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The voice Feb 5
Aside from the black nail polish,
My own personal act of rebellion,
I see my father's hands.

I have my mami's nose,
and eyes,
and lip shape,
and even her forehead.

We have the same forehead,
But my hands,
When I see them I see my father's hands.

Maybe I see them in an attempt,
to portray an image of his existence,
To acknowledge that he actually exists
even though he hasn't been by my side

My hands are darker than my mother's
They are slightly chubbier,
Even the darker little hairs that decorate them,
They do not look like hers at all,
so naturally, they have to look like his.

I am more reminded of him when I grip them
So tightly I almost cut the flow of blood.
So strongly the blood rushed to blush the tips of my fingers

The rage. The anger. The reminder that I am your daughter
That I carry your last name
That I am still and Forever will be,
a part of you
and you a part of me

I did not choose that.
I did not choose the anger or the love

When I have you in front of me,
I will take these, my hands
that look like yours
grip them tighter than ever before
with determination in my eyes,
aim and...

I learned how to box in an attempt,
to shape these hands to be less like you
Fighting hands, unlike yours
Strong hands, much different to yours
Passionate hands, contrary to YOU

I wear the black nail polish, to remind me and you
That these hands are yours,
tainted by the dark melody of the last kiss you gave me
Before you let me walk away.

I wear these hands masked by power,
but deep down a reminder that I am a woman,
Despite my hands being like yours.
A reminder that had you stayed,
I would probably not have the education I now have.

I look down at my hands and see yours.
Despite the black nail polish, they look like yours.
With a layer of love, willing to forgive and love
But unwilling to Forget!
This is what happens when a professor asks a good question in class. "Whose hands beside your own do you see when you look down at them"
Loose
lips
  sink   ships.
Just a little something that I read in a book...
Ankita Gupta Dec 2018
I remember you, clear as crystal
Young and bold, hopeful but not dreamy
Courageous, stubborn, a bit too rebellious

With a spark like stars, shining bright in your eyes
You aspired to not stand out, but stand tall and rise
But that day on the station, I lost you
You saw me, waved me off

I did not realize, I was 22 and I lost myself in you.
B Sonia K Nov 2018
Trust?
How do you trust someone?
How do you take such heavy risk?
Putting your whole world on hold
Banking on someone's good intentions
And their conscience
Even when you know they are human
And we're inately decietful.
Just how?

Right now I'm afriad
Afraid that I'll loose
Loose it all
All that i invested
Invested in a human.

But this time, I'll chose to trust.
Or should I?


©2018 Busola S. kolade
give me a word
i will give you my world
let me down
you will be downed
felt with shame
if you gain
humanity and blood in
runs or you loose
something at your chest
called the heart
the man needs faith
Julian Delia Sep 2018
‘Playing it cool’ – defined as follows:
Lacking visible emotion as a rule,
Trying to avoid looking like a fool.
In other words,
The pretension that your heart is merely an engine,
That it is clear you feel nought beneath your veneer.

Of all the people I meet hereinafter,
I shall ask only the following:
I am no lord or master,
No unduly glorified *******.
Thus, with that in mind,
I hope your true voice is mustered,
And it no longer becomes difficult to find.

Please, if you are around me,
Don’t play it cool –
If you need to, DO act the fool,
Do display your emotions, **** the rule.
Do not taint your soul with undue restraint,
Do not hide behind platitudes vast and wide.

Cry, be bitter, rage if you must!
Never say die,
Be a hard-hitter or become a sage one can trust –
Open up those clogged channels,
Feel it, as your soul unravels!
Cherish it, as an adventurer does his travels!
Only a fool would be slow enough to conceive
That the act of playing it cool is something I believe.
I ******* abhor political correctness in all its forms, including the proliferation of such social norms.
M Solav Sep 2018
Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.
Written in October 2017.
Mya Sep 2018
I am constantly
Running from myself
But I am running out of places to go
If I lose myself
I'll lose it all
All my problems
All my hurt
Everything
Willow Jul 2018
Sometimes you just have to let loose from that leash and dance until you dance into a wall. :)
Bryce Jul 2018
And I will make sure that if anything were to happen,
It would do little to affect you.

It's not everyday
You find a goose that lays eggs
With speckled jewels and golden flakes

The world is full of incongruity
And there's no doubt about the certainty
That something bad may happen,
And we don't want that, do we?

So listen carefully.


The world is a giant carboniferous spicule
Hanging in a nest of hydroxic gas and particulae
Spinning within the gaps of a blackened dome
Of limitless space and out of control
There is no telling what way it will go
There is no prediction that has fortold
Any number of moments in this tumbling slumber
Between the darkest **** and the further horizon

I so deftly advise you with all certification
To please place your bets and fly by echolocation
Your eyