Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
cait-cait Sep 2018
you’re a sick, sick person
my little,

with eyes like ferocious , angry
beetles, you
chew into me and cut out

if only you knew i wasn’t invincible,
if only you knew
                              you were toxic.

the cement is wet when you bash my head
the cement is still wet when it
my mom said "who cares what they think. theyll never understand it, and you dont have to say this part out loud, but things are different now."
leyla Aug 2018
we leave the crumbs of our breakfast
on the windowsill, where we can watch
the ants arrive, and carry them away,
to their hills at the base of the maple trees.
they can't talk to us, but we can sense
their tiny gratitudes.
skin against skin, and tongues against
tongues, the glow from our faces is just
enough for the moths to recognize, for
them to want to dance around our heads.
they bask in the light of our love, and we
know they feel it too.
i live to see you smile, the kind of smile
that shines so brightly, like the way a leaf
beetle's shell does, when the sun decides
to hit it in a way that's exactly right.
they don't notice their iridescence, or how
perfect they are.
Devin Ortiz Jul 2017
Brown beetles, shiny shells
Embedded into my skin.
Burrowing, these crawlers
Find their home in my flesh.

I tear away, in a frenzy
For fear they'd make a stay
But this twisted dream
Ended, with the sunrise

Yet, much to my demise,
The itch, scratching, scuttling
Many legs, swimming among
All of me, an awful psychosis

I feel the digging, controlling.
Betrayed, I cannot trust where
My own extension , begins
And where insects end.
All around the world
The day comes of deep colours
To rehearse things
That are really trueful.

I care about cradle of clouds
Above my head
Black beetles to show oppression
Into their words
When I am my everything, my friend.

Celebration of friendship on the road
Happy whether they help or not
As the sky give an reflection as pure
Then I will have a day of everything.

                         By K-mari ©2016
I write about this poem about what feelings I has today when my teacher saying something about herself trueful.
AD Mullin Sep 2014
< - - Housekeeping - - >

Why is there no checklist for life?
Can you say … recipe for disaster …
If you’re planning to fail …
… then you’re failing to plan

I cut my teeth in a house where we could eat off the floor if we so desired
The floor was either that clean or some other innate wisdom was built into that statement

And I thought my inane wisdom came from ...

Do you, don’t you want me to love you?
#9 #9
Now somewhere in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota
**** Sadie you broke the rules
Singing in the dead of night
Why don’t you stare into your own Glass Onion

… Beatles

(My head is spinning, ooh...
Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, alight!
I got blisters on my fingers!)

— The End —