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Bee 4d
he crawled under my skin
asked politely
“is there any room for me?”

“no” creeped the whisper
from my heart to lips
but i was met with a zipper
a refusal to let slip

because i want you there
i swear i do
but when this heart quakes
with the slightest shake

i fear this house may crumble
crushing us both under the rubble

the foundation is cracked
i wish i could go back

to those trees we used to scale
when we were just
the great explorers of a new land

but now the frame stumbles
under the softest breeze
kings that have fallen to slaves
of our own debris

so when you ask me
why i must always be alone
all i can tell you
is that this house is not a home
MerTer Oct 19
I remember these early times
The first
Downtown in the cold
Lights out.
Adults living like heathens
Teens on the streets
My inspiration
The freedom which comes
from taps on bricks
cold air to put
you right back in your body
Frightening.
It was freedom nonetheless
Growing up in Eugene as young teens we would frequent the downtown bus station where scores of transient teens would congregate to talk of life, meaning, use drugs and debate existence after childhoods of parental neglect.
Ishka Mhuul Aug 30
She learned from a young age that
Rage,
Anger,
Defiance,
Meant nothing.
Not to her
Nor to others.
So she kept silent
As silent as the sun can
When she's raging in the vacuum of space.
Her eyes would ***** with tears
And her jaw would clench in frustration.
But she'd rather stare into hell and cut off her tongue before it meant anything.
She is a patient woman they say,
She is a proper lady
She is as passive as a flower
And as kind as sunlight after a thunderstorm.
She is a balm to the suffering and to the evil.
She is God's child.
But
I have thorns
I can burn you
I can drown you

She has a child’s temper
In a woman’s body.
She weeps alone,
Rages alone,
Starves alone.
She quietens her struggle
And pretends she is only marble.
Grief is an option
And
Anger is a choice.
She chooses neither
So she feels nothing.

How she would like to
Yell and scream!
How she would like to hurt,
To let go
And hold on selfishly to her happiness.
Freedom is an option too.
She does not choose it.
Kitten Yvad Aug 17
Ah you walk into
        
my room
I'd been sleeping since
Half past noon


You walk into my space
Crying "and I don't wanna
be part of the human race"
Ohh

oh no you walk into my heart


you're a breathing peice of
modern art
you breathe my feelings

I'm listening
in your pink room
sky our hearts beyond
this ceiling
The voice Aug 7
When I was younger I told my mother
"Yo quiero ser como tu cuando crezca"
She kneeled down and said
"No"

I remembeer when I was younger
I looked up to my mother and I dreamed,
of the day I would grow up and be just like her.
She would always say "No"

Hasta que un día, me canse y le grite
"Cuando crezca voy a ser igualita a ti!"
She kneeled down and said
"Tu vas a ser mucho mejor que yo!"

I remember the first time I talked to my mom in english
"A mi me hablas en español!"

The first time I asked if I could go to a sleepover,
"Que no tienes casa o que?"

The first time I asked her permission to go on a fieldtrip
"Entonces para que te mando a la escuela?"

And the first time,
I told her I wanted to go to college,
"Pues a ver como le hacemos pero esta bien"

I remember her eyes, slightly dissapointed
Not at me, but at herself.
She wanted to give her daughter, only the best!

She wanted me to have the chances she never got

She wanted me to be better than her.

I don't remember:
A day that she didn't work
A day she didn't cook
A day she didn't say
"Echale ganas mija"

I do remember:
When she dropped me off at college,
She smiled and said,
"Eres como yo!"

"Eres como yo!"
Trabajadora,
Luchona,
No te rindes,
Humilde,
Sensilla,
Generosa,
Amorosa,
y Valiosa! "
A little something to introduce my mother to the world!
Ananya Jul 11
Paternal mountains holding
knees as I a brook
laugh and gurgle
without stopping.

Crown sliding
off tousled hair
I cry at broken
dolls that make me sad

and get presents
smelling faintly of
sticky, warm Azaleas.
I groan.

