Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
voodoo Jan 2018
I’ve begun to hate the whole ‘I contain multitudes’ idea.

I hate every breath I have taken since I was twelve, I hate how I’ll never be okay with who I am, and I hate how this concept of containing multitudes means there’s more about myself that I will uncover and hate, again.

I hate how your curtains are chrome yellow, I hate how it spills sunlight on the scattered prints on your bedsheets that I’ve come to hate. I hate how my feet are either too cold outside, or too hot under the blanket, I hate how my neck both desires and dislikes pillows. I hate how I am never comfortable with comfort: I hate how your fingers pressing between my shoulder blades don’t relax me. I hate that I can only love if I hold it up against all that I hate.

I hate how I lie with your arm beneath my head and my mind just above it, thinking of all the things that I hate and how I never hated you. I hate how I write about you, how I hide it from you. I hate how I never said these things to you. I hate how I hate myself but never hesitate to glorify you.

I hate how I say things to make you despise me, how I twist your words to despise you, how I set us on fire and wanted you to save just me.

How delusional of me to want to worship every inch of your skin with my lips. How delusional of me to want to be divine and not lowly, to love and not to ravage.

How delusional of me to love when I can only hate.
Dakota J Dawson Dec 2017
Dreams are black and sullen
Like the black stallion
Pure beauty

Though it lacks simplification
Relying on my obsession
Killing the temptation

Is Our love true?
My love is false
No one cares

Any shining stars of a beautiful moment
Fade into oblivion and darken
Leaving me high and wet

Where is your hand
Mouth
Taste

*** is all that you are to me in this sphere of time
To not talk nor greet at the given moment
Equals talking to an unknowable god

To you, I amount to nothing
Stallion you are to me
Beauty identified

There is not a time frame for us
No goodbye or a hello
Just another sigh
J Matthew Smith Nov 2017
I’ve always adored the fact that you have parts missing from your face,
creating this sort of perfect imbalance
that makes it seem as if you were a member of your
own race,
like some far-out cat from some planet
on the skids …
You once had this strange haircut
and I wanted to slap you in the back
of your head
with an open hand
as I stared into your narrow and angelic countenance.
But who didn’t,
am I right?

So I guess that’s when it all began,
But that’s no surprise, really, because
it always begins
with very weird hair —
Anyway, when I was young I used to marvel at the primates
in their unnatural habitat.
But many years later I was
saddened by the realization that you had never
bounced around like a monkey in
form-fitting garb inside my cage.
So what am I supposed to do now
after stumbling upon you atop the furniture?

I hope that you know that I
will never, ever be the same —
And all that time we spent
turning avoidance into an art form,
which is why when I saw you squirm that day in your chair
it felt like victory despite my exhaustion.
Though I have tried,
albeit, somewhat awkwardly, to make amends,
I am convinced that every word
you have ever said to me, about me, about this,
is total *******
slung with the intention of
hiding your disdain
behind sweet words and a laugh
that cuts me every time.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2017
Almost all the crap in my life
Is something I’ve done wrong;
Bad decisions I have made
As I stumbled my way along.
When I was an adolescent
I blamed my stuff on others;
My peers, friends and brothers.

I made up stories and finger-pointed.
Soon nobody wanted to trust me,
My social posture became disjointed.
Was it all of them or was it just me?
I taught myself to quickly lie
And to make elaborate excuses.
It’s almost like I had no gift
To live without ****-saving ruses.

Early I learned polite society
Would not say to my face.
That my sense of personal ethics
Had become a huge disgrace.
Folks smiled and said empty words.
None had the care and grace to say
They’d quickly check their watches
If I told them the time of day.

But only for a certain time
Can this kind of crass stupidity
Avoid even my devious vision.
It stole from them and from me.
Sooner or later, even my hard head
Had to want the truth and admit
The book of my life was being read
And my lies were a huge part of it.
Next page