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Kasansa Kuya Jun 2020
a malignant haze
hitherto unnoticed and henceforth witnessed
the struggle of the enlightenment
I think people may feel this in these uncertain times.
Man Jan 17
Displays of the wrong, &
Castigation of the right;
Tongues run to stay, even
When it comes to face.
Eye to eye
But, more often than not,
They turn away.
Not to brandish the cheek
But to break the gaze.
Jeremy Betts Aug 2020
I have no idea what I'm doin', I put my foot in the race but definitely not a shoe in to win
I've heard gettin' to the end and then dyin' is now, somehow, considered a win
But I guess only if you pick and stick with the correct doctrine of religion and only abide by their sin
Who's got it right then? We'll probably never know, not because the truth is hidden or missin' but because there's far to many cooks in the kitchen
And yes, that's pretty bleak but if true you're gonna have to explain it better then cause I can't seem to comprehend
What it seems to me to be is I'm in way over my head so it's gone over my head, I followed a liaison when I should have led
You said this is the land of the free but how can that be when most our time breathin' is contractually given'
Sometimes it's even been forcibly taken by some giant corporation backing a corrupt politician
You find yourself, either figuratively or physically, buildin' your very own coffin
And unbeknownst to you it's a Trojan horse disguised as detailed preparation to ***** out precaution
There will be a moment when they move on and you're no longer a part of the equation
We never really were starting from way back when, born into a lifetime ban from their utopian creation
We have never been given adequate time for livin'. Why is this acceptable and deemed okay to begin with even?
Why are more of you not seethin' mad? This would most definitely be a justifiable reason.
But we're just keepin' it goin' like this day after day, season after season
Just a cog in the machine till the day our vital signs begin to weaken and your heart stops beatin
Can't feel the pulse we're seekin', no animated heart blinkin' in the corner of the screen, that's when reality sets in
When the life line on the heart monitor stops peekin', and triggers the flat line death siren
Then through all the cryin' you hear someone attemptin' to comfort someone else by sayin'
"Who could have possibly predicted this mess we're in?"
Uhhhhh, me, I can.
I could have told you what's about to happen, where it's comin' from and when
Matter of fact I did put out a warnin' but you said I was just a mad man ramblin' on 'bout nothin'
But I know it to be truth so I'll bet it all, my life's a risky buy in but I'm all in
In a moment of heated confrontation always beware the calm man smilin', tryin' to ignore the situation around him while thinkin'
"What's one more murderous sin?" A question type justification got you askin' while knowin' you're in to deep to ever come out again as the same person
The devil in my eyes got 'em peralized with fear, stone cold frozen
Got others quakin' in their boots, Michael J Fox type shakin', twitchin' like pan fried bacon
Got you sweatin' and fidgetin' so go get your spinner to hold your attention or at the very least be a distraction
Grown-ups are takin' so get to walkin', take your childish ways elsewhere before it's a problem

Okay, where was I?
....operator sound we're sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again*

Nat Lipstadt Jun 2022
The Confrontation

he is stirred by buzzing thoughts, irritating him to wakefulness;
mobile, random and annoying for they last but a moment and
his sticky flypaper hands cannot capture and eradicate them into
existence fast enough to make them permanent, shareable and eased.

Tue., the seventh day of the sixth month of MMXXII


he desperately fails to recall the world word labyrinth that urged him to rise and capture the wild animals that roared and removed his half-notions from the lifting fog of consciousness. Alas, they are just like specks of new sunlight upon a linen of grassy, newly watered wet greens; here today, instantaneously, gone and gone and gone. Instead,
he writes of their early death and mourns the brevity of their beauty,
and thinks not of the wasted times of the last seventy years.
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2022
You live on "borrowed time"
At least that is the story you say
If that actually is true
Can you explain the delay?
Knowing how fake you are
Sure it's just a lie
Many of your words are *******
Surprised you are not covered in flies
Uncertain how you got to this point
Was a time where you once stood tall
What I mean;
You had a reason to
Still do with no reason at all
I guess along journey you changed
The person that I see
Became a perfect example
Example of who NOT to be
You tread upon backs of others
In order to get what you want
Even if that means inflicting pain
You do not mind being a ****
Not thinking about future
Solely focused on present thrill
Feeding on people's energy
Seem to never get your fill
I suspect you are miserable inside
That's why you tear others in two
Only way to ease your suffering  
Make everyone as unhappy as you
But never seem to shed a tear
Wear a permanent grin
I believe it's because you are striving so hard
Concealing the agony within
Broken so many ways
Have a house but it's not home
Without family to return to
Probably easier to roam
A steady rotation of bodies
Little boys avidly chasing your tail
Your company isn't free
Because *****'s for sale
Thrown like a football
Highest bidder gets the pass
You get bored-no problem
There is always greener grass
Your life rests in ruins
Lost so many parts
And reputation
Vanished like your heart
Falling apart a piece at a time
Pretending to keep together
We both know you can't maintain
Perfect charade forever
Your youthful beauty all but dead
Wear so much paint on your face
Entire cosmetics section of Walmart
Stuffed into your makeup case
I see beneath false advertisement
True colors bleed right through
Under skin is grey and black
Soul the ghastliest hue
Reflected in statements you make
Sound either insane or idiotic
Unsure if you are playing stupid
Or you are truly that psychotic
It appears you hurt those around you
Because you can
As if you don't have enough suitors
Steal another woman's man
Your cruelty clearly defined
At least it is from my point of view
Fool everyone else surrounding
A persona that isn't true
But karma will catch up in the end
Hope you're destined to be alone
I feel that is what you deserve
Frozen straight to bone
It's never too late to turn over a new leaf
Begin treating people right
You have to want improvement
Fear for you it's out of sight
Content with road you're walking
Not knowing where it leads
Flesh poked with needles
Uncaring it bleeds
Darkness swallowing you whole
Don't seem to be aware
It's strangling the last bit of goodness
Within remaining there
I do not understand how you can glance
In mirror and not feel disgust
All the disappointment you've caused
Lost a lot more than just trust
Next time you drag name through the mud
Make sure own hands are clean
You have more sins in your book
Than a ***** magazine
If expecting us to back down
In for quite a surprise
Soon as we go toe-to-toe
I will cut you down to size
So better watch your mouth
If the plan is to avoid confrontation
Free to do and say whatever you please
I warn you - there will be retaliation
This was written about this ***** who was talking **** about my family behind our backs. Sorry to anyone who is offended. The to title comes from a text she sent a friend of ours saying she wanted to beat her to a ****** pulp and then skull **** her, and her name is Charlie.
Elizabeth Kelly Sep 2021
My words don’t have arms big enough to hold these great and growing feelings.
They stay in my insides
Crowding out
Grinding down the subtleties
That reside near the edges in the used to be,
that cushiony soft berm.

