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Nobody 6h
They see what they’re supposed to see
now don’t notice the storm on the sea
just laugh at all the false hope.
He yearns for the end of it all
But how could they have possibly known.  

His despair doesn’t care about the signs
or mind the decline
but they believe the lines every time,
and remember all the words.
So he’ll just suffer in silence
and be thankful it could always be worse.
Sharon Talbot Jun 30
She ran a boarding house in Boston,
But they used her size to terrorize men
And lead them to the lock-holes.
Or was she a lady clad in black ruffles,
Presented to the Queen in 1844?
Perhaps she was a racehorse
Foaled in Harlem and won a prize.
She had peddled drugs and run a gang
In the chaos of Civil War,
Black Mariah escaped from the darkness
Of Edison’s studio to roam the world,
But in it found herself re-imagined.
They named police wagons after her
It’s said, but no one knows the truth.
Did she cross the battle lines again,
To tread on civil rights?
Or swing the batons in Chicago
And fire rifles at Kent State?
She seems to take time out to charm
Gruff-voiced men who sing her praise.
She prowled the streets of Brixton,
In 1983, with truncheons at her side.
Through gas clouds, dragging men to jail.
Black Mariah is with us still,
Helping to create tyrants and traitors,
To stop the mouths of those who defy
She’s an accessory to the killing.
A riff taken from the slang name for police vans in certain times and areas, especially featured in The Clash song "Guns of Brixton", and alternate meanings, such as a lady who wore black gowns, a racehorse, a boarding house owner. Really a hodge-podge of meangs with emphasis on civil rights violations. I spelled it "Mariah" so it would not be pronounced "Ma-ree-ah"!
miki Jul 2022
when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last

i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud
Keen Apr 2022
were a
a monster
Eyes are swollen, everything is falling, to pieces, tiny ones.
Nigdaw Apr 2022
you can see the forward
in my eyes
skin lined with the people
to so far thank for the ride
if you delve into the chapters
there's a need to sit down
this is no fiction nobody's clown
the story will end
right in front of your eyes
where I am standing
without my disguise
Not specifically about me, I just feel there is so much more to people, never judge a book by it's cover.
Raven Feels Nov 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, a lost poem<3

my pathetic desperacy
all epic with a naturalistic misery
angels hailed my numbers
now my calculations fumble
the rest
the equation unsettled on an aimless quest
everything has changed
but the undeserved trust is an ultimate unattained
my state in dooms
orbiting faces behind moons
a wreckage when asleep
like the neptunes called me
she said hit the lights
but the blinds blinded my sights
a little optimism whisks me hopeful
forget forever the features
that lulled me once to my breather
now something broken
don't worry nothing stolen
for me to stick for me to piece neat
queen the rusted diamonds under my seat
follow the heart's revolution
undercover not a solution
alone even if disappointing
even when betraying
let my allusions surf the six temples
shadows bathing my past resembles
to come clean
find the place beyond the cold mean
like the twirl of the system
no one else wanted to resist him
took me there
to the middle of no where
my dilemma is that frightened half
no good to steal no good to laugh
but with a wake up to them dreams such a slap
a wisdom's muse would eventually snap
stars dance
her sky tortures her glance
crimson red and she realizes
that the once for all so be it would summarize this
would the potion grant a pain?
the poison of them affairs regard my chained name
let go
just say yes to saying no
stay awake
don't sleep take a break
Nigdaw Oct 2021
you are cold
to the touch
despite that smile
purporting warmth
from the corner of my eye
you cannot disguise
your shape
your shadow
your intent
I woke up one day,
filled with fierce eyes.
Checked the time
didn't want
to get out-of-

Another hour
Another day,
Time flashes by
through hearts

my feet on
the hard wood crevices
feeling my cold morning flesh
touch the floor

Glanced into the mirror
and here i' am again
a female beast
in disguise.

to do my best
live day by day
to be treated like
an angry animal
through the

living tired of the pain
I want to get away
somewhere far

my cold drink
sometimes i may
not want to eat
so I slip my shoes on
and take a deeper breath
in then walk my way
out the front

to me, the morning
is pretty quiet, with a fresh
dew and sunrise groom.
When I look around
there's no one in site
until the day goes by
and their back in

me away
from this ugly place
this is not my home
but a temporary warmth
filled with childhood memories
within good and bad
filling me in like
a hawk searching
for roadkill
in the distance
of a backroad
smothered in
a raw
Kaitlin Jul 2021
And to think that even the otherworldly
Is made other by this world of ours.

And every fiction
is just some little reality
wrapped and tied in ribbon
or cloaked in elven wools
painted in one thousand colors
or masked in grime and muck.

And, so disguised,
Reality becomes truer.
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