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xavier thomas Jan 2022
-someone pray for my family to start moving forward.
-past regrets has my family still walking backwards.
-no gatherings, reunions pass due, no nothin’
-stay in contact mainly on Facebook or group texts.

-I never wanted this
-members can’t get past previous trauma that’s keeping them ******.
-most mindset are like “I don’t rock nor want to bother them.”
-man F**k that -ish
-let’s stick together, we still have time to heal over our egos,
stop trying to quit.

-family wishing to redo their prime past for a better paradise in mind.
-living now is the “fear.”
-since nobody wants to say it, I’ll express this  overbearing feelings.
-the fact my grandma still cooped up in the house feeling worthless
is dangerous cause she feels left out or no one wants to visit her due to “un-build relationships”.
-feeling unfit.

-most members from the Chi-Town calling me like I’m the man now.
-because they can’t get along nor grow together, so i’m their problem solver now.
-sad seeing the family drown, so I pick the pen up to write the words down.
-sometimes it’s embarrassing writing these words down
-but someone has to expose these generational curse truths now.
I’m just a Chicago kid
neth jones Feb 2022
contaminated...                            

the boy is explained in the dark
                  made smaller and tighter than his thirteen years
        invented a-tread each direful night ;
            in place of restfulness
                   he is tussled :

itchy within                                    
moans of a growth owning pain
domestic air is newly surrogate
the boy flees upstairs
the condition of the home is sickly
             excreted beads from the fibres
a pale mix is gland
                        a perspiration out of sorts
pursed
spritzed
lively          
            then a wing-ed light smog

keeping to his room                            
he sits on his bed to 'wait it out'
the sun downs                        
as fruited ideas                
                   treacle up the pine wood walls
as otherworld tones        
                             flute the flumes that plumb the walls
as his mother clears the dishes
        with the radio on
as the fathers increasing tardiness
        makes the wound hour leaden further

outside
wind starts churning up the monster
hustling the coniferous trees
stoking the forrest for its brazen voice
jeeving hard upon the house
dry *******
inducing a perverse osmosis
within                                              
          pressurized audibility is clayed
hairs on the carpet tick static
              ....  this negative duress

outside
the moon hides its legend            
an autumn owl takes the bough
     just above the boys window
    it hunches into its ruffle
       retches up a pellet of prey
fur and crushed bone
            clatters dryly into the gutter

the boy works his jaw
       relieving his popping ears
the rooms climate becomes sparky
important items radiate auras :
             the scorpion in formaldehyde
stolen from school
                          grandmas mourning ring on a string
                suspended above his desk
        an old key discovered in  the woods

investigation                          
a brief hole in sound
a slim bik of light traverses
  over the boy
    the bed
       and out into the hallway
it winks gone
     and sips of smoke
like lithe neat scraps of silk
start livening the corners of vision

he stands                                                      
open­s his closest and dresses for sleep
      yield to routine

Mother enters                              
    always a human breath                  
                                         of pre decay warmth
      here to make him into his bed
bound by her neat practiced tucks
                         the boy receives her loving words
                                  but she's in a separated world from his
distortion gums up the audibility          
he attends to lips
the blessings don't function right
mistress smudges are left in the air            
they trail from the corners of her mouth
                             with the expressive turns of her head

fending lightly from the room
she blows a kiss at the doorway
it punches a little galaxy swirl
                              and suspends
a heated blue weave of the hand
                    and she is gone

door concluded and the light left on
the wall flower patterns crick and shale loose
    they cash into the flooring
and in turn the floorboards palpitate finely
feathering into a unreliable state

less than a minute later ...                   
fathers presence                              
   makes an apologetic attempt
                                                     at a ghost-walk
sounds clumbered in an aquarium                
    he slides his back down the drunken partition
and talks
   he sells a story of personal wretchedness
some lesson is vague
flammability
the boy takes the readings                  
                  of the distant vocal squall
pauses in the erratic speech weather expect replies  
     but the boy fears this colonized version of the father

though anger
                        father does not enter
rumbles his fists, feet              
                 and frustration at the wall
stands                                            
      and­ punches his footfalls
                  to the master bedroom

the parents
together now closeted
amniotic             
their world fidgets fiercely and swells          
swaddled in their own dramatics
firing blindly                        
their voices
travel the pipes in the walls
back to the boys room
                drowned of discourse
but not the aggressive 'passion' flaring out
they plunder the boys ears

Sudden ! ;                
                  brakked smell of flint
a bird slams the window dead        
crack in the pressure
unbearable penetrating release
screaming the boy host violent
minds that bind are loosened
subpoenaed                                              ­
          the boy recoils and fends this raid
kicks off the bedding
strips free of his pyjamas
a thick layer of his own goes with it
fleecing his actual skin                        
raw stinging exposure
he tugs at the flay of his own rubbery peel
enough layers of dermis in one
grip and pull
to make real hurt
raw of pain
(it feels)
tug-tug
grip
and pull
sleeves off of limbs
and a sappy caul from his bonce
he doffs the leather onto the floor
fresh wash of song
fierce waves of signals hot and cool
he ***** up his matty sheered hide
"**** it !"
pulls up the window enough
vent
an outward 'gush' as the pressure balances
the boy                        
dispose    
      push the viscid pelt out
the boy expels
disgorged into the night

                                              - consummated
Kym Relo Jan 2022
Moving to a new place
Is leaving
And wondering
Why everyone left  you.
I miss my old home. I miss my friends. I miss everything I used to be.
Robert Ippaso Jan 2022
Every time I do a smell
I think it's cool, somehow just swell,
I turn around and look to see
If they caught on it was me.
I cast a frown and act confused
For all to know I'm quite bemused,
I quickly learned this is the key
To then bleat out...it wasn't me!

