Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Faizel Farzee Dec 2020
As earth, sea and sky love and hate you and me! All simultaneous, all wanting needing craving screaming bleeding, for one piece or moment of lost time. Dragging. grabbing and pulling, spitting and calling, this complete chaos,  only a faction of my aching life.

No! This is chaos, this impulse that drives our inner thoughts and feeling to constant self-destruction. This morphing unstoppable force, my driven path in life.
The mirror holding my blue print to a better life had shattered it seems.
Spending more time seeking to find these fruitless shards, a constant search which I fear will never end. Like lost ships at night with not an ounce of light lost at sea. Eternally searching...

How do you rebuild chaos? Do you string all pieces, so it hangs from the fabric of time like art unmovable?
Its would still be shattered, though unmovable. This bolder of despair blocking my journey to tasteful freedom. A journey to a higher conscious. How do one that has been battered and bruised, knocked and kicked find the strength to move the unmovable.
How? Do one that has been brought to their knees, by the normality of a given life find the strength to move. When constantly they carried the weight of an ever expanding universe on their defeated shoulders.

This my ever constant battle, to reassemble the broken shards of a universe disrupted.
for a completion disruptive art prompt
E Jul 2020
annh Oct 2019
my halo
at life, for kicks;
and life kicked back.
A failed tetractys: 1-2-3-4-10. And a variation on 'Temptation'.

‘The angel came, the angel saw, the angel fell.’
- Alexandra Adornetto, Halo
EricM Apr 2018
Two girls deeply in love
But torn with jealousy over the man
The other slept with

A tall brunette in casual attire
And a smaller girl wild-eyed, black curls
In a college t-shirt

I offered them drinks in honor
Of their love on hiatus
And dreamed ever so boldly
To be caught for a moment
In the crossfire of their
Boundless desire

But the on again off again
Lapse of judgement made them
Unable to stay locked in that embrace
And I'm left with the ***** Cranberry
Who is unfortunately much less
Receptive to my advances
Showing me pictures of her boyfriend
Military and buff

While the Gin & Tonic departed
To recover her confidence after
Being scorned by the tall brunette
One too many times and forgot
All about the drink I promised to buy

Always coming back to gently spread
Her knees and wedge herself between
Her thighs only to be pushed back
Briskly to the barroom crowd
And the ***** Cranberry reminds
Me again of the sad situation that
Split them up in the first place

I leave for a cigarette and come back to
The same adorable scene and waited
For a beer until I heard one of the girls speak
"I think this man at the bar loves us."
I suggested innocently how disappointed
I would be if I didn't see them kiss
At least once that night

The Gin & Tonic pressed close against
The ***** Cranberry to deliver the sweetest
Kiss upon her cheek and I was moderately
Satisfied at that expression in spite of knowing
How it paled in comparison to the true passion
That burned in their loveliest of hearts

As I was leaving I asked,
After resigning myself to chasteness,
For a quick kiss on the cheek
To say goodbye and was met with
The same hesitation you wasted
On each other all night

But, oh, if you two loved yourselves
The way I loved you both that night
You wouldn't waste so much time
Because even though we are
On separate paths in life
We are really on the same path
And you two were so close to it
That night and I wanted nothing more
Than to journey down that road with you

So I kissed you both anyway
And I walked home alone
With a grin on my face
And hoped that you two
Wouldn't make the same mistake
Dream Fisher Mar 2017
When I was a kid
And the family walls were falling
I remember thinking it would all be okay
If I could just learn to wall kick
Stick the landing, while the world was crumbling,
I look for applause for still standing
But the truth is they don't see you for standing strong
Just enjoy the scene when that strength is gone
Disgree, I'm asking you to prove me wrong.

Show me the story of your high school friend who made it
Not the hundred that stayed in the mould and faded
Show me the car crash that was evaded,
The hero, who's past wasn't completely exploited,
The victim that didn't end up on that stage desserted,
But no, that human nature is too perverted.
Forget the man saved, here's more on the murderer
News casters will give you the gritty details like sheep herders

Maybe your world isn't simple to fix,
Just keep working, this life has no tricks
At the end of the day, you know what makes you tick
But before the world came crashing
I learned to wall kick
So while the struggle is as real
As the wheel you steer,
keep screaming until the deaf even hear
True story, when my parents were splitting up was right around the time Mario 64 came out and my father was the only one at the time who could wall kick in the game. For some reason it seemed like the most  important thing in the world to a very young me.
s Aug 2016
anxiety kicks down the door
and holds you at gunpoint-
he, who is the most unforgiving of all,
does not care where you come from,
what you’re doing, who you’re with.
he hijacks the system. he takes over
the plane you were trained to fly. he
is a terrorist who you cannot escape
from and you cannot imprison.

