Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Carlo C Gomez May 14
she is inescapable
fringe coefficient
a strange perfume tonight
lips to the phone
he took her on a laptronica trip
bitters and Absolut and pistachio
listening to the frightful sections of an unused movie score
and playing a new game
—studies in paralysis
no sympathy, no violins
just musette and drums
just an avalanche of images
Carlo C Gomez Apr 11
her hesitating beauty
over a hundred days
each a silk thread
each a dark pearl

kissing specifics
in the empty space of a matinée
hologram of the new sun
burning like prime meridian, the hunter's star

ripples of inhibition, making waves
and confessions in
the deep end of a pool

always submissive with a smile
like holding her breath underwater
Trojan Mar 19
I stared once at this box
With a golden pink sign
"Femininity" it said

And yet the box was black
A sealed and hidden front
Pry it open? T'was quite hard

I know that this Pandororos' box
Holds some treasure at the top
I dread however, all the rot below

I think often of this box
All the treasure near its top
Creativity, care and justice

Pandororos - all the gifts at the top
And I still dread, what hides just below that top
Blood and tears, bits of flesh
All the rot below the top
August, 2022
Haven't even shed Crocodile tears
Calloused feet and scaled back,
the tare and ware.

Biting wildly and deeply in to what feeds me
That desperation is the toll it has me in a death roll
This whirlwind of drip grit and flames; whilst spinning in the mud I can have no shame.

It's my pride that deluded me to think myself an ancient king of lakes and streams.
Watering holes or beach front property
On a sunny day my kind knows harmony
We only know war At the movement of opportunity.
A Petty precarious peace treaty:
Survival of the fitness; closed mouths don't get fed
Survival instinct; if you don't eat you'll be the one who loses an arm and a leg

How can I even shed Crocodile tears
When I've become the dread
Adapting or remembering. Was it the blood in my veins or the blood that's washed These eyes.
Aeneid Mar 1
They say you can't choose whom you love,
But I say that's not entirely true.
Sometimes, you will it
And their flaws melt into sea foam and footnotes
And you begin to love so deeply,
That it becomes as automatic as breathing
Constant. Ever. Driving.
Love that paints the sky pink and the blacks blue

But me, I'm not ready for that love.
Something inside me becomes nauseous.
The air gets taught and sharp,
Goosebumps become body briars
Ready to cut anyone too close.
I want to love, and,
One day, I'll will it.
Won't I?

There is a responsibility, borne
within an online conveyance
   of the heart
when it comes to publicly posted poetry..

For within the conveyance of words
released into the Universe..
(words once residing  within
the inner linings of heart and soul..   words..
now made seen and known  to all)

is the deeply embedded DNA
of the author,

wherein lies the accountability;
when those words,  bearing
genetic imprint
enter into the heart of another.

I write  specifically
over things touched within me
But try to convey it
in a sense..  Universally

so that it might be taken  in
by any and all

.. That the benefits of Love's beautiful ways
may find access into the parts of the heart
that need it most..
sometimes, sneaken in  and finding root
before the receiver is even aware..
bringing, inside the recipient's skin


     But also the potentiality
     of becoming hurt.

I am sorry.

(and most everyone else in the world)
rarely, if ever..  talk to me.

But I watch you just the same
solely  by what you write.
My existence causes pain.

     That..  I know.

I love you more
than you will ever know.
I would stop writing,  but I don't know how
There's not a 12-step group
for these things

I dream of one day being killed
for who it is that I am.
I dream.. and then I smile.
But I do not smile at all,
the times I see that you are hurt.
I have real arms,  
   ..within this poetic world
   that is so very intangible--

When you cry,
they could not truly show you
it's okay

They cannot show anyone
that it's okay
Everyone's afraid of me
like I'm some kind of perpetrator
So I will die alone..  judged
for things I have not done

So I am sorry, my Beautiful--
It really is all my fault
for ever truly wanting to see.
   All I ever wanted to do
   was become able to see

and overcome the  hurt
that  long ago so horribly hurt me

You've become hurt
by my ability to see.

I'm sorry.

There is a dread
that comes from living this way.
everyone is eventually
coming back Home.

Corny or not,
maybe this strange little song will somehow help you to see
just how very sorry..

I am.
For hurting you.

For believing.

He wrote it, just trying to convey  a feeling
he did not fully understand:
If you only knew   just how very much.

belief in the salvation of all souls.

driven by a ghost
possessing my body
I lived with a mind
a stranger with no identity
a thatched soul, fake
- no authenticity
quivered in fear
of people in my vicinity
may they never discover
the imposter - my entity.
Jeremiah Mhlongo Jul 2022
Here still, words like hair unkempt,
Potent poison taking slowly to the grave,
The heart, in its silent scream,
Perhaps a last ditch will amount,
To fruitful ends, honey and milk,
How lithely you go about,
I melt,
Love is without words,
A mute man's voice,
And here silence to the deaf.
I have sat still, with all this love inside, why I could not share with you is unknown, maybe it's fear, maybe you won't love me
aviisevil Jul 2022
tethered to her ivory wings

nestled in arms of a corpse

and to her lover she does sing:

a song of the white horse.

from her tower of purple pearls

she weaves her a sky of plume;

wherein distance morrow whirls

weary of the yester silver moon.

she lays upon an emarald gale

another spell to cast in bloom

for her love is now old and frail

becoming of dread, death and gloom.
Psychosa Jun 2022
My existence  is forlorn.
From my body, I am torn.
Withered and stripped,
My soul is worn.
Inside brews an endless storm.
Oh how I long to be no more.
Next page