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School? Tsk...Tsk...Tsk. What a spectacle.
I hear the bell chiming already- ding...ding...ding
Then sick and scowled, we'd walk right to were we were meant to be. "Meant to be". Heart pounding 'cos if we were late!? Or in the wrong place or mixed up the wrong dates!? that was trouble. "The bell is the voice of God"  The priest(s) would say, each day, "and when it rings you must obey" A bell? I thought, the voice of God? I chuckled.

I remember the shadows of the seminarians watching.
The irate stare and feign smile. Weren't these men of God!?  They came in new and good, but give them a day or two and...and my God!!!
There were rumors of bizarre things that happened behind closed doors, no one "saw", but walls. I know someone was there. Had to be! When the last bell rang, and the lights faded out. People became monsters. It changes people. And it would, you too because real monsters are in the light and you too are one of them.

The mass either left you hungry and empty, guilty and filthy or just feeling good about yourself for no good reason because some preacher said: "Hark, all worries will be left behind, and all disappoint too, will be gone forever..."  It was the same thing, day in and day out. One man's crime was all mens'. And our tongue just clung to our mouth because who would dare raise a finger in anger to a priest? God's delegate.  There were rumors.  

There were rumors no one would admit they saw until dusk when the light-out hour came and we streaked together muffle and scoffled about everything. It was either that or we tried, however, we could to get food. Some even looted goods, black and white was the code and we hid it safe as gold. You won't get it. Sometimes people would go as far as...sign  

Heavy eyed and tired. The bell snaped you from your dream back to this hellfire. And before you blinked you were in class
Then smell of dry papers and ink, sound of pens screeching and then you see.
Students hastily walking to where they are meant to be? "Meant to be!?"
Teachers, few, pretty as rose and others old and cold. All claiming they had gold to impact on us. Most times, the men, well tucked, some tall and maybe bit lanky.

The priests were like ghosts. Some went as far as saying Godly. Their bellowing white-blue cassock whipped by, and while some would sigh, others would hush and some would rush to where they were meant to be. Meant to be. Now ghost quiet, staring from somewhere was the priest ghost silent...

Amaris 4d
I don’t want time to cool off after getting mad
I want you to prove that you’re sorry
Stop asking what you can do to make it better
Don’t just sit there and repeat back to me
Offer me suggestions and do them anyway
Beg my forgiveness down on your knees
Spend the next eight hours overthinking
Get angry and expressive, ******* unfreeze
Fight back, take up a weapon and strike
God knows I’ve given you a million to date
Or deliver an overblown romantic gesture
It could be literally anything I’d appreciate
Hey, can you listen? It’s not that hard
Do I have to scream to be heard?
I don’t think I’m making an impact
You still stand there undeterred
i want
to see
some people rot in hell
Lucas Abbott Oct 7
Silly me, silly me
Thinking I was fine.
I walked through the city that’s so bright,
Blocking out the wails coming out from the night.
Silly me, silly me,
Why would I be fine?
I think of what I used to have,
And how my mind has turned so mad.
Silly me, silly me,
I should have known so much better.
Then to turn me against the tides
and crash the waves of all that has past
madameber Oct 3
I am an insult to the concept of race,
A thought experiment that didn’t get far
Enough to be included in the mix,
A lack of imagination in their
classifications and categorisations,
I was unwritten, a source of confusion
For later generations convinced of
The natural division between nations,
I was a glitch in the system,
The number two where just one
Should have been, the result of somebody's
Irresponsible coding, I was an omission,
An improbability made impossible to be.

I am a danger to the concept of race,
Because I cannot be defined within
The limited scope of what it means
To be other, because I’ve danced
Across the lines meant to divide
Two sides, and played the roles assigned
To two supposedly different kinds
Of people, my flexibility confuses
The boundaries and disrupts
So-called realities, my existence exposes
The fault lines beneath the stories
We trusted to explain our selves to us.

I am a challenge to the concept of race,
Unable to exist on either side
I occupy the space between the lines,
And I am not alone in my defiance,
Not the only one tired of defeat and
Compliance, of being reduced into
Someone else’s truth, of talking politely
And making excuses so they can continue
Their ruthless manoeuvres to swallow
Us back inside the machine, dictate
Our personalities and wipe our minds clean,
But we've tasted freedom and we're not
Going back, we’ll reclaim our identities,
Invalidate the categories that divided
Us in the first place, the bitter performance
We called race.
it's a working title.
Brie Williams Sep 26
On a street
somewhere in nowhere
is where you were killed
when a no one kills someone in nowhere
it burns
when no ones are people with badges and guns
oh how I wish they would have used the guns
but no one is humane in nowhere
only tazers and kicks will do
then the heart stops and the blood pours
and then they decide they're  through
but someone is already brain dead and swollen and blue
and I can't stop crying at even the thought of you
and now you're underground and I can't see through
and now you're underground and there's nothing anyone can do
lance Sep 25
my thighs
littered with war scars,
cuts deeper than
any man has gone.
they glitter a warm hurt,
as if telling
a sad love song.
hidden beneath
strong layers of linen,
I protect them
like a lion and its cub.
To say they weren’t deserving,
would be quite untruthful.
no one deserves pain
but me, i’m unusual.
born from long nights
and the thick fumes of liquor,
euphoria stench breath
made their minds think quicker.
myself, sitting here,
alone from the petty,
supercilious disaster,
we call the human race.
I look down at my scars in hope.
A lesson that taught me,
a great deal about
the wonders of my
own self esteem.
from hopelessness,
to the calm tide,
that lingers in my mind.
I know what is right,
but when my stars start to fall,
It seems to me,
that I don’t deserve
anything at all.
crying sorrow,
from my glossy,
swelled up eyes,
the demon on my shoulder,
paces patiently,
content with the
same laces as
when we had cut ties.
now the blade,
it has no purpose,
those long glistening lines
made personally by the
conflicted thoughts,
that grew like flowers in my mind,
have slowly faded away.
as time goes by,
sitting right where the
bottled up emotion resided,
lays many scars,
each telling a story
unique from all the others.
I live to see another night,
letting my scars, slowly recover.
(this is a poem i wrote a couple years back. i am doing much better than i was back then. please don’t get the wrong idea about this. poetry is how i cope.)
Empire Sep 23
I'm angry
maybe furious
painfully jealous
because I can clearly see

I have been left out

time and time again

I see you all
I hear your stories
you all have fun
enjoy each other's company
drinking, dancing

but me?
I'm at home
doing nothing
pretending I didn't want to join
because I'm good
I wouldn't want to indulge a bit
I wouldn't want to be invited
of course not

what's wrong with me?
what is it that makes you all assume
that I don't want in on the fun?


Even just some company would be nice
but it would seem
I'm unwanted
I'm undesirable
I'm a buzzkill

I'm useful,
but c'mon

you know you don't want me around
will you all just say it?
because clearly something about me
sends off some sort of signal
that I ought to be left out

do you even realize how often i'm forgotten???

P   E             R     S     I      S       T         E       N         T
C       O        N        S       I    S      T   E   N         T

and you know what?
I'm jealous
I'm angry
I'm upset
because EVERYONE forgets me
I'm just not memorable
I'm not fun to be around


you wouldn't be much fun either

but at least someone might care about you
I think I'd like to cry...
It hurts to be forgotten,
Leah Sep 18
You have become too inconsistent
for me to make a home
in your arms,
for making me feel like
I’m not enough for you.
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