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Mark Wanless Feb 7
hitting myself in
the head with a chair leg i
sit on bathroom floor
Maja Jan 21
You can’t hit me and hug me

You can’t hate me and love me

You can’t ask me a question
And ignore the answer

You go either left
Or you go right

You can’t pull me
In both directions

You don’t.

You can’t.

Yet you do
If you drag me in opposite directions
I'll be pulled apart
Eola Nov 2020
My memories are gone
Not that I'd like to remember
The last time she didn't hit me
The last time she treated me better
Yachika Sharma Oct 2020
I think nobody understands the pain,
of living with constant fear.
I am tired of seeing women oppressed,
being hit, only bruises to show.
It is not okay to seal her lips then question,
why she took time to come out.
I will lose it if someone says that home
is where I'll be safe, oh I am not.
She is not, She is not, Oh she is not,
she is not, she is not, Oh I am not.
Sarah Flynn Oct 2020
if you ever try to hurt me,
remember that I’ve already
hurt myself ten times worse.

if you ever try to hurt me,
I wish you good luck.

keep in mind that you are not
the first person to hit me.
you are not the strongest person
who has tried to knock me down.

and look at me.
I’m still standing.
ready steady
hit the clutch
i’ve got your greed
you’ve got my guts

ready steady
please me dim
please you sober
displeased again

ready steady
back and forth
know thyself
more than thy worth

ready steady
hit and touch
bruised and blue-lipped
unlove too much.
Safana Sep 2020
Hit
The beat hit
The bell, the
bell ring, hit
the air, take
the sound hit
the 👂 drum, hit
the brain, hit
the nerves, hit
the organs, and
the organs laughed
Naveen Malhotra Sep 2020
Who punishes?
Who is punished?
It's all in the game
One remain in their frame
Tormentor can torment
There's no atonement
**** remains always ****
It's never a hit
Lens may zoom in on a beautiful face
Does it mean
It's in the race?
Learn to live with grace
One day there wouldn't
Be a trace
Left Foot Poet Aug 2020
they hit you everywhere,
bruises, slow faders,
pretty much all over,
spaced out, body and time

some, they come back,
months, years later,
enticing, devising,
with revelations perfect,
you melt with helpfulness

some claim they are born
with only questions and an
insatiable quest for knowing,
but line in the soil tween rows
is there for you not to cross

some proffer their pain,
asking for ablution and absolution,
from demons they wish to share,
but refusing the smoke of my offering,
that could cleanse both our inhalations

like highway men of yore,
they hit everyone, below the belt,
stave breaking into the heart,
slow bleeding, with answers
received in absentia and silence

until the till needs refilling, and they
renewed, reappear, reformed, with
perfect words, even better questions:

my portfolio of replies mostly go/grow
old, noting the obvious, we are socially
distance by age and geography and
degree, I free and clear to provide while
they just free to hit and run, one more time
if you think this poem is about you, then it probably is…
𝐀𝖓𝖓𝖆 Jul 2020
Your love was like the buzzing of bees in the summer
I used to run from the rain, but if only I could stay
Under your stormy love, or inside your fireplace arms
Now that you're gone, I sit quiet
And I watch the lightnings eye naked
Delighting of every and each illuminated trait
It hits me in the same way, and I pray to believe
That the bruises you left are enough to make me feel alive
Parti sous la pluie.
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