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The scene was horrid,
It is during the midday or late night
I hope my memory serves right
Prisoners are on their cell, innocents everywhere
Just one guard at bay as I tend to the babies
I heard them, I heard them right
In the swine of criminals, only one deserves death
They say.. they'll **** her
I have no evidence but believe my address
Listen before it's too late
For these people are full of hate
But who am  I? Just a child attending to your babies
That is when they ransack the place
So I cover the nearest child I see, as we all drop from the highest ground
Such a horrible night
For the same night lives were taken by million
And my blood dripping at the back of my head.

**** I wet my bed.
Just a nightmare to share.
It feels so real.
archana Apr 2018
seashore and sea trucks all clanking their way
with my demons swinging their clubs at bay
the street lights flicker, the shade now the colour
of your pale mellow skin. i bleed in the colour of
the sea, maybe a bit of a whale blue and a tinge of a
seaweed. but the essence is still the smell of your
cigarettes. how can trucks that chug down Pondicherry
smell like typhoons flavoured like berries?
simple flowers that are dying. dry and sore, almost
like how i assume my face is a bore.
i can't do much now can i? i cry here and there
and lift myself and walk with a weak flair
and it's not that bad, because the anagram of my
love put the other way is lifeless.
how nothing can make me so much you ask
its because i kept running away from demons
why you ask, again, because i always loved my demons,
the way i loved your name, so why the race?

because now all my demons have your face.
Benji James Apr 2018
If not for hellopoetry
I would have given up
The writing was starting to take its toll
Left me emotionally exhausted
I was forced to take a break
For all my energy it had drained
Sleepless nights, endless lines
Trying to switch off my brain
Left me depressed
When sentences formed
A story I'd tell
About my life in hell
Sometimes dramatised to a new level
Sometimes I have seen myself become the devil
All my emotions that stain the page
The blood, sweat and tears
Written into each line
Left me losing moments in time
And for this writing became a crime
Didn't feel like I was utilising my mind
Until recently I realised this was the only legacy
I would leave behind
I've seen this art in a whole new light
Through words on a page, I've shown my fight
I've shown all my emotions, I have been totally open
Gave my all in every line
Sprinkled in a flavour of rhyme
If not for hellopoetry all I'd have is blank pages
A mind full of lines, forgotten in time
Took some time to unwind
And that is when I realised
These writings and I are bound for life
I've learned to embrace this now
Finally proud of all my works,
how has it taken me this long
To fall in love with this art
If not for hellopoetry
An appreciation I would never have tasted
And this whole community I've embraced it
Don't care if you love or hate it
It's made me make some changes
If not for hellopoetry
There are talents I may never have uncovered
Some of us are still so young,
Still, more room left to improve
The elder ones raising us up
Understanding a whole new love for this art
I once said These lyrics were written in blood
Straight from the arteries from my heart
That metaphorically speaking
I spread all I am, all across the page
Bled the led with what I felt  
So much heart into every verse
All this time it was never a curse
It was something special I've been gifted
To get all these thoughts out of my system
If not for hellopoetry
I wouldn't be here...caught within this poetic atmosphere

©2018 Written By Benji James
SelinaSharday Apr 2018
Today I worry even mo so..
Son I worry even more when you go out that door.
Mistaken identity.
Victim of false accused identity.
The Armed  who carry behaving like assasions.
with Armed badges.. Ganged up armed trained men with fear.
Claiming fear makes them killers of our unarmed souls.
Be it against petty theives.. or mistaken innocent individuals.
Community left to weep uncosolable tears and fears.
God bring my son/daughter home safe today.
I fear letting my children out to play.
I fear being in my home  where even cops bullets fly astray.
God is it gonna be a safe day.
I protested in the streets today.
I wept in my neighborhood.
I wept.. I weep. I wail.
uncontrollable.
The burden goes beyond my inner soul.
I'm not unbreakable till you console.
I fear who will be next to be tragically slain.
Only a moment a day in time fearing the pain.
Will I see my sister, my brother, my mother my loved one again.
Even though today I'm able to hold their hand.
Lord bring them home safe again.
I just don't knew when.
Mercilous killings will strike again.
By seriel killers..murderers, or armed men with badges.
We march we pray we protest we bury our youngs  ashes.
Let us anoit our heads with oil we have much to bear.
No matter our race, creed or culture.
We have to unite against these tragic things.
Be tired of hearing our community screams.
S..T..O..P. with the
slaying- tragedies -oppressive- power
stop slaying us by tragedies of oppresive power.
S-suffocating, Slaying, slandering.
T-tyranny-cruel and oppressive government or rule.
tragic events cause for tormoil.
O-Oppressive-unjustly inflicting hardship and constraint.
especially on a minority or other subordinate groups.
oppressive laws.
P-people under abuse of authority. Of unfair punishments.
The people are perishing. The people are being punished
with persecution and unjust prison terms.
S.T.O.P
this madness.
P.O.T.S.
we are
Protesting Over Tragic Slaying.
Of all forms.
Son on Today!
We Must Pray!
Even the more So..
Lets go!
by selinaSharday S.A.M 2018
When our sons and daughters are oppressed..when almost every branch of office and home of safety is threatened turned upside down. our communities..our homes our lives.. our country
Scarlet McCall Mar 2018
I will not run from you, Fear.
I will stand still and stay right here.
Your yawning chasm of the unknown
is no more than a dark corner of my mind when I’m alone.
I choose to close my eyes and recall
what I’ve faced before, and how I did not fall.
And that I’m not alone, and never will be—
for lonely souls like me are plentiful,
and friendly.
Lou Mar 2018
A community that caters to itself and parades;
ego
promotion
Or validation.

