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Derrick Jones Aug 2019
Inside my brain, there is a train
Near the caboose, a man sits in a noose
Writing fiery lines in his diary
Trying to convince his provincial demons
That he should depart the train
And not this life
So he pours out his struggle and strife
Searching for catharsis
Emotional dialysis
Escape from this chrysalis
Sometimes it is diaphanous
Sometimes he is an optimist
But in the end, the shell remains
His mind untamed
He’s not insane
But he is un-sane
He walks in mental rain
He feels a mental pain
Life is a mental drain
And so he stays inside the train

One day the train flew off the tracks
Everything the man knew went out of wack
He was tumbled and turned
He laughed and he learned
He cried and he died
And on the other side, he was reborn
No longer in hiding
Standing in the wreckage
Shaken but unscathed
The man was finally free
Free to finally be
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
Kylee Aug 2019
When you feel the thunder in your thighs
Look up to the sky
And thank only yourself
For being brave enough to allow him passage through your lands
Given the last time you peeked through the gate
It was torn down

They
               Scorched the trees
               ****** the birds
               Ate the flowers
               And ****** the rivers dry

C O L O N I Z I N G      you

Selfishly
Turning lush forests into the Sahara
Yet
You flooded them out

Now feel the cool trickle
Of his hands on your waist
The splash of lips, on your inner thigh
Notice the depth within you
The surge of water deep in your belly
Rushing, rushing, rising
Until it overflows.
For now let me drink your sweet nectar
But remember you decide when to turn off the faucet

-The life history of my sexuality
Feedback welcomed :)
Keiya Tasire Aug 2019
Be at Peace
You are the Creator's Delight
The Creator's
Wonder, Awe, Love & Joy
Be at Peace
For you are loved.
When I begin to stir from slumber in the state between slumber and waking. This is a time of seeing, hearing, receiving and understanding. I was given a dream yesterday morning that prepared me for the passing of three people in my life that is coming in their time, one by one. The first, I learned today, is very sick and will pass soon. The understanding I received was a kindness that left me knowing that I am loved.
A poet's remorse , lies within delaying any time given that should be given to bettering his craft
but as life comes, he is forced to neglect the oh so heavenly phenomenon that he calls art.
One should consider the destitute that comes with an empty heart
as it is understood that an empty heart lacks all sense of urgency and motivation or so to speak the urge to even start...
the urge to even begin painting a picture with nothing but words,
to heal the brokenhearted and those scolded at by means of a racial slur.
A poet's regret shouldn't be from not doing enough but it should be because the balance in the mind enslaving society
has been disturbed and questions are being asked
...the regret comes in when chaos has been caused in hopes of making people aware
to ultimately alleviate the feeling of despair
and rather ignite a flame in the pursuit of knowledge and and self-confidence without carnage
and desires to be free and unique
Contoured Jul 2019
Roses may be red,
But I'm always blue.
Someone could show me paradise,
And I'll see a grotesque view.

Roses may be red,
But sometimes I'm blue.
I'm aware of the sunlight,
And I'm slightly warmer too.

Roses may be red,
But I'm feeling less blue.
I've met you, extraordinaire,
A palette of colors, anew.

Roses may be red,
But I'm no longer blue.
You brought paradise to me,
Because paradise is you.
Stephen Moore Jul 2019
In your Dad’s Wolsley Saloon,
Leather blue seats warm in Summer Sun,
Sticking to our near naked skin,
Scorching our young bodies.

We gasp as the rays of a day bleach the body of his car,
In tin and leather,
We gasp as our young eyes awaken,
Our first Summer of love.

In just some flimsy Bikini,
You slither in the sand,
Legs like a Mermaids tail,
You writhe before my primitve eyes.

Sand plays across your browning skin,
As I inhale your unique smell,
Umber wood tinged with vanilla,
Your blond hair alight under sun.

You tease this shy boy till he runs away,
No courage to make any kind of pass,
You slip into the grass of a dune,
I stroll behind lost in want.
Maria Etre Jun 2019
I felt the throb
of genuine
happiness
jolt me
back to life
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