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Tryniti Jun 3
Abandoned under the guise of self-sacrifice
How many times have you told these lies

A wonder to behold in your own right
Latching on, holding tight
I was lost the moment I got in your sights

A silver tongue with unmatched wit
Even the most dominant would submit
To your linguistic lashings

Skilled in verbal maneuvers and molding minds
You reveled in being one of a kind

Sly, and slick, smooth and quick
Your trick was finding what made me tick

You made me yours, then slipped away
I was your toy, begging to play

But then you were done; tired I suppose
You disappeared, to where..god only knows

You played the martyr, a victim, a pawn
Suddenly all of your power was gone

I know better, but I still feel incomplete
The flavor of erasure is so bittersweet
05.31.2020
Rj Aug 2019
new white dresses bought with
old money earned by the
hard work of
no one who saw a cent.
soft silks on cotton grounds and
red roses with the
thorns cut off.
a smiling bridal party lined up beside tall
ivory columns and
rows of grapes grown by people with
reddened backs and aching feet.
a bride and groom kiss under the
hanging tree and the
branches deformed by the
weight of the ropes are
cropped from the photo.
the lesson that we learn from this is the
blood of one hundred and
twenty eight people can be
cleaned with just
one bar of

bright.

white.

soap.
this poem is about plantation weddings. i learned of these and they were so horrific that i felt as though i needed to spread awareness of them, especially the way plantations and people who come from old money in the south are trying to erase the history of the slavery that gave them money.
Sol Apr 2018
The last few months have been horrible
like wind next to your voice
there isn’t any connection but lightning
the whole point is to do better
than the ones that don’t have control
the crowd put a border around you
someone will encourage you to just give up
You’re being buried under thousands
of other people talking.

It’s better safe than sorry. Say “Hello,
welcome” Ask them questions; don’t argue
You are not the best at this but try

Set up a stream. Watch it set.
someone may join, keep going.
even when things go wrong.
Source material:
http://codedgames.com/10-tips-for-starting-a-twitch-channel/
Ryder McEntyre Aug 2016
Don't get me wrong,
I'll hold your silence
That you gave them.

It's not my noise to
Expel, knowing dams
May release a torrential
Frond that I now choose
Not to facilitate.

You needed me,
But I needed you
Much more, but
If I wasn't awake

This might be too familiar,
All the lights are on, it's my fault.
I fell asleep again, too awake,
Leaving lonely sheets to bake
In a morning light no one appreciates
We're both gone, and there's no one
Who knows your power unfolding
Across hapless subjects of your
Own design.

We will be erased.
At least to me, every new innocence broken,
Crashing against rocks of jealousy, tied to
A dock built out of false promises to myself
Begging the question, how do I begin again?
all i do is narcissistic ~ why dont u love me ~ poetry but like look @ my love life tbh its all i got
Madison Y Sep 2015
You thought it'd be so easy to love a girl made of paper—
Crumple her mind in your fist, leave your mark on her vacant skin.
You were threatened by her lightness, by the staunch white;
Told yourself she'd be better for the splotch of color, even thank you one day.
Her edges would be thin, barely breaking skin if she cut you back—a quick sting and it's over,
no lasting scars.
Little did you know ink flows through her veins—
Miles and miles of words sharper than your scissors raging through arteries,
Pounding in her ears, crashing like waves against her teeth.
You thought it'd be so easy to burn a girl made of paper—
You tore her open only to drown.
Ottar Apr 2015
echoes
land                                 moving
           somewhere
tied                                  to
              ­                                     morning mist.

morning,
                         she's
string


             that
  

                    nothing
is          two
                   bottles

of linen

               But, whiskey-----
From Stephen Leacock The MarineExcursion of the Knights of Pythias
Posted this too on my Instagram @elverum51  #elverum51
Nothing Much Feb 2015
I'm sick of hearing about drunken men
Slurring their thoughts out through the tips of their pens
And the history of poetry had been bleached as white
As the parchment on which their poems were printed
The challenge is to write a poem in 140 characters or less (something I'm doing for creative writing class)
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