For purpose of
self importance,
inferiority complexities,
Knowledge and denial.

And has
No conviction
No components to give back,
And no means for "welcome"

All should be exposed
and recognized
as selfish public masturbators.

The boring stereotype.
The trench coat kind of indecent exposure.

Sad little man on the bus.
Sad little man in the streets.

Sad little man stroking at a park
Sad little man stroking in the bars.

Newton's cradle freely swinging between his thighs.

Yahoo freedom!
As she gives to all

But,
God ****** the double-edge blade

It's awkward,
arrogant
and sticks to my hand when touched.

I'd of rather have a flesh wound.
But I unfortunately must watch him finish.
be nice to the few people who like the same thing as you. That's a community. This one is sticky.
Felicia Coffey Mar 2018
We live in a straight world.
You might not think it’s true,
“Gays are coming out everyday
could be them next or her,
maybe you too”
Well I’ll take a minute to prove it to you.

If I told you I’m into girls
I’d see your brain short circuit in real time,
“But you don’t look gay” you’d say.
“Straight passing” is what they call
a girl like me, who still looks feminine
but doesn’t want the D.

This “luxury” of remaining in the closet
is really hurting my game,
Added another straight boy
to my list of those who lost it
when they heard me exclaim,
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m gay”

Let’s not forget the most important issue
“Gays will ruin the sanctity of marriage”
Here, I’ll hand you the tissues.
Man and woman, hand in hand, till death do they part,
and yet more than half of all marriages
end in the perfected art of divorce.

Far be it from me,
to take anyone’s right
to do and say what they want,
while you embrace the hate
and live fighting the inevitable reality
of any queer couple tying the knot.

It might be 2018,
but I still can’t hold a potential partner’s hand
in a public facility
without getting disgusted leers
and a dreadful look at multiple cases
of unprovoked hostility.

So, try to look me in the eyes,
And tell me I’m not right.
But despite it all
I’ll keep my head up high
And let that rainbow flag fly
Because this might be a straight world,

But love is love

is love

is love.



And that concludes this winded verse.
I wanted to write something that showed the struggles of being non-straight within the LGBTQ+ community that still exist, even in 2018.
Michelle Argueta Mar 2018
we sink half an inch every year
"soon, we'll be up to our ears
in water"

not a creature of fury, just of habit
the moon pulls her to churning, to crashing.
hotter water temper tantrums
rush the brine into our basements
soaking scrapbooks in salt
until it crystallizes faces

and yet i cannot blame the marsh

for reclaiming what was never ours
and taking even what was as penance.
but i refuse to condemn us
for shaping shorelines into lives
because things are so much clearer
when they turn with the tides.
we’ll grow gills in time,

we have to.

the ones who stay on land
could never handle shifting sands
don’t know we cling onto the inlet
with white-knuckled hands.
they never grew from buried roots,
seeds are just flotsam in the sea
so they’ll call Frank O’Toole crazy
when he can’t bring himself to leave.
This poem is a reaction to a clip used in a John Oliver segment on flooding (here it is for context: https://youtu.be/pf1t7cs9dkc?t=985 ). In it, he was quick to make fun of Frank O' Toole, a man from Broad Channel, New York who had his house destroyed by Hurricane Sandy and rebuilt it in the same spot, despite constant flooding, because he couldn't see himself in any other neighborhood. Growing up in a similarly close-knit (and similarly threatened) neighborhood fairly close to Broad Channel, I sympathized with his determination to stay right where he is. Shoutout to you, Frank.
Grant Dickson Mar 2018
The cold air seeped down with no heart,
What was once a sea of beauty and life,
Now had been turned to a grave of white and death,
The city had almost all but stopped living too.

Morning turned to night and yet all was still bright,
Panicking for necessities like bread and milk,
As if they were a commodity like gold and silk,
There was no lease from this grip of icy might.

The Robins so proud with their coats of glorious red,
Out playing like children on a canal iced bed,
Scattering wild seed around upon the snow covered ground,
Bobbing along like cheeky cherubim gathering with a chirpy sound.

A man stands in the not so far distance,
Stood outside clearing snow as it's finally stopped,
I ask and offer myself to give some assistance,
Is seems the final flakes have now dropped.

A path slowly appears as do others now congregate,
Friends, brothers, sister's all one with a common goal,
Time rolls on but we persist as it gets late,
A United effort from one and all like a heart to a soul.

(C) Grant Dickson 21/03/2018
I wrote this after I was witness to a community spirit I never thought I'd ever see
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