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Amy Ross Nov 16
maybe someday
I’ll spill my guts to you
lay out everything that has hurt me and is still hurting me
give the story behind every poem I’ve ever written and heard and loved
maybe I’ll tell you everything,
you who was not here to witness
who didn’t see the rise and fall of rome,
the death of Latin but the survival of it’s plays
you who hasn’t been here long enough for the unfurling
maybe I’ll rip off all my petals
show you the inner workings myself
maybe someday,
I’ll tell you all the parts that I leave out, when I comfort you from the same burdens that crushed me
show you all the scars on my tongue, from biting it around you
tell you the stories these scars held back
maybe someday
I’ll just simply tell you everything
introduce you to my demons
and let you see the monstrous teeth that sit in rows behind my own
the blood under my fingernails, not all someone else’s
and see what you do
maybe someday I’ll tell you everything
maybe someday I'll spill my guts to you
maybe one day
Rome Nov 1
"Pray 1 Our Father, 3 Hail Mary's and 1 Glory Be" Said the father behind the booth in which I hesitated to continue knowing seeing you later that day would mean sinning.

From the way you look, to the sound escaping your lips. From your laughter, to your mewls and whimpers.

I was willing to confess everyday if it would mean sinning for you.
living by myself
gives me time to confess,
no more fooling around
my heart
once a training ground,
is now a fortress.
I live with
holy sunshine—

but I wake to weep.
In the sun,

shadows stretch
long behind me,

where some things ought to
remain buried.

I did not go digging you up.
Bees do not normally

nest in skulls—
but I know

they hum in your head,
dripping honey of me.

Gentle wolf,
you came in the guise

of a friend.
They tell me that they would have

rescued me
as you made your advances—

they were never there,

in your lair.
And by that time

I had already
been eaten.

All that exists
between us now

is a history;
the guilt that still

weighs on you,
and poetry.

And if your guilt ever becomes
too much for you to bear,

and if you ever feel like

my poems can be
your Hail Mary’s.
Maria Etre Oct 14
The confessional between my body and the world
is in my hand
Bhill Aug 5
I must confess, that the world is a mess
but it's not to gone to save
it will take time, but with that in mind
how did it get so ”grave”
the people concerned, are the people who learned
what's wrong and will help make it right
it will be rather stark, as the mess is quite dark
but together, we can turn it to bright.....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 214
Amanda Hawk Jun 21
He asked me to confess expectations
An open dare to my emotions
My heart clanged against ribcage
Shaking the sturdiness of my spine
And I cried, each tear
Their own confession
As my expectations trailed down my cheeks
And I couldn’t tell him the truth
Or deliver him my hope
In a careful created box of words
I could trace the exit wounds of each exe
And the pain lingered, small phantoms
I wasn’t ready to let him go
So when he asked for a confession
I didn’t give him my emotions
Because how could I expect him to stay
When everyone leaves?
Dez Apr 9
I was asked to describe myself
So took a dictionary from the shelf
And I read the definition
Of a word I thought best fit my disposition
Failure was the word I thought best
The descriptions said, “lack of success”
I closed the book and looked at my questioner
And confessed I am on the road to no where
And in faling to prepare
I have prepared to fail
So I guess this is the way I say beware
Even good looking trains derail
Even those who look like they have it together are falling apart. Many people have told me I am a good young man and I will go places in life. But I feel as though I am not that great and in truth I have not prepared much.
by Michael R. Burch

What shall I say to you, to confess,
words? Words that can never express
anything close to what I feel?

For words that seem tangible, real,
when I think them
become vaguely surreal when I put ink to them.

And words that I thought that I knew,
like "love" and "devotion"
never ring true.

While "passion"
sounds strangely like the latest fashion
or a perfume.

NOTE: At the time I wrote this poem, a perfume called Passion was in fashion. Keywords/Tags: confession, confess, words, tangible, real, surreal, feelings, love, devotion, passion, perfume, fashion, false advertising, hype
episkey Mar 3
I need to tell u something

Listen carefully
On this random verse
Verity lays within
Each 1st Letters, are

Uttered for U
can u solve it
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