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Jammit Janet Jul 2020
#31
Burn me alive,
End it all now,

I’m tired of the world,
I want to crawl back into my shell,

Of ignorance and bliss,
Before feeling overcame everything,
And my mind could manage and stall,

The unending dread,
The unending pain,
That recycles through my body,
And mental membrane,

Temporary relief,
Doesn’t last long,
Seeping into my bones,
Polluting my core,

Essence,
Lack of presence,
Take me away,
Bury me down low,

Erase me from existence,
Free from my soul.
Those moments where everything is just a bit too much to take.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Squall
by Michael R. Burch

There, in that sunny arbor,
in the aureate light
filtering through the waxy leaves
of a stunted banana tree,

I felt the sudden monsoon of your wrath,
the clattery implosions
and copper-bright bursts
of the bottoms of pots and pans.

I saw your swollen goddess’s belly
wobble and heave
in pregnant indignation,
turned tail, and ran.

Published by Chrysanthemum, Poetry Super Highway, Barbitos and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: pregnancy, pregnant, goddess, belly, wrath, anger, storm, monsoon, hormones, pots, pans
kristine w Dec 2019
i seek,
this echo of resplendent joy.
You.
how weak,
am i to fall?

this sound among all,
is one i'd deck the halls with.
Yours.
perhaps this fall,
i shall embrace.

the sight,
the sound,
You.

it rings,
oh,
does it ring.
one expression: haha
oh the woes of puberty! anyway, had a conversation with a friend about her crush and here we are i just felt inspired
Oliver Henderson Dec 2019
perfect life I dreamt of:
a shot of hormones
a boy who loves me
a place to call my own
and freedom to live

I have it all
yet why is it not enough?

four years it’s all I thought of
the fix to all my problems
all but one
became the start of all of them
Asominate Nov 2019
Consume me,
I'm left feeling so empty.
The chemicals,
They make me feel worse.

Undo me,
It's only my reality.
The chemicals,
Daddy was the first.

I feel it,
But it is only me
The chemicals,
Can't act "normal" for you.

Ignore it,
Very well if you don't see
The chemicals,
Reality goes askew.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, **** you schizophrenia!
Keiri Jul 2019
Faking beliefs to believe in the fake.
For the real is way to real.
I still don't want to awake.
I'll imagine I've got a tastier meal.

Be strong, I say, don't give in.
For it will be for the wrong reason.
Spaghetti, potatoes, peas, please don't sin.
Steak or stew or mussles with season.

Scones, soup, browney with a liquid core.
Or rather think of a good baked fish.
Don't, just don't think of him anymore.
Try to replace him with your favorite dish.

I can' give in, I can't give up.
It won't be good if I drink the same cup.
Again and again it's a cup with a crack.
And all my sweet cocoa will flee right back.

I keep thinking, is this right?
I can't tell right from wrong in my blurred sight.
It's bad to go back, so just go on forth.
But my eyes slip back, like a compass needle north.

I need to hold myself, faults won't do me good.
I'll just have to stop my thinking with even more food.
It's a similar hormone triggered, I will feel the same.
What am I? Will I rather be fat again to spare me of the pain?

Why am I weak, it's such a one way to think.
But what else to do when my heart's about to sink.
Pop in my head, there he is again.
Chocolate, chicken breast, bread full of grain.

Don't think, just don't think at all.
Will he be hurt, does he think of me at all.
Is he alright, what is he up to right now.
Does he miss me, and I just wonder how.

Stop it, weakling, you can do better than this.
Orange sauce, porto dressing, ribs as soft as a kiss.
Mac and cheese, ceasar salad, do you think he is alright.
Was I wrong, after all he still wanted to fight.

No, be strong, honeydressing, porkchop, carrot stew.
How many chances did I give him a new?
Stop it, steamed beef, apple cake, am I really mad?
Why did walking away from him feel so bad.

