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preston Jan 3

She's gone

And all the years
of holding in
Of denying  my truth
in order to protect her
from-

     the truth ..

Of the horrors that she has done
Of the horrors
they both have done.

They are both gone now
No longer inhabitants
of this earth
No longer here
to bring the risk
of making little
what it was
that was not so very little

Even if they owned it
who could find the words?
There are not words
to describe the horrors

Are there left  enough years
to make up for the ones
the locusts have eaten?


    There  are no words
    to ever be able  to describe

    just  how  much  
    the locusts have eaten



🖕 ❤xo

https://youtu.be/GjAdjzsrEBQsi=HQdfY1cjlm8aOWq5
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BLD Jan 3
My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

My stomach churns like the deck of a ship
amid a raging mid-Atlantic tempest,
its bowels tender and full of friction,
a morose resentment of an azure message sent.

The Dungan name supports its own;
the pain of one is felt by the majority,
an empathetic woe of a blessing understated,
our emotional reason ranging far and true.

One text sent and the world turns dim;
I've tried to manage the mania and valleys
of the experiences endemic to our core,
but the truth remains that I've not healed at all.

I can envision the late New York nights,
our Hoboken studio glimmering in the sunset,
the white walls imprinted with our fingertips;
open bottles of wine half-drank scattered around
while the subway roars underneath the Hudson
as it zips to a jolting halt.

Meanwhile, the scars embedding my skin
have healed themselves through and clear,
yet the bruises around the perimeter remain,
their coarse outlines distant reminders
of the pitfalls of the love we once shared.

Fire and ice juxtapose into a glass of lager,
a cool glide down the warm embrace of my throat;
nightly cocktails of Lexapro, Lamictal, and Hydroxyzine
haven't succeeded in easing the terrors
plaguing my core in the brightest of nights --
it is surmisable that these wounds are lethal,
but I refuse to succumb once more to your flaws.

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

Whether it lay with your father and his bourbon
or your mother and her manipulating lies
or your brother and his ignorant resolutions
or your friends and their misogynistic gazes,
I cannot say,
yet I felt compelled to outstretch my fingertips
as a solemn branch of the willow tree
waving in the wind, scattering in the breeze,
an innocent attempt to brush aside the despondency,
a sprout into maturity to digress from the winds
raging between us while residing so far apart.

Never truly have I possessed a hatred so seething
than the alps of brimstone in the frame of you.

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

Perhaps I should have remained in oblivion,
restrained myself from the shackles of your presence.
Still, I refuse to conform to the demands of those
unaware of the true nature of my nightmares,
their benevolent intentions disregarding my truth,
white wisps of flowers stained with brutal crimson,
inching its way down the crevices of my mouth
while I reel away and encapsulate the open flesh
I'd just bitten through with this impulsive decision.  

But still...
my mother could not find her camera,
and I'd only wondered
if I'd left it with you.
We are sequentially adrift
in time’s light motion
embroiled in the obscure darkness
which turns into a lavish midnight blue
deeper than the ocean
that will define these oppressed hearts

Age endures
and if we could roll back the years
can we go beyond measure?
to question blatant morals
or do as we’re told?
fervent in sublimity,
when so bold

We are locked in dream-filled fantasy
where we find devotion
lost in our epoch
so we can rise above
the memories we shared
it is not enough
when they say time will heal,
it won’t work for love
~**~ unrequited, reproved, or simply the cruel joke that life likes to pull on us ~**~
Nicole Ann Dec 2023
from my rented burdens
with no Earth
I rot alone in this cloud, sunken bed
ungfited & ungrieved
the sleep talking ****** curses withdraws
the sea of agony
blow ash in my eyes
for the dreaming skull is never asleep when the moon
echoes for the lost wanderer's calling
to guide it's tired eyes to drift
to slumber
the heaven dreamt is disguised in despair
the dread of death
Jamesb Dec 2023
I lost an eight year old,
I don't know where
He is but I'm pretty
Sure he's gone
For good,

Thank God for that small mercy!
He drove me mad
Controlling my ****** life,
Rude and selfish little ****,
Unbearable little ****,

I still have a hurting
Babe in arms though,
Weeping in his pain,
But he is healing fast
As I hold him to my heart

And tell him from
My adult self
That it's okay now,
He is much loved,
And all will indeed

Be well.
Another verse sprung from work Im doing on myself
Bekah Halle Dec 2023
We have many selves;
there’s the real self and the others behind the masque.
The real self gets pushed aside,
When our alter ego doesn’t want to hide.

Out comes the good girl, Rambo, and the billionaire,
Into the darkness hides shame and despair.
There’s also superwoman, the tech-wizz, and social entrepreneurs,
A shy kid dogged by not enough hides his cares,
Cos if they wore their hearts on their sleeves
They’d get beaten up and find no reprieve.

Is this the way we want to live?
Hiding out, these pressures not wanting to give.
They’re our protective armour in ourselves,
Wanting fame and fortune is not where our true future dwells.

We keep on this armour
because it’s become part of us,
We need to release these selves and
know we’re good enough.

