You pushed.
You pushed me too far.
Too far I fell.
I fell down the hill.
The hill you built,
And then I stop.
I stop rolling and
I stop crying.
It's dark.

But I am safe here,
Comfortable in the ditch,
Comfortable in the rut
That you placed me in.
One big eye watching me.
One force keeping me
From the unknown.
One push and I roll down.
I roll down into dark oblivion
And absolute uncertainty.
But one push and you’re
I literally wrote this an hour ago. I based it on Georgia O'Keeffe's painting "Black Abstraction." I went to an exhibit at the Ashmolean Museum earlier and was given the prompt and wrote the poem based on her painting.
tempest 3h
can he see the blood rush to my cheeks despite having skin darker than his?
does he see my skin as a barrier or an invitation?
if he locked his fingers with mine, would he see the contrast between our colors as a masterpiece of beauty or a masterpiece of shame?
if he placed his lips on mine, would he understand my relief that something as natural as melanin (or lack thereof) couldn't restrain love?
i'll never have my answers because i'm afraid of

so this is actually the first draft of skin (2), which has been posted a bit earlier on my profile. I love both versions so much, which is why both of them still exist. I decided to write a second poem about this issue just because I felt this particular one didn’t emulate the level of fear that I wanted to get across to readers when it comes to interracial attraction.
7 11 2018

My little black box of woe
Where my heart goes to
To run and hide away
From all my lifes mistakes and regret

Memories haunt us like an undying burden
The future we fear the most
Is not there
Was it ever

Unwritten. Unsung. Whats to come
On the winds of tommorow
We find our wings
Scattered across the floors of time

Withering away inside
We ask what is life. If not living
But i wish for so much more
What is love. What is freedom. What is life without magical imagination

The greatest power is in our brains
In our heart. Our souls flame
Call me insane if you want
I am who iam. Iam me. A rambling man

I mutter. I whisper. I mumble
So many thoughts unheard
Unknown. But it is a good thing.
To be a nobody somebody. Unseen

A famous man has all the eyes upon him
A ghost. Moves freely like shadows
Nobody stares at the shadows
Inside the box. There is only one light. My imagination

Calm silent peace
At least i think iam free
But with these chains of life
So much strife. Stress. Deppressive degradation

We all have a place where our heart bellows
I change me so often
I have gotten lost to where that is
Love is a home for anyone. But all i wanted. Was to fly away beyond the sun.
Life on pluto is what i think of
But logic keeps us sound and home
I’m not beautiful in the ways the world wants me to be
A creation far from what you’ve seen before.
Wide nose with full lips,
brown skin and wide hips.
Internal scars from being beaten and torn,
external scars from changing through seasons.
With a gap in my teeth and confidence in my walk
I defy what has been described as the epitome of beauty.
Anya 4d
I am in a box
As I reach out
Touch the walls
This strange barrier that separates me
From the other
Anything external
A hand from the box adjacent to mine appears
Splayed against the wall
I reach out mine
The black and white contrast
Like the Chinese symbol Ying and yang
Other clearly
Even a child could tell the difference
Who does it take to look past the differences?
I am a painting
Such a colorful masterpiece
full of warmth and emotion
But, every damn colour
had to have black mixed in it
to make it what it is
The oxygen has run out of the town.
All the dogs have left the pound.

And all I see is black.
The patients have been healed.
The dogs have been adopted.
And all I see is black.

I turned on the radio.
Black radiated from the speakers.

That's all I hear and see and I don't acknowledge it.

Say, why don't you hop on the expressway of the mind?
Just take the exit numbered infinity.

Your soul will be lifted again.
Nothing more is sacred at all.
There's nothing more do to than save face.
After acting for so long, you believe that something's real.

We know that morality is just a fantasy.
We know that displeasure and misery is still a sensation, so we pretend that morality exists.
We pretend, safe in the knowledge that we never wanted morality to be a fairytale.

Black won't recede,
It's ascended to a self-declared deity.
So we swim away from the evening tide.

Thank goodness that everything has a timer , so nothing is permanent.
This one's longer than prior stuff I have published, but I hope you have enjoyed.
For whatever reason, there is a tantalizing draw to the tranquility of sadness that, like a black hole, pulls you towards it until you unknowingly cross its event horizon and can no longer escape. Jazz music is a really apt comparison as I feel it and other genres like blues capture, as you said, that "elegant" pull to "dance" to it's blue rhythm continuously. While it feels like forever and eternal, the song comes to an end as will your depression if you allow yourself opportunities to think otherwise; even if you feel like you are lying to yourself at first. I'm with you.
Comment I wrote in response to Wyatt's "This Depression." Great poem and I recommend it.
I don't understand
Please explain
Tell me why
When ?

When did we stop?
Stop loving
Stop caring
Stop seeing Ourselves in one another

The war, the hate, the disgust
I see the layers that covers the training given by man
simmering below
hate coupled with a hint of disgust
seeping into our hearts
slowly turning and working there claws in
when all is lost and we can only hope

After the evils have found there way out
After the souls have cried their last cries
hope will follow.

Rex Verum Regem
To may times do we judge others and act based on what’s has been done to us letting the bad out shine the good but where there is love there is hope and where there is hope we can always get better and do better regardless of the wrong done to us
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