you are not safe in your body.
first piece, edited
Andrew T Jun 2016
Toni Morrison wrote the Bluest Eye, but why does Kanye wear blue contacts at the Met Gala in front of the whole world who have their phones out, ready to snap a photo?
The window to that life of fortune is half-way open and all the doors to success in this townhouse are closed shut, so it doesn’t make sense for me to cook these eggs and hash browns, when no one is coming over to eat and to share the blueprint with me.
Because, I don’t know whether to squat down and roll the dice outside in the alleyway,
or keep climbing the fire escape until I reach the clouds of heaven.
The air-conditioner rattles and clanks nothing but old air. And it’s a heatwave outside.
Bodies sizzling on the pavement like the pancakes baking on the frying pan.
Pop told me the white man is unholy, and then he goes and wears a cross around his neck.
Radio, oh radio, oh radio; if it keeps playing the same, **** rap and pop songs,
My mind will become a turn-table.
No scratches.
Just the crisp sound of decay.
Please be quiet Pop, let me watch this program.
Control me another day.
Thank you for the heartache.
What happened? Is that what you’re asking me?
A lot did, lots of stuff.
You want me to tell you?
I don’t know if you want me to excavate this ish from my mental,
Or tell it to you in the raw and gritty.
You sure?
Okay then.
I remember the white bag covering my head while my eyes were open wide, closing my vision and shrouding me in my own blackness. The brackish, heavy water from the James River rushed and flowed over stones and broken branches as my friends hummed gospel hymns to unite us across this journey of baptism. We walked barefoot along the muddy ground filled with tiny rocks and snapped twigs and followed one another, our chests convulsing from the anxiousness of the unknown, arms drooped into a V with one hand over the other to keep our fingers from shaking. When brotherman put his palm on my chest, I could feel my heart exploding with excitement, as he dipped my body gently backwards. Immediately, freezing water flooded the bag and my head became soaking with a coldness that was like a flat of the hand striking my tender cheek. When I emerged from the shallows of the dark river, still dripping with water, my lungs expanded as I gasped for air, for relief, and for an opportunity to restore my tarnished soul, a soul that is inside of a body, the same body that sits on this couch with lumpy cushions, staring at a TV screen showing black boys getting murdered in cold blood and not a ******* thing I can do about it, and why worry about a cycle of bad news, when I can just buy these clean, white boat shoes. But, I remember the coldness of the river as I stood knee-deep in rolling water, which seeped into my red shirt and my shorts, my feet caked in mud. Glad, I took my kicks off. Paid way too much money to mess up my new boat-shoes and that’s real **** to be perfectly honest.
Don’t worry Pop, I used my own hard-earned money to pay for these.
So I’m white now?
Would it make a difference if I switched from laces to Velcro?
If I took a brush and painted a black swoosh over the sailboat?
If I wore tall white tube socks instead of going barefoot in these shoes,
Then would that change your opinion?
Okay, the silent treatment, right, lay it on me.
Wow, now you’re making hand-gestures.
Talk too much? Me talk too much?
This house talks too much! The floor creaks and the faucets leak.
The shutters clatter and clang from the wind.
Pop, all I want to do is go outside, cuz I’m going crazy right now.
The sun is shining a bright light over this house,
And I know I can’t see a **** thing.
Because my eyes have yet to
Wrote this for a friend to be used in a screenplay; the character is supposed to be a young, black male dealing with whiteness and identity.
Snehith Kumbla May 2016
all of you,

could you please
tie your handkerchiefs
and dupattas*
and all of it
to the end
of a stone
and fling it to
this open window


so that I
can climb
and flee


I could have
just asked
the boss
but escape
makes it
so much
more alive


dupatta* - a traditional long cloth draped over the salwar kameez worn by Indian women..
Sy Lilang Jun 2014
Red* was not her colour
But a taste and sounds of her
No danglings, no bling-blings
Not even the *style
of Harry's.

She wear no stilletos
Neither pumps but fine kicks
Keds trend all over
Rockin' and spinnin'
With her preferred music.

At times, I then look down
Not to face the pebbled ground
Taylor's Red Collection
Became part of my up-to-date fashion.

(6/30/14 @xirlleelang)

— The End —