It’s not an instant switch, like the internet promises,
But a slow journey of taking off the personas,
And being ok, with who we are,
reconciling what we say.

Let the little voice deep within,
Look to him, who knew no sin.
Cry out, let him in, and be redeemed.
Re-birthed, and on a journey of being restored.
In the pasture of moonlit dreams
they sought the music and the seams
of realities caged by beams
of light hidden in a tomb of sins...

With brush
and pen
they strove
again
to awaken a long-lost friend

Humanity's aid, the devil's ruin,
a savior beyond what's worth pursuing,
for all are judged by saviors awakened
cast in iron
cage awaiting
time unwrought from plans abating
devil's deeds no longer
contemplating
their yields and wicked whims
now dating
cobwebs conjured
by idleness, hungered
schemes distorted
abandoned plunder
salvation came to the sleeping world, hence
for the devil's slothfulness made pence
duplicity broke itself in twain
devils freed and angels made
war in heavenly realms abound
demonic trickery, no longer purchase found
light shone down from truth above
o'er horizon, burgeoning sun commanded its wake
cast its sight upon the world
devils expired as does smoke unfurled
as do shadows in all-consuming light, unmade
and what became of that world then?

When the sun may set, we shall learn again...
What darkness shrouds, we forget, so too the pain,
for what the light sears, the darkness cools,
and what the light frees, the darkness feeds,
what the light starves, the darkness protects,
what the light feeds, the darkness drains,
what the darkness drains, the light protects,
what the light protects, the darkness hungers,
what the darkness hungers, the light favors,
what the light favors, the darkness despises,
what the darkness despises, the light understands,
for well made plans cannot thrive in darkness alone,
if the light should reveal the plans to be tainted
the zenith of sun shall burn the plagues of satan...
This site has been unwell for me for years.
I had been plagued by a bug that makes publishing my poems impossible.

I wrote an incredible poem a year ago, and lost it, due to this site's lack of integrity and sabotage of me. I emailed this site's creator and never got a response about recovering my poem, which was so vital to me that I made the effort, alas. In vain.

I wrote this poem back on August 19th.

It was a refreshing read. I hope to experience many more healing readings, and writings, like this one has been for me today.
Melody Mann Dec 2023
life is unpredictable in its fickle nature,

moments can transform into a lifetime of shared splendor or somber recollection,

healing isn’t linear nor is life’s trajectory as we tread this path scattered with trials and tribulations,

time challenges our wit and forces our hand at resilience as we build ourselves countlessly to brace the changes that come our way,

that is the beauty of existing— understanding the significance of loss and relishing the triumph of union,

savoring the essence within us and radiating faith amid our silent prayers,

healing isn’t linear, nor is life’s trajectory as we are riddled with fates that at times make us question our purpose in retrospect to the everyday,

this breath is but a gift of chance for us to continue walking mindfully with the beauty that surrounds us,

you are but a flower in the garden of tomorrow; blossom endlessly.
Inspired by the art of letting go, this was written for a soul I cherish deeply. To personify the notion of healing and immortalize a bond that formed freely and gently… it’s the art of acceptance. A familiar dance that duets itself time and time again; resilience. Here is an ode to the persistence and strength nestled in overcoming the obstacles life bounces our way.
In the dead of night, I questioned the skies,
The desert whispered with elusive guise.
The wind carried echoes of tales untold,
As unseen dangers lurked in the cold.

Stars above twinkled, a celestial choir,
Their ancient light sparking a deep, yearning fire.
The moon, obscured, was nowhere to be seen,
Yet cast shadows, eerie and green.

As I stood guard amidst the desert's dread,
Haunted by the words that the desert said,
The rumble of artillery, a ghostly sound,
Echoed through the night, unsettling and profound.

Uncertainty lay heavy on my chest,
As I faced the unknown, longing for rest,
Knowing I must endure just one more test,
Cold metal in my hands, whispered its own unrest.

Many years have slipped away,
Yet still I'm left to ponder and sway,
Uncertain if what I sought was found,
At the expense of the boy, lost then drowned.

Amidst the darkness and the fight's sudden hush,
The absence of our brother, a palpable and heavy crush,
The grief, a burden to bear,
In the stillness of that night, an unspoken prayer
At the heart regret did tear.

The lights pierce through the fog, my thoughts now clear,
As I sow seeds of lead, releasing doubt and fear.
But deep within, an ember brightly burns,
A hunger for truth, a heart that yearns.

Though the years have come and gone,
I seek the peace I've longed upon,
To find the solace, to calm the tide,
And let the boy lost inside me bide.

A journey through the dark and light,
To make amends and set things right.
"My past is an armour I cannot take off, no matter how many times you tell me the war is over." - Jessica Katoff
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
This life I live,
Is not for me.

I wish for something
Broader,
A big as can be.

To fly through skies
Like a wondrous bird.

To step out from curtains,
And finally be heard.

And how absurd,
This life I live now.

Through the mind
I live instead,
Somehow.

Chores and rules,
I cannot choose.

I have no voice
In this house of noise.

But alas,
I bring hope.

It will guide me to cope.
This poem is a personal one for me, so I do hope you all enjoy !
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