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Zywa May 23
Hand over my mouth, I laugh
at the evil child
you are, who wants everything
as it should be

a better world
justice, equality
and brotherhood, now!

No longer an ideal
that makes fellow human beings suffer
in order not to lack anything themselves

So immature, not you
your complaint, your desire
for more

more solidarity
more harmony
more self-criticism

I know, the seed
of your gluttony
which wants all that
is your sweet anger
Evil Child: Gluttony (for justice, equality and brotherhood, solidarity, harmony and self-criticism, out of anger at the lack of them in society)

About anger: poem "Big Bad Wolf" (see May 24th)

Collection "Mastress"
I dream, create, and love - often at the expense of reason.
Idealism adds richness and vibrance to life.

At times, it is a double-edged sword.
I S A A C Jan 2022
I was shot down like a bird
bleeding into the earth
it is a cycle I say as I watch my life fading away
in and out of black
in and out of panic attacks
whichever way I choose it's all a ruse
I was an old soul plagued with idealism
So naive to not see the true villain
My passion blinded me could not see the vermillion flags
Oculi Jun 2021
I set myself ablaze and then I fly about the room
Time and space became for me a lovely little tomb
Apparitions far more friendly than the people's gloom
That is why I live among the stars upon the moon

Gaze upon me, frail and mighty, see me and despair
Powerful and terrifying is the returned stare
Lo am I, high in the sky with my infernal horn
Play the notes and make the world my booming voice adorn
Wrote this a couple days ago.
Zywa Apr 2021
The perfect woman

is from marble, and barefoot –

she stays where she is.
“Edge” (1963, Sylvia Plath)

Collection "Actively Passive"
Karishma Nov 2020
Why do you fear the stars? They ask
Spiraling, I drink back the painful task
Of opening my soul to unscramble the poisonous puzzle
Daybreak to dusk, unraveling words that were a muffle

The thought of the stars tugs sentences out of my mouth like taut thread
I’m sleeping in the dark, in a stone cold bed
A magician out of practice, on impulse you dealt the cards
Your shadows haunt me, I’ve been jilted, I’m jarred

When an impostor spills His indigo ink all over the hazy canvas sky,
Two contrasting stars appear and ring out my tears whilst I cry
Unjust, unrequited- two stars, one far brighter, close but worlds apart
Daylight robbery, your basket my was my body and you left with my heart

Stars- a lover looms over me, I crave integrity, still under your spell
Consider it, but make not the home we have a hotel
Night is washing away into the day, we’re fading away
Secret suborn victim, my premonitions were no dismay

Maybe the stars meeting was a mistake, for the dimmest star dreams when it is awake
The brightest could solve many puzzles except the ones in her head, a lesson learned too late
I fear the stars because I know you’re under them too
A turned leaf, a shattered soul from red to
Nikita Oct 2020
Pull me
Push me
Force me
And trap me

Build me
Create me
Destroy me
Lie to me

Wrap me
Seal me
Deliver me
And ship me

No matter how much
You try

No matter how much
It hurts

I will escape
Categories, labels and boxes. Don’t stifle who I am. I am not a women to be silenced.
Evie G Nov 2020
Once upon a Christmas eve,
A family sat round a fire
Dad’s he’s late, he’s blaming Steve
Some cables needed to be rewired
A house he finds,
Is full of smiles,
So off he goes on his way.
Grabs baubles from the attic,
and also, grandmothers ****** investigation files

The child, eager with a sparkly blue notebook, rushes to peek inside
Crowe, it reads, Age 33, with thirty-three stabs to her side.
Oh how dramatic, Oh how fun what a wonderful thing he had brought
As seen on tv and on the big screen but never in this way before.
She stared at the words and pondered and scribed and found a new area of thought
Thinking of A Woman Dead!
But not that way of course, in the fun kind of way.
Didn’t think of the dead woman.

Now and then, the blue notebook sparkles out of the corner of my eye
I cradle the crumpled pages in my arms, the notes that I took.
The notes, cold, combined with my father’s colder memories
The good Damsel murdered by a bad ex-lover
An unfortunately common situation.
Another woman lost and alone,  
Another statistic.
Oh well.
This was something I wrote during a poetry workshop about my grandma but it kind became about more than that- I wrote this a while ago
Jade Jun 2020
How I'd love
to spray paint the words
upon your white picket fence.

I will destroy
your every

pardon me.

I retract my statement--

we don't rhyme
where I'm from.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

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