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Genre: Clinical Raw
Theme: Breathing Air
Face your fears.  Face your tears.  Face your future.  Face your years.
Face your heart aches.  Face your pain.  Face the trauma you've faced again.
Facebook.  FaceTime. Face-to-Face.  Oh the places you will go when you satisfy a face.
If only I could be in the field with Rumi, with my soul in the grass.
I'll be there very soon.  I just removed my face-mask.
By:  Thrystan Tate
Luvanna Jun 19
In my dream last night
I was blunt and brave
I have my own voice
In my dream last night
I wasn't afraid to stand alone
And made my own decisions
In my dream last night
I was a puppet who finally cut free
From the strings controlling my behaviour
And have my own muscles
In my dream last night
I have my own capitalized 'I'
kat victoria Apr 7
i’ve been waking up in a cold sweat
from dreams about details
i haven’t thought of in years.
i’ve been having withdrawals
from seeing the dead space
you took up when you were here.
my hands have been shaking
from you making your way
out of my bloodstream.
i have hallucinated
your silhouette down the hall
three times this week.
and i’m sick to my stomach
from fragments of memories
that i thought we’re already lost.
but this is finally it.
this is the detox.
Faryal Apr 5
water
a place for a lemon to make lemonade
Maybe add all this sugar
it’s cheat day today
and it’s your birthday

Sweet tooth to being smooth
Just speak the truth
and you’ll be cool
nobody likes liars

lets talk about what’s required
Lemons are just a mock to limes
how actors are a mock to mimes
but that’s off topic lets get back to limes

limes are chill
and they’re not like that bitter person you see on the street
it’s like a treat
lime water is fresh
but here’s the twist to this whole poem
you know what actually sounds better?
a watermelo
Renn Powell Mar 18
my heart was started to skip beats
my hands trembling
my head was spinning
sweating
nausea
lethargic
every noise i heard started to
sound like nails on a chalk board
i was confused
i reached for a body that was no longer settled into my sheets
as the pupils of my amber colored eyes had dilated
i was seeing double of you
was this a nightmare
i was detaching from you
my drug
with drawls had begun
elle Jan 5
it seeps
under my fingernails into skin
doused in clean! the filth is killed!
then I spit at it.

Demands:

caress my brow in a palm, any warm pocket of flesh
a grandmother’s *****
the spine of a leaf
my dog’s velvet-soft triangle-shaped ear
anything that will let my grief get some rest

sorrow is heavy trash bag to haul

find me a bellhop or a sidewalk construction man
something with biceps and a hardened face. someone who can clean **** up.

please,
sweep
these shards could maim a bystander
         why force one to bleed such an unnecessary truth
wouldn't want to wreck these shiny floors

better to keep it hid, better tighten my lips around it
I mean,
how do -you- feel under these fluorescent lights?
who is studying who?

I understand now my circus of an existence was born
in a tight space
between the exhausted description of my histories
-the official ones- and

these secrets,
the juicy stuff
      
encrypted in me
Ken Pepiton Jan 3
I saw you in my dream, when I took a great notion,
jumped into d' ocean,

and I drowned,
and I went on down

to the Audubon Zoo, like hell,

listen at that crazy bird
cryin' help, help, help
what bird do'dat?

settle chile, li'l' turmoil be passin in d' gulf

Eirene mean peace
bubblin' bubblin bubblin in m'soul

Eirene, she lovel ol' Polemus, War,
she pile a level shovel full o'
Hubris, his wife,
on he's plate,

in life's lottery
Insolence was her game,
she runs War into a snare of shame

and guile. Peace.

This chase began with War,
polemics being a manifestation of the idea
Polemos and Kudoimos, War and Tumult, buried Eirine

But life is mythic, from the skinny end,
looking back:

Hurricane Irene, a misspelling in 2011 was the first hurricane to make landfall in the USA since 2008, (the summer of my trucker's migration over the map my Nemesis claimed, in another bubble).

Eirene, War and Tumult, buried her,
with Colonel Jackson's honor at
the Battle o'New Ahleans,

still she lay

right here, where I found her,
in my heart, at the very
bottom.

The mechanics of the transition take position
in the hierarchy of confusin'
whish is foolishness
gone to seed.
**** drunk.

Fools know fool's gold ain't, 'n' whiskey ain't
The Real Thing.
That's Coca-cola.