Faking beliefs to believe in the fake.
For the real is way to hard.
I still don't want to believe my mistake.
For I too was wrong at my part.
Hot devil - The name of this poem is named after a yummy casserole dish called 'Hot devil' (it's Dutch) it's with veggies in white sauce, mashed potatoes and roasted meat baked in layers within the casserole in the oven... you should try it, it's really tasty

Here's the recipe for 4 persons
- 12 normal sized potatoes
- 1kg of minced meat
- 1/2 l milk
- 2 tbsp plain flour
- 2 tbsp baking butter
- 1/2 porridge (the white side, small chopped)
- 4 sticks of sellery (small chopped)
- 4 normal sized carrots (small chopped)
- Salt, nutmeg and pepper
- 1 egg yolk
- breadcrumbs

Cook and mash the potatoes. Add the eggyolk in the mashed potatoes, altogether with a little bit of milk and a little bit of butter, mash it all untill it's a moistured paste.  Roast the meat, chop it in small bits while roasting it in the pan. Slice the porridge, sellery and carrot in small pieces. Melt the butter in a *** and add the plain flour, now stir bit by bit the milk in the mixture. Season the white sauce with salt and pepper and nutmeg. Add the veggies in the sauce and boil further for a minute or two. Take a casserole that can stand the heat of the oven. Rub half of the mashed potato in on the bottom. Put the meat on top of it, now put the veggies on top of that layer, fill the last layer with the remaining mashed potatoes and sprinkle the upper layer full with breadcrumbs until you can't see any mashed potatoes underneath the crumbs. Put in the oven (180°C for about 20 minutes).
Araoluwa Jacob May 2019
All that sweet talk, For a second, it felt really good. The love and the pleasure that you preserved for me. When I stepped into your house and we touched each other with our bare skin, it felt really good, really honest, really true. For a second, I actually fell in love. I opened my eyes and traced my hands on your jawline as we kissed.
God took his time making you
you are so handsome. smooth skin and all.
d a m n
my hormones started to act up when I had something like that in my possession. It's not like we actually liked each other, we just  wanted the pleasure. After the pleasure, I did not feel the same.
the moment was like a song on repeat
I could not get it out of my head. I text you to know your perspective. Then you act like nothing happened. You've gotten what you want and now I'm nothing but trash. Ignoring me like I was bothering you. I mean we weren't meant to be together.
I guess it was just me.
I wanted something more.
Someone to have more than one night or two days or a week with. I wanted months, years.
I wanted forever.
To:  A Flaming Heart
            Of the Hedonistic School

From:  A Slow-Burn Refugee
                Of the Broken-Back-Pack-Mule

                        ¤¤¤

I've had dreams by day
That brought the nightmares back.
?In the daylights exposure it was dark  
When the negative light was bright.
?
In the sea of people
I was the floating remains
Of a Great White's meal. 
On the lonely roads of thought

My mind was in gridlock.
Comforting memories were suspended
Over a psychic black hole
By jagged and rusted

Medieval-type surgical tools.
My remaining senses
Were nailed to a cross-section
Of psychically atrophied grey matter

Along neural pathways
Guarded by gladiator-type tormentors
Left with nothing
But the stinging desire to be freed

From a curse that had to be cured
And the hell of searching for a cure
When I was convinced there wasn’t one.
The powers that be come with force

To quell primal lusts & desires
Forbidding you of them
As they seductively
Dangle them before your eyes
  
Until you are so frustrated and unfulfilled
That you no longer
Care for your world.?  
This cracked glass remains empty
?
Even though it is constantly being filled
Then spilled or leaked on the floor
Until you learn to lap it up
Like the lapdog that you have become

For their amusement.
You remain with a love for freedom  
But your cage is so large 
That you think you are free

Lost in societal fantasy.
You think for a while
That these fantasies are real   
Until you come to your senses that aren’t

As you join other fools
In comfort that you're not the only
Broken-back pack-mule. 
But in spite of it al

And in the face of them all
Don't let these birds of prey                                                          
An­d powers that be
Deprive you of what they can't see

In that hidden corner
Of what is still untouched--
The real you
Uninfected by the world.  

Take care of your spiritual affairs.
Don't let the global beast
And your primal hissing forces
Make you be your own pallbearer.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker
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