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Denise Uy Oct 31
The wall is my punching bag
and your face is my inspiration.
Even when my knuckles sag,
there is no hesitation.

I have bruises on my fingers
but it is not the wall's fault.
It is the surge of my anger's
and they make my fists stronger.

The poison you poured in me
is overflowing the bottle.
Every punch the wall meets
is every sip of my struggle.

The pain is sinking in
and it feels worse than the bruises.
It's buried deeper within
so I dig but it refuses.

The wall is nothing
to what festers inside.
My punches do nothing
and there is nowhere to hide.

The disease is within me
and it is thriving in my mind.
The only way out is nowhere in sight.
I looked to my fists to set myself free
but my fists have no eyes
so I cannot see.

Now, my arms deserve to rest.
I'll even bid them a good night
because today won't be the worst
and I'll need them another time.
Take your favourite lipstick!
Now,  quick!
Use maroon, vermillion, or desire,
But it -must- be red.

Take your favourite lipstick.
Do you have it?
Good.

Write nuance on your knuckles.
And kiss the world hello.
Just something quick I needed to say.
FloydBrandon Jan 14
Captain K'nuckles was having some troubles
While steering his ship in the bay,
For when he were docking
He choked on his oxy
And sailed right out of the lake.

Look what you’ve done
You’ve gone and messed up everything
So haunted by your energy
What’s stupid in motion
Some lack of volts should be a crime
Look what you’ve done

Under the carpet-
is moldy the carpenter knows,
But he ignores it,
Gets paid less than corpses do blow
Now some family’s got a case of who knows.

Reap what you sow
Think like you know
Get what you pay for
Take what you don’t

Look what you’ve done.
You're a joke.
Mark Wanless Aug 2019
knock and the door
   shall be opened
my knuckles are ******

what is felt but
   not spoken
my knuckles are ******
heard it  before
my knuckles are a sandpaper
stained with cherry wine
a muddied grape metacarpal
as talented as the devil,
yet naive like a child
Alex Nov 2017
Her hair messy, plastered over her face by tears.
Her eyes red and puffy.
Her mouth open and screaming.
Her voice raw with pain.
Her throat dry and on fire.
Her arms feel anchored to her sides.
Her knuckles are ****** and swollen.
Her heart and her mind are bleeding with hope.
Her stomach feels like a can that's been crushed.
Her legs--think they're still there, she can't feel them.
This girl is broken but not in a sense that she needs to be put back together, no, this girl is broken in a way where she can't give up. She can't stop having hope. This girl is cursed.
erin Jun 2017
i
fell
in
love
with your hands before they ever touched me
i want to kiss your knuckles and thank them for their strength
i'll hold your fingers for the art that they create
i'll ask so kindly for them to press against mine
you'll look at me as if i were crazy
but i'll kiss them all the same
because hands tell a lot about a person
and yours told me enough to make
me
fall
in
love
Sasha Nov 2016
Have you ever wished your hands didn't belong to you?
That they weren't connected to your heavy arms,
That your knuckles weren't red from punching the wall.

Have you ever wished your throat wasn't yours?
That your voice didn't burn through your vocal chords,
That your croaking scream wasn't tearing you up, inside and out.
******* for making me feel this way...
Tehreem Apr 2016
Cold crusted on the outside
Boiling agony folded in
Twisting, turning and squirming
On the verge of spitting flames
Withholding the hunger for demolition
To raze the idols of perfection
Fuming with each punishing breath
Throwing up the grey smoke in skies
Ashening the way to thoughts
That red heart is on fire
The hard knuckle are pale
Soft lips caging venomous eruption
Eyes searing suns of combustion
Virulent brain going haywire
Grumbling of the lethal unsaid  words
Fervid fluid of darkness filling the veins
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