I moan as I tear small ivory chunks with sickening thuds,
l grasp the pulsating pulp.
With lower lashes, I offer

to the ravenous fire that consumes in its unquenchable desire that destroys and laughs, that baits me to bark.

Ah! Look at the night
dressed up like a *****.
No is three letters, yes is two.

Every man a tattoo artist branding his initials for free.
Tell me, does purple look striking against melanin attire?

I get paper cuts
from words slicing off penetrating tongues
and I scream, muffled inside a dream.

Groping at flecks of sandy sunshine, waiting to be
Exhumed.
One of my personal favorites :)
I wish I was young again
When we were five we
didn't know how to judge
We just knew harmful words

Yet the context was foreign to us

Those who witnessed these words
spill out of others mouths
Did not know the hidden emotions

of the words they were called
That was until the years floated past
And the explanations conducted
an orchestra in our heads

That orchestra conducted words
But not ones filled with myths
as we were used to
Instead they were filled to the brim

of a truth

One that we would have to face
We realized
That our existence
Would not be filled with the fairytales

we were told every night
But what we saw in our parents eyes everyday


Fear.                                                    Anguish.

Occasionally something would try to fight through
That shine would soon fade away

That's when we realized
Our truth

Was not the fairytales we were told
But the nightmares we only noticed at night
As they allowed us to see them more
with each passing night

We knew
they were going to come out and play
In the dark of night
I put up a fight
With a sinful pleasure
A buried treasure
Hidden in the recesses of my mind
I wish I was blind
So that I can't see
The man in front of me.

He's a figure of my imagination
A product of my own creation
He makes my toes curl
Sending me into a whirl
Of forbidden ecstasy
Breathlessly,
I gain back my composure
Give myself some closure
And swear to forget him.

But he comes back over and over again
He has the strength of ten men
Pulling me into his embrace
Once again, I've lost my grace
And I am back to where I started

In the jaws of lust.
Thoughts?
The blue squares were safe.
The white squares were lava.
The cool kids huddled in their corners were irrelevant.

It didn't matter where I was going
or what I was exploring.
Maybe ancient pyramids,
perhaps a dinosaur dig.
Probably "the jungle," wherever that was.
I always changed my mind half-a-dozen times.
It didn't matter where I went
because I could handle every adventure
all by myself.

The benches were safe.
The wood chips were lava.
The crawl space under the rock wall was my escape pod.

My crew both was and wasn't imaginary.
If they had names, they had the names of real people.
Just versions of those people who were
around a little more often.

The loud days were safe.
The quiet was lava.
Then the quiet was safe,
and loudness was lava,
and then I never could tell what was safe anymore,
really.

But, oh, I'm so glad I found You again.

Your embrace is safe.
Your heart is lava,
and every day is a quiet adventure.
This is one of my favorite recent writings.  I would like it to be longer, but I couldn't think of any more stanzas that added anything, and I didn't want to drag it out for the sake of dragging it out.  Also, a longer poem calls for a really strong conclusion to keep from feeling anticlimactic.

In my first draft, the final few stanzas were pretty rushed and disconnected and overall not great.  I think they're better now but still don't feel quite confident with them.
It’s a small town,
A Silhouette of an eyelash
On the horizon,
“Sneeze and you’ll miss it.”
It’s home to the bustling store
Where I worked.

He came in with his daughter
Some days,
He gets her on the weekends,
Sharing custody with his almost ex
Wife.
Dave, he’s tall at a telephone pole,
And he tries not to eat sugar,
He hates IPA.

This morning he came in,
And announced that anyone
Who tried to put structure in his life
He ended up leaving.

I like structure.
I like lists,
Things that match,
Objects having a home,
A balanced finances book,
And color coding.

When I was young
I coveted men like this,
"free spirits"
who come and go as they please.

I am still young,
but old enough to know,
I want more.
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