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Here I stood with dirty crystals beneath my feet and waited for the sky to turn golden.
Here I laughed into the echoing tunnel under my home as wet earth dripped on my skin.
Here I learned about parenthood among feathers and little eggs and ungodly morning crows.
Here I gloated about the manhood which sprouted from under my arms and in my mischievous thoughts.
Here I waited till dark to meet him in secret all the while dreading the sound of tires on gravel.
Here I buzzed with excitement as the boys had their lazy Sunday afternoon.
Here his freckles came close to mine as he softly said "you're so beautiful" with Bruno Mars playing in the background.
Here I said I would never grow up.
Here I comforted her with my pain because I had to be brave.
Here I forgot that being called "muddy children who act like savages " was considered an insult.
Here I cried into the stars for reasons I didn't understand.
Here I walked on hands and feet with happy little scratches and silent giggles.
Here only the sound of our beating hearts and delicate pride could be heard as I held him close.
Here I sang at the top of my favorite tree and waited for the words to hurt him as much as he hurt me.
Here the glow of a flashlight illuminated our tent as I asked her if she liked me like that.
Here a little piece of me was left sitting on a branch waiting to capture the next magical heart.
Here I wrote "I love you" on a mango leaf only to realize that he spelled love differently.
Here I sat beneath bright green trees and pondered my not-so-complicated life.
Here my words came out blurry and my stomach swayed like a sail boat out on a windy morning.
Here my hands went numb as I raced to the end of his life.
Here I visit through pictures and messy journals to remember the little things that are now so so big.
Here I left muddy footprints now covered with grass, but here they will stay.
Little poem about my childhood life on a farm.
Sajal Ahmed Sep 12
What is my crime?
Why do that?
What is the blame?
Do you leave me?
I'm innocent
I'm so so
I'm innocent
I'm not at fault!
I love you
So always say true
I'm so scared
About our relationship
If it breaks
My death is bound!
I do not want
To die
Leave you
I do not want you to cry
I do not want you to be alone
I do not want to see water in your eyes
I want you
Smile
More
Get angry with me
And finally
Love me.
You can cry me
Hit as much as possible
As much as kicks me
Still I will not let you cry
Because I love you
If I ever see you weeping;
If I ever see you wandering,
I will destroy this world!
Oath By God!
When I rebelled
On a huge scale
For the first time

I learnt a lesson

What authority wants
Authority gets.
07.09.2018
Read my poem Had I Let Go? For the description of why.
Annett Sep 3
She is Spring from a long, icy frost.
Roses growing in a garden lost.
She is sunlight peeking through lover's curtains, she is steam from Ginger tea.
She is all a lady ought to be, except for the bit that most agree,
Is rather more embarrassing.

She walks about in cotton lace,
Embroidered by glass gemstones,
With lark feathers atop a satin straw hat,
The poor, Poor little Doe.
And always does she stark betray,
By the common smirk upon her face,
The glint of May fest in her eye,
All rather loosely disguised,
With tight corsets and silver boots,
And pretty, blushing lies.

Oh what sweet little Doe,
With all and none that she knows,
Of what will soon awfully unfold.
Sweet Spring Doe,
If she knew, perhaps she'd go.
Here we meet the first character, The Doe.
Previous: Château de Anemone (IV)
Up Next: Cathedral Bells
Peter Balkus Aug 29
They don't like empty cells.
They say it's a waste of space.
They can't wait
for a new arrivals.

They don't ask
if new inmate is guilty
or innocent, 'cause for them
it's not about crime -
it's about filling in
an empty space.
floriculturist Jul 2017
i.
and in that deafening silence,
i’ve never wished more to be heard,
wracked with endless demurs of regret and remorse –
impure, impure, impure.

ii.
but it’s my choice, isn’t it?
to bear the knot of pearls come undone,
to feel it shift from skin to soul,
to speak of loving, and then let go.
(i see this now as a luxury i could not afford.)

iii.
if i don’t rise come blooming spring,
ring the church bells for those left unheard,
wash the red from the bed sheets,
please unhinge my strife from the earth;

and know this:

iv.
a man is no longer a man,
after his unbidden pillage,
has left an innocent soul shaken;
unholy and impure.

l.a.c
something we need to talk about more.
Zoë Aug 19
Petals fell from her head
        Leaves withering
        Her mind was dead
        But she was breathing

--the truth of growing up
I swear to gawd
she looked at me
as if I'd killed her cat

The killing gaze
my world she'd raze
and that's the end, of that

What started sweet
we couldn't beat
wandering to here

We talked for hours
like sweetest flowers
no doubts and yes, no fears

Imagine my dismay
answered here today
posing a question innocent

Do you would you
could you?
Ménage à trois
my dear?
Hey, it was just a question, sheesh ;D
cait-cait Aug 11
god must’ve made me , strictly
to be broken open —

and
you look at me with such innocent eyes ,
but
i know you see
right through
me ,,

so
tell me , do you want me to
strip ?

please you?

there’s a hunger in your voice
and i know i’ve heard it
before —

you
are like everyone and
everyone likes
me

but i do not falter ,
and i will never, ever break,

because
every time i touch myself,
god gets on his
knees .
.
Ive been really interested in erotic poetry lately and have been trying to write more of it, but every time I try I get really embarrassed. The title of this poem and ending lines I wrote a long time ago, and I’d been meaning to write the rest of it because I loved the concept so much but just never wrote something that fit. Yesterday I met a way too friendly man at my restaurant and it scared me, so this is about him. I wrote a raunchier version too but I don’t think it’s as good.
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