,patiently waiting for ocean to wash me into abyss , humming to the lullaby,I would have sang to you my precious gift.
this was the hardest piece I ever had to sharee , its raw , its painful ,and i was never prochoice abortion
Josie Stewart Sep 2021
I'm not your prodigal son;
I'm your abandoned daughter.
Don't wait around for me to return.
I won't.

I gave and gave because I was a child
Hoping for love I received conditionally.
When I stopped giving, you left.
That says more about you than me.

You worship a God in your image.
One who asks for all.
You say he loves unconditionally,
But that's what you said about you.

You worship an abuser,
And in his name you abuse.
You pray for repentance
But are unwilling to change yourself.

I know you miss me.
You want me back so I can give,
And a part of you really does care.
Your actions matter more.

You could love me again
If you wanted.
I haven't hidden myself from you.
I'm still here.

You can't expect me to come
Crawling back to you.
The fattened calf you'd offer only
If I approached on your terms.

That's not the forgiving father.
That's a parent still grasping
For control of their child.
I don't need your food.

If you wanted to learn,
Maybe even consider
You could be wrong,
I might call you again.

You won't even use my name.
Like the neighbors of your savior,
You say, isn't this our son?
I'm unwelcome in your home.

So I've finally done it.
I did what I knew I had to.
I shook the dust from my sandals,
And I left.
WordsHelp Nov 2018
“I love you, unconditionally.”

But yet you hurt me with words and actions.

“I love you, unconditionally.”

You use me for yourself and treat me like an object.

“I love you, unconditionally.”

Your jokes, though you think they are nothing, dig deeper every time.

“I love you, unconditionally.”

Your hands don’t feel like love anymore.

“I love you, unconditionally.”

Your eyes aren’t filled with happiness anymore.

“I love you, unconditionally.”

When do I draw the line?

“I love you, unconditionally.”

How long do I let my unconditional love hurt, deceive, and break me?

“Do you love me...unconditionally?”

And to my new love?

“I love you, conditionally.”
Many people say love should be unconditional...but when it is hurting you, changing you into something you are not, and destroying you from the inside out should you continue to say you love them unconditionally. People may say it isn't really love, then, if it isn't unconditional, but I think there should be a few conditions that come with love...
kat  Mar 2013
greenwood
kat Mar 2013
this is a poem about the Tulsa Race Riots*

terrorism doesn't compare to self destruction.
disaster between the slaves, and their masters
we're richer, but they're smarter.
black wall street abolished, its name never in vain
although we remember, we'll never understand the pain
with our own eyes, it would leave us blind
by flash bombs, envy, discrimination
and hatred of our own kind.
gunpowder made buildings fly against the street lights
red and green, bombs still singing, ears still ringing,
we might as well be deaf.

the grass is always greener,
but our skin will never change or fade away
and to live in the past destroys our future
because just when we started to rise from the ashes
we burnt ourselves down again
from opposite sides of the city,
north and south
attract like polar opposites
wasting away green with envy
you can try to forget
because theres new paved concrete
but its still the same street
we owe to the stampede
jealously, destruction, revolution, prosperity
worn out buildings and bricks trapped us
but we're still free
under state laws
but only conditionally
the city sleeps when we do
but stays up late with disdain
days wasted and blown into the air
like concrete and fame
its a shame that
race riots black wall street and greenwood share the same name

it can't stay this way
one day, tulsa you'll change
you'll paint the streets again
faces engrained on
black walls like oil spills
treading new roads
buildings towering above
there are bodies below our feet
but that doesn't mean we're above them
and one day we'll breathe again
we'll write the names back into our history books
their sacrifice on our tongues
remembered, never in vain
like saviors honoring the pain
but never throwing it away
greenwood rising again.
danny Aug 2017
I am sane, you be too,
sweep me off my feet
but not unless I am wearing socks.

Fill my heart with hope everyday
except for Wednesdays
that is when Survivor is on.

Only take up a quarter of the bed,
I need my space but only if I
have all the pillows.

Never make me worry,
Unless its about things I have no control over
You know I do be all over that ****.

Bless me with smiles and kisses,
After you have brushed your teeth
with your own toothbrush of course.

Always answer my texts,
Even if you have no time
from liking all my "Crazy Cat fail" statuses.

Do not cheat on me with someone better,
My two other bits on the side
will not take kindly to you hurting me.
Poetria  Aug 2015
Oceans & Poets
Poetria Aug 2015
Falling for a poet
is like swimming in an ocean
of warm, blue water,
with currents that never cease
and waves with a constant flow.

Natural, the water is,
though some would call it
*****, unfiltered* & dangerous-
and dangerous it is, absolutely!
Swim in too deep and
you'd probably drown in its volume!

Oceans cannot be tamed,
Oceans cannot be blamed,
Oceans can be changed.

But if you do get out of the ocean alive,
if you do manage to conditionally survive,
you would be leaving the water
*****, poisoned & polluted.  

Hence, the poet shall write.
Carly Salzberg Sep 2012
Butterfly globe make light in a passion pit.
My beach house is surreal, is a high water mark,
is the heart of all the radio left in this world.

But I am here writing technical reports
about environmental beasts in Massachusetts,
in New York in Connecticut where I think

people stuff air, drive slow and waste everything.
I can tell by the aerial maps that geography is
tethered by our parceled teeth of desire.

In the office I whisper, love is urban
a little too loud but no one decides to hear
and so I scribble it on the FOIL and send it

to municipalities in search of property records
in search of environmental concerns,
old pre-industrial gas stations with nameless owners.

I like to zoom in and out real neurotic  
When I should be looking for the Site,
with the – Conditionally Exempt Small Quantity Generator.

Instead, I’d like to live between every green space on GoogleEarth,
an ubiquitous witch fevering undulating land,
thighs straddling the seasons between documentation and myth.

Release. Repeat the Response Action Outcome.
Instead, I envy the road – all wide open
yawn stripe and ticking yellow. I’d write,

"Tank Status: Removed," in purple chalk across
the brick and vinyl siding of all the buildings on Columbus Avenue.
This morning I am impossible.

This morning I believe I am Earth and I can’t say no
to the height of caffeine in subterranean climates
and the reflection my mouth makes swallowing navy blue,

waves like falsity, waves like any nation flag
under screen.  I often think an office is not a space,
there would be less sighing, there would be love in action.

— The End —