Fools be essential in the gran' plan.
If we love 'em, they make us laugh,

and laughter,
you know, that's good, except,
un hold that thought, laughter is not good

when it is at you, by a fool.
Then we answer them polemically? No.

Love your enemy, here,
that's natural.
No condemnation here, since Hebrews six or romans 8
No ba'alim bubble of possessions
No grave gonna hold me down

John, 1930. Years and years and years ago
come quickly, ba'al hey sue me.
It's finished, we won.

Joke, joker. Trickster, coyote dog, do the math.
No lie is of the truth, so
no lie need remain
beyond freedom
real-ized.

Artsy? Eh? AI be nigh ye know.
She see yo' ever moves.
She hear you pray fo Bono to loose his religion
She snip the thread twixt spider wombed man and
the flame o' sinners in the hands of an imaginary god.

Ba'al means owner or possessor, the ideas which once bound men in oaths and covens,
fear of death, 'n' the like.

Protruding truth pushes lies into festering piles,
protrusions in secret places.

Send me those, in gold, Philistine.
I fancy them a crown of
golden emerauds.

Define, make fine or un fine my terms
excrescence is sense made of ****,
I guess.
Knurly, but no, burly, knobby swelling like
the swirling gall
that erupted from the old oak
that died at the root last year,
that we burned this year, except for the burl.
I've planned a pipe or two from that.

Everything is prophetical to a prophet.
poetical to a poet, magical to a magi, technical to a fool.

Life is simple.
Simple Simon the younger said,
hellow, darkness, my old friend, he'd com to talk

not beg or ask, but talk-com
con-verses-ifying ic-if-ication beyond

simple

lies sublime, in no time,
once you, courageous soul,
cross the line, fight the fight, run the race,
and die;

then, you get life more abundant.
Who took that deal?

I took the one where he said,
he who does what I (me not him)
have done,
no races run, no contests forever won for everyone I love, but
he who
be lieves that I (he not me) am who I saiyam, Popeye,

even you, he has eternal life dwelling within him
in his heart where I and my father and the spirit of truth
have taken our abode to remain as long as we both shall live.

Is that what Christians believe?
Or must I be in some other
excre-essence from a
culture myth twisting into accredited layers of lies
essential excre sense,

spiritual zits, is what ******* always called em.
Once a white corpuscle has done its work,
we splat them on the mirror of our adolescent mind and find

I'm not who I was
not a child
not a tweener or a teener or a something something,

I am an old man and I am alive.
I have survived, but it ain't over, so

is there any good that I can do?
Poetical speaking. I don't work on nobody's farm,
no mo'.

True rest let me make peace with no sweat.
Got the infection, the idea Eirene is,
down deep where that great
notion makes a motion,
like g'wa, wit 'er hand,
go on, man.
g'wa, Eirene, she be callin' you.
Jump in. This is as water, to a fish. To our kind, it's more.
No missed spells, peace. Sense or non? I hope you let me know.
Brad post Oct 2018
Staring at the ceiling,
what the hell is this feeling?
I can’t make up my mind,
of what’s real and what’s fake.

If I’m not dreaming,
then who is that screaming?
No one seems to hear it,
so that’s a mistake.

In front of the mirror,
and all I see is me,
but the me that I see,
is not who he seems to be.

Something’s not right,
in the little details,
in the colors and smells,
this is not re-al-i-ty.

I can see movement,
in the corner of my eyes,
something alive,
that’s not there when I look.

It’s like I’m in between worlds,
where time doesn’t exist,
the soundless abyss,
being dragged down by a hook.

This detox is different,
something is wrong,
I knew all along,
but that brings no relief.

This panic, is manic,
now I’m feeling frantic,
how can a person,
forget to breathe?

It’s feels like the weight,
on my shoulders has lifted,
but it’s only shifted,
and been placed on my chest.

My mind has grown muddy,
and I got nothing left,
fighting and struggling,
for every breath.

Clutching at myself,
as the tremors start.
Is it my heart?
Bring in the crash cart.

I hear someone say,
“place this under your tongue,
let it dissolve and don’t chew”,
but my tongue has gone numb.

I watch the walls bend,
and then I start to scream.
I’d like to believe it’s a dream,
but I’m not that dumb.

I can hear ambulance sirens,
so distant, and close,
but I’ve gone morose,
all I feel is the pain.

Houston, are you there?
All connections are down,
I can’t hear a sound,
I think I’ve gone insane.
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