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Dirty Dishes were left
for every one to see,

Being spectated by the
Different type of people,
and being pitied,
by those who don't bother to do theirs anymore.

i miss before,
the before where i didn't
wake up to the smell
of old food moisturizing,

The before Where,
Time flew through our Open window,
the before where people didn't have to try,
And ignore our dirty dishes.

But now,
there's just dirty dishes
in the kitchen,

A broken drunk man,
on the living room floor,

A mother,
that's tired of being someone,

And me,
Walking over the drunk man,
ignoring dirty dishes,
and getting myself
to school.
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a dirty cement
the names 'mark + bethany' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums  
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their fucking collar
CallMeVenus Oct 4
Honestly, I am barely surviving without you
I now get that it never stops hurting
And all I can think of is how you look in the moonlight
How your lips were cold and slow
How my ribcage broke the moment you pulled me closer
You are alive in every corner of my mind
Feels dirty yet powerful
And I kinda love it

I can't really be alone at night
So I search for slow cold lips and knowing hands
Pain in the chest. I connect you with pain. The good kind.
I summon you at night.
Whatever I touch I leave numb
Anya Sep 30
I turned off
The poetry hose
For a short while
When I noticed
It was getting
Contaminated
By
A substance known as
“Social insecurity”
Hey,
...
Have you ever been poisoned by it?
When writing this poem I intended it to mean that my poems were becoming less honest because of insecurity. But honestly the “social insecurity” could also be interpreted to represent any word that stands for the deeper, darker, or side of you you’re ashamed to show others.
Jo Swan Sep 28
A dirty duct tape silences my mouth
People say blood is thicker than water
Yet your thunderous voice screams at me
Does daddy cherish his daughter?
So why can’t your eyes open and see
You’ve become a Mein Kampf tyrant?
You want my obedience and silence!

A dirty duct tape silences my mouth
As it leaves a residue of disgust
Must this be our memory?
Though silent my heart feels unjust-
Must you suck all my energy;
Leave me to feel lost and astray
As mental state starts to decay

A dirty duct tape silences my mouth
Will your anger subside and be quiet?
Fear suffocates vulnerable heart;
Wrathful words ready for a riot;
Confidence crushed as it’s torn apart.
Verbal abuse moves like a torrent flood,
Affecting those who share the same blood!

(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
This is dedicated to the silent victims of emotional and verbal abuse. Words can heal or harm a person's spirit. Home is meant to be a safe haven but unfortunately not everbody can feel loved and cherished in their own home.
ArielMarriel Sep 26
Dirty words aren’t always hidden
in symbols, are they?

Some poets use words to wound,
and they know my weakness.

The subtle weapon of language.
The tool of a master.

Artfully chosen,
then Drawn like a dagger.

Slaying my attempts
at peace of mind.

Because they know I always
read between the lines.
F@#k it.
He aims to maim.
But I won’t let him.
Gods1son Sep 25
You know how ugly we make
our beautiful dress feel because of
a droplet of stain on it at a party.

Do we have to do the same to ourselves or others?
nish Sep 20
i like angry sex
the kind that makes me scream

honestly i will admit
i push your buttons
so you can bite my clit
then soothe it gently with a lick

drive me to the edge
then pull my back
hold me there
don't let me fall
whisper softly
"take it all"

retribution, thats what you call it
yet i can't help but love it

tease me a while
with just the tip
slip it in
move a bit
then thrust right in
all at once
fill me up
and make me oh

my hands make fists
ready to fight
they clutch the sheets
take in this sight

a lovers quarrel
thats what it is.
Some fights are worth the sex.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 19
Though the world is grey,
it always will come down to
either black or white
Small haiku! ^^
Lyn xxx
Surya Teja M Sep 11
The words are magical
Mysterious too
They entice us into
A world of fantasy
Lure us with their curves
And seduce us to play romantic games

I was not the exceptional
I was too entangled in it's web
Craved to write love,
Lust, beauty and people
Which fade away as clock ticks

They transformed my words into fictional
Took me away from this natural world
I was flying in it's beauties
I was touching it's indelible curves
And went deep inside it's private parts

I fell from that sky on a starry night
Like a star that laminates more
Hit to the grounds of reality
The fragile fantasies were shattered
Made me alone in my story

The reality is bitter unlike the fantasy
It bites my bones, eats my head
Burns my soul and torments my heart
To write what is true
Despite of being ugly and dirty

As I walk along the pavements
My heart is loaded with misery
The agony it has brought is completely a mystery
All I realized,
The writers whom I read were impotent to write this pain down

Dustbins are screaming for mothers
Pavements are starving for food
Brothel houses are moaning for their souls
Preachers are filling hatred
Politicians are serving agony

I want to weep
I want to write
I want to bleed
It's about a new Writer who is vexed up reading and writing love, lust, fantasies which made him lost his grip to cling to the harsh dirty and ugly reality.
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