I feign a gaze of sad and hurt
Shuffle my feet across the dirt,
How could they think this one sweet boy
Would ever dream up such a ploy.
I wait a while, just stand around
Until all doubts have gone to ground,
Then with a twinkle and much glee
Another fly’s, followed by...it wasn't me!
A little fun
CIN Jan 2022
Its interesting
The way it feels to be
Nothing and everything all at once
These feelings are dizzying
Spinning me in circles as i stare into the sky
There are planes making orange trails
Cloudless blue fading into brilliant pink
And ginger lines of exhaust
It’s cold in this hell
Bellowing through my ornate lungs
I exhale a scream of agony
And watch your expressionless face
I remember that you are nothing but a pawn in life's sick game.
yves Jan 2022
dearest you,

my mind is like a blank paper, seems to be waiting for someone to write it a letter. i do not know how to think, what to say, or how to even breathe. in the past, i have seen the hard things in life pass right through me, and i haven't even bothered to react. it looks like i have never been hurt.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my parents telling them that yes, i may be young but i know the feeling of debilitating effects of numbness. that yes, i may be young but i understand the feeling of wanting to drown your overwhelming sorrows in alcohol, smoke, or the company of another person.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my family in which i express that the things i've been interested in aren't wrong. this isn't something i picked up off the internet or from a movie; this is something i've felt my whole life. i've come to the realization that i can love anyone the same way i love myself despite their differences.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my first love, in which i confess my desire and embrace the tender heart that dwells within me for you. while i understand that you may not believe me or ever see me with you again, the love that i have for you remains in every word i've written to you since it is only when i write my true emotions come out. however, the love that i have for you will only live on in every letter i send you.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my mind, in which i convey my view that it is alright to overthink, but that it is never tolerable to forget to breathe. you can't imagine your life without the adventures and warmth you've enjoyed. there is no way to live without conflict or hatred, just as there is no way to live without grieving or shattering. all of this builds to your self. so what's the point of changing it?

this is not a poem, but rather a message to my heart, in which i ask why you are acting as if you don't worry? scared to emerge from the shadows, scared of being crushed, why are you acting as if you are unable to love, as if you are unable to change the world, and as if you are unable to follow those dreams that are passing behind your closed eyes?

this is a letter to them, in which i wonder as to why they are fascinated with who to love at such a young age. why not just wait for it to cross the border? and if it's lost, why are you still there? being in pain and staring as if you are not wanting to try make it today.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter, written to you and your heart and mind in essence. a letter to anyone who wonders while they slumber their laments floating away into the night.

this is a letter from someone who is full of hope and desire to make a difference and leaving a word that you will not be entirely fine if you are not going to beat the whispers from hell.

always and forever,
amanda
haven't write for a long time but these words are the thoughts that i wanna say after so many years of living
Steve Page Jan 2022
Sharing cracked living
and hard fried eggs
Re heated
Re purposed
Re deemed

But we were early to heaven
Higher in the rafters
And closer to our dead
Listening to reminisces.
Amanda Kay Burke Jan 2022
When will you start showing me respect?
Sick of being put down
How can I feel welcome in a place
Where it is clear I'm not wanted around?
A moment of peace all I want
Chaos surrounds every day
You are center of it all
The aggressive words you say
Families supposed to show love
You just show level of disgust
Unhappy with my behavior
Incapable of giving trust
What can I achieve to make you proud?
Each time I try I fail
Impossible getting back on track
In fact fear we will derail
You complain about the state of things
Nothing I do ever appears to be right
When I sit still and do nothing at all
That becomes one more reason to fight
Your insecurities projected on us
You are too stubborn to see
Picking apart my character
Convinced the problem is me
But if fault is really mine
Why am I not the only one?
Friction found in every conversation
Battles never done
I try making you understand
I'm not strong enough to break through
In these confrontations
Common denominator is you
But you are so quick to blame everyone else
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2022
~
5:52am
The bright morning sun comes out to play,
considerable yawns
and we are all awake,
anchored in the reef,
ready for its mischief


11:16am
The children excitedly point starboard
to a school of dolphins
leaping for joy as they go by,
little hands wave hello and goodbye,
'thank you' in their eyes,
etched now in their little minds
as a timeless memory


3:31pm
Everyone is napping,
except my significant other,
she slips off her clothes
and enters the afternoon water
for a bit of meditative bathing,
the shimmer of light
reflecting off her beauty
as a siren of Anthemoessa,
I cannot help but somnolently observe
do I dream this belief?
or do I believe this dream?


9:47pm
The boat rocks gently to
the rhythms of the sea,
the stars overhead form
a celestial blanket,
sheltering, enveloping,
their far off twinkles
telling us a story
—a time for spindrifting
—a time for bed

~
Inspired by the instrumental song "Near the Island" by U2.
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