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The voice Aug 2020
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 2020
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 :)
Jessica Hanna Jun 2020
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
SA Szumloz Mar 2020
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?
Hannah Christina Feb 2020
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.
Anonymous Freak Feb 2020
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.
e Jan 2020
all these places we leave;
all the lovely boys with kind hearts, but cruel intentions;
all the bright places between humid nights;
all of the sweet honey with warm bread; and
all of the comfort after tragedy.
in the midst of it all is the image of
slow beating hearts, fast beating hearts—
euphoria and adrenaline;
lush greens, effervescent blues—
all extending beyond the line of your arm.
herein lies the promise of your lover:
i would give you prague, budapest, amsterdam;
i would give you stars, wine, dreams.
you don’t understand this, not yet;
this much i already know:
you have to depart soon, as i have.
the silver platter comes too late, and
i know i could not always do for you
what you have restlessly offered me.

while you are still shining, and
your eyes remain overcome with passion—
that for all your sharp blunder,
you are soft in your patience,
and pliant in your heroism—
may you know i would do it all, again:
everything in my power to bottle this up—
the childlike wonder, the ferocious heart.
i would weave you tales of knights and jesters;
i would gather you in gentle embraces under calloused palms;
i would pour you endless bottles of amber liquid.
i have known no kinder heart,
with the capacity to be terrible; and
i have known no greater joy,
than to bear witness of malevolence drowned in light.
there is no telling what lies forth,
there is no telling if our paths
converge down the line.
thank you for the honey, the warmth, and the songs; and
when the time comes for you rest under your own fig tree,
may you never forget:
you will always fit perfectly
in the spaces between my fingers.
written on 190527 / 190621
Anonymous Freak Jan 2020
“Honey, you can’t keep living your life to please people.”
But that’s how I survive.

Someday
I won’t be quiet
When I want to scream about injustice.
I won’t hold myself and cry,
I’ll cry in plain sight
And show that what someone said wasn’t okay.

I’ll leave when I want to,
I won’t talk to those who hurt me.
I’ll tell people when they’re rude,
I’ll speak up
When I want to.

But now...
I’m at the mercy of others.
I live to please
Or I don’t get to live.

This is the time of my life
Where I raise my hand
And ask permission.
When I nod politely
At unfairness,
Where my knuckles are clenched white
Behind my back
As I accept whatever treatment I receive.

I do dream of being free,
Make no mistake,
I’m not happy this way.
But this is how I must stay
To survive.
Anonymous Freak Aug 2019
Ed,
Eddie,
Wants to fall in love.
He has plants in his kitchen.
He keeps a washcloth
On his bathroom sink
On it rests his comb,
His toothbrush,
And toothpaste,
All in a neat row.
He takes me to the lake
To look out at the water,
Because he knows
It makes me feel like I’m home.

Rob,
Wants to conquer
And tame me.
He wants
To be the one I choose
Just to win.
He kisses me
At midnight in the rain
Out in the dark
On a hidden sidewalk,
Slips his hand
Down the front of my *******
And plays with my ****.
He says it’s the danger
Of being caught.

James,
Stone,
Jamie,
Wants to sleep with me,
But also doesn’t want
To feel guilty.
So he hides my messages
From his partner
And assures me
She knows he’s polyamorous.

Me?
What do I want?
What do I need?
Peace.
Peace I won’t find
In any of them,
Only myself.
But I have to fight battle,
After battle,
To get there.
So exhausted,
I retreat into their distraction,
And I warn them all,
Of each other’s existence,
And that I don’t want anything real.

But I sing to Eddie,
As I lay on his chest.
I listen to Rob,
As I hold him in my bed.
I nurture James,
Help him cultivate his individuality.
So they think
Maybe they’re important.
And really,
They are.
I can’t help but have them be.

But I can’t handle important right now.

I can’t find comfort
In the thought of being squeezed
Into something I’m not
Again.
I won’t allow myself
To be contorted
Into a shape
That fits their desires.

Eddie wants
To fall in love.

Rob wants
To win me.

James wants
To have release.

And I...
I just want
To find me.
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