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Amanda Kay Burke Mar 2018
I am sick of your degrading
Constant constricting critique
You take criticism way too far
Tired of the negative words you speak

So stand there in your self-righteous glow
Throw ugly insults in a slur
The burning words you know I despise
That I am a little too much like her..
This was written a long time ago, it is written to my brother, and her is my mom.
Sanjali Mar 2018
11
-Numbers 1 to 9-

I am happy to be here,
Where I can find numbers each morning.
Sun shining through my window,
I walk barefoot downstairs,
Even though my bones crack
I am quiet as a cat.

With warm coffee I can sit,
And as I nibble on the food
I fill out all the blanks.
My pen is black in color
Just like the ink on paper,
They both match each other.

I recall my resolutions
I made a list just days past,
But writing is so much fun.
I write numbers one to nine,
When they are correct I feel fine,
But some numbers I cannot find.

I have finished all my food,
So I go out to sit in the sunshine.
I cover up my face,
Place the paper on the grass,
I let the noise fade at last,
But I must consider every remark.

With criticism one can be better
But then why are these tears around?
I can’t find seven and eight.
I need those numbers,
I need to make them match,
I need to complete these lines.
Wrote this in January, hence the resolution part \o/
Julian Delia Dec 2017
A bleak, black, endless expanse
A shifting mass of sand and tar.
It sits there, always there,
never far.

It is inside all of us; it swallows everything
like a black hole devours even light.
A well that can never be filled
A hunger that leads to our plight.

We see it everyday, governing our world
from the shadows - watching and waiting.
It stalks us like a lion stalks a deer,
ready to pounce as soon as we give way.

We give way when our hearts let in the darkness,
the refusal to believe in other human beings as kind and real people.
It is like a grave we have dug
for ourselves, a grave made
out of forgotten but unforgiven heartbreaks and amply overused ashtrays.

It is that armour which we wear to
ward off emotions, that misusage of
our soul akin to mending a bullet wound
with a bandaid.

It is the hunger felt by the stress-eater,
It is the feeling of disgust felt by the bulimic.
It is the beatings from parents or siblings,
It is the rationalisations and the excuses by the victims.
It is the space which is left
After a part of us dies along with someone else.
It is the trauma, the fear - the void
IS, and always will be, here.

And it's terrifying.
Sunday hangover poetry.
Vulpes Nov 2017
We are nothing but an empty shell,
Filling our voids with warm things to feel alive,
A composition of ravished corpses of once
Living beings that will warm our dead inside.

We are nothing but animals,
Playing human every day, faking empathy and emotion,
Playing God every day, ravaging and killing our host,
Beautiful lands left with nothing but corruption.

We are nothing but greed,
A broken people cutting their skin with green paper,
Pretending this is what true happiness means,
Killing each other for the bliss of coins.

Desperately fighting my rotten ego,
I pour blood into this empty vessel, the cage of my soul,
The core of a virus pretending to live righteously,
Yet I know that this version of me is indifferent.
A parasite.
Helen Raymond Oct 2017
Respect is earned and not given
Don't expect an attendance ribbon
No petty compliments, no kind lies
Only truth seen through different eyes

We may be harsh, we don't mince words
We value truth even when it hurts
To plant roses we must break the earth
Challenges let us prove our worth
Fritzi Melendez Oct 2017
You act as if you aren't the root of the statements you deliberately claim.
As if telling me my character is flawed and I am everything to blame.

As if stating that I can not form a sentence without shaking and stuttering is bound to take over my life, crash, and fail.
As if hypocritically saying that I'll end up pregnant with an abusive boyfriend flipping burgers to make ends meet is how my life will sail.

Granted that I'm not even able to make anyone stay with me.
A torment of words in the prison of my home, I feel I'll never be free.  

Let me tell you something, ******.
I was doing much better until you came into my life, stole my mother's heart and ****** her.

Grabbed my hair in the intention to afflict pain and make me cry
Threw us in a cardboard box and you demanded we don't question why.

Moved us into a house for the reason being you wanted to be closer to your workplace.
No consideration of us, you just expected us to put a smile on our face.

Stole the only memories, childhood, and friends I have ever made.
Left in this empty home with my sad thoughts and the pill cabinet to raid.

Only my razor blades and the silence and my head spinning in a whirl.
You talk so high and mighty for a 40 something year old always picking on a melancholic teenage girl.

Like your ***** of a mother, like a ***** of a son.
You can't even handle the consequences when your deed has been done.

You do what your mother does, and take what I hate and use it to hurt me.
It is me that I hate, and you know how much it stings more than a bee.

Brainwashed my mother to be a replica of you.
It's so sad when I see my own mom break my heart in two.

Always said that she'll protect us first.
Until you came along and made that ideation of hers burst.

The inequality of your ethics is completely noticeable.
I'm not a ******* animal, I'm a person you caged in a bubble.

You wonder why I'm the way I am: so emotional, so sad, so problematic.
Even though I'm far from the stereotypical high school teenager statistics.

As much as you've claimed you have done so much good for this family,
You've also broken me too many times for me to count, the irreversible cracks in my brain and heart's anatomy.

You need to stop attacking my very presence.
As much as I hate myself, I'm also my own essence.

Let me get better without tearing me down.
Grow the **** up and stop making yourself look like an immature clown.

I know you'll never see this or even try to listen.
Just know everything comes back around, but until then,

I hope you realize your words are damaging to my very soul.
I hope you fix your **** and bury your insensitivity 6 feet down a hole.
Wanted to vent out about the **** my mom's boyfriend does. I'm just tired of being hurt by the very people that are supposed to take care of me.
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