It was comfortable in here once

The Room for Interpretation,

now lost,
now over-full,
balloon-bright and tumbling one voice and many into and out of supremacy.

These great and growing feelings
and my insufficient words
that fall from me one-by-one into place,
the thudding truth in basic blue.
I wanted to write a poem
about the incessant discomfort
I always feel in my left eye
whenever my contact lenses
become old and dry
I thought about how it tickles
but scratches at the same time
and starts off alright
just a minor annoyance
but quickly, overtime
becomes almost unbearable
like my pre-school bully himself
is folding down one of my eyelashes
just enough for it to poke me
at the slightest movement
then I thought about how
I'd sooner write a poem about my life
and how it started out equally alright
and quickly, overtime became almost unbearable
as if my pre-school bully didn't do it right

so I found him in his adult life many years later
wife, two kids and a mortgage
yappy staffy-cross, two cars
and an alright job as a graphic designer
his garden full of gorgeous flowerbeds,
a full head of hair and a fading right hook
a puzzled look on his face,
garden hose flooding his drive and the yappy
staffy-cross still yapping away
at the living room window
so he called the police
and I never got to feel young again
unless you count scurrying away from
a council estate under the threat of
a poor meal at Parkside police station
the rekindling of my youth

so this is my infomercial poem
about how not to confront someone
always be fully clothed
that's very important
avoid being drunk
any mind altering substance
is best avoided in my opinion
remember just because you care
just because you remember
does not mean anyone else does
oh and
don't eyeball craft beer when
you still have your contacts in
you know what?
-just don't eyeball craft beer
That Random Guy Dec 2020
Some familiar voices are irritating me. Like they sound so loud. But they've always been so loud. What's different today? You know I wanna write for you. But right now, I'm just too tired playing a role of a savior for the world. And it's not necessarily a role I'm playing for you, it's something I've been playing for myself. What's the use of an existence which isn't doing something significant or adding some value to the world. I'm also peripherally hoping that this letter adds some value to your life or just your day. But when it comes to my frontal attention; I also don't care. I had a bad day. And if you're here, you probably are one of the people who know me (or my writings) closely, and I'm so grateful for you. I can't write anything that doesn't feel true, you probably know that about me. So I'm really glad you're here to have a glimpse into my honesty. Thank you.

Some familiar voices are irritating me. I don't know if it's just today or it's been happening for a while & I was too busy to notice. I used to have a best friend. I know 'used to' hurts. For a whole lot of us. Um, It doesn't hurt me anymore. But I know that she probably would notice the grammatical mistakes in this letter/email/whatever we'll name this in the coming days, if she reads this. When I think about it, I've been wanting to write this for so long. But I also wanted her to read what I write. I wanted to write this for so long, but I've been super scared. You know, she had been one of those people I really wanted to impress. Not with my looks or achievements. But with my authenticity. Yeah, I wonder too if it's really authentic if you're trying to be authentic. But, she was one of those people I really wanted to impress because I had felt her love once upon a time, and I wanted to feel it forever. Or maybe just enough to find that love in my own self. That look in her eyes which showed I was so loveable, was one of the key moments when I felt a sense of 'I am'; of an alive existence. I've been too scared to write because she has been invisibly here forever even though her physical presence has left me long ago. How do you forget the first glimpses of affection you ever felt? Have you also tried to gain attention and affection of a long lost love (even if it's just in your head)? I know I haven't been consciously doing it. I mean, honestly, I don't want to be loved by her. My practicality shut my cravings for being loved, a long time ago. But today is one of those days when I'm sitting down and writing because I'm tired of putting off the process of getting into myself. It's a very startling and unsettling feeling to realize that all you've been doing was to be loved by someone, anyone. Not adored, not admired; loved. You think that you want to be noticed or crushed upon or get famous or contribute a lot to the world and live a meaningful existence, but really, you just want to be loved. Because in its purest form, when love knocks on our door, we can't belive we deserve it. It's the most significant validation of our worth. And when we get too proud of our lovability, it starts slipping from our hands & bodies, until we're lying on the floor questioning our worth all over again. What crazy things we do(consciously/unconsciously), just to be loved a little bit. I've been wanting to write this for so long, but in my head she has always been reading my unwritten writings, and judging my worth(to be loved), and not chosing me because I'm too sensitive, too philosophical, too 'in my head', too impractical for this world.
But I'm writing this today. Why am I writing this today? Perhaps I'm tired of not admitting the truth of how I've felt. Perhaps I trust you. Perhaps I just want to let it out in the universe and finally accept that I love being loved and am scared of the opposite.
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