scooby 5h

She turned her home into a brothel,
and killed god in the process,
because he was an untrained craigslist hire
and struck a nail straight through a wire
hidden in the wall,
and died
foaming at the mouth.
She,
in turn googled a WikiHow
and did the work herself.

I am tired mostly of poetry that is about women and their sad downfall into their own sexuality.
mk 9h

she's searching for god
in all the wrong ways
kissing men and bottles
turning her home into a brothel
staying up till dawn
chanting his name instead of
god's
she's looking for redemption
and a way to let go
she's looking for god to forgive her
but instead she begs for you
to touch her and love her
and make her feel complete
she wants a godly love
you can't compete
she's looking for god
in all the wrong places
in broken homes and
raging fires she's
looking for god in the
ugliness and the daze
something to kill the haze
she's looking to start over
to get rid of the guilt and fear
but she'll run as fast as she can
whenever god comes near
she doesn't realize it but
it's not men or god she needs
it's forgiving herself
which is something so high up on the shelf
she just can't reach

R 11h

Time may heal your wounds
but only God can love your scars

Perfect love for the imperfect

My heart listens to the sound
of a child finding its way
lost between differences
of the mind.

Over this, over that,
they find a way
into the void,
out of the clouds.

Like an angel getting its wings
a bell rings and a teen
finds who they are.
different from everybody else.

they find their core
and they can only go up
fly above the clouds
and the gates are open.

Open to what they put
their minds to
setting whatever goal
accomplishing with a flare.

We are beautiful.
black, white, young old.
we are told to dream big,
when they want us to dream small.

Because thats how much faith they lack.

Ideas?

i’ve felt more at home
cradled inside words
and rocked to sleep by stanzas
then ever being in your bed
i’ve felt growth most
when i’m speaking in tongue
and writing rhythms,
then ever talking to you
you planted my soil
then let me choke on it,
while you sucked the life from it.
i’m growing flowers and life inside
of this body,
i am reclaiming
the revelation
that has started it all
i am washing my art down my body
feeding myself with the love and passion
you never showed me
in this moment i am growing
and my art is ever flowing

M Rose 15h

Sharks can't swim backwards,
they can only move forward.
But forward is a circle
and they'll never know.

We buried you in cherry
under the juniper tree,
and with God as my enemy,
God isn't there.

I tried to write a song after my baby brother died, but to no avail. The drought continues. I've been doing a lot of reckoning with my spirituality since then.

I went there without you.
I followed rivers to their oceans
as another after another cigarette
hung from the corner of my mouth.
I sat underneath a Seward sunset
and argued with God about
how I didn't want to die
and He kept telling me to
give living a try.
So, I met Satan in
San Diego, and we took a
walk down the Pier as I
folded origami.
I told him I was afraid
of death, but he was distracted
by blondes in bikinis,
so I threw the crane
into the water and watched
as it was devoured by the tide.

I sat with Jesus in Gethsemane
and asked Him if I had a bed in Heaven.
In return, He asked me to stay awake with him,
but the Klonopin was kicking in
and I was too tired to watch Him weep.

Me Díaz 17h

He, as every other lover
Called on my name
Voice a tender caress
Pulled on my heartstrings
Seduced me with wonders
All (He promised)made for me
(just as every other lover often says)
And once I was tightly wound
Around His finger
He unwound His
beloved from His loving hold
And let me fall
And watched ‘till I finally hit bottom
And then, as every other lover
He walked away.


M•(e). Díaz

Add this to things I've never had the guts to admit out-loud. Still, writing about them is always healing.

Preaching gospel from the streets
Outside of a hostel
Where the sun goes down, doubles up as a Brothel
Black Girl on a step
Her hands raised to her savior
Tall Man, White Coat
He shines bright with elegant behaviour
An Angel
Outstretched palms he quotes psalms
Even talks like an Angel

" Thirty-Seven:Four, take delight in the lord
Follow the white light
It will open doors
Follow me
I am the wise King Solomon
My wisdom is unmatched
You are the great Queen Sheba
Your beauty, untapped "

Beautiful Dark Skin
A nightly lamb
She had never tasted Sin
Six men stand wanting her to let them in
So she glows
Glitter in the nighttime
Venus in the sky
Her tears soft, like watercolours when they dry

Con el temporal
Dios nos devuelve
nuestras lágrimas

With the storm
God gives us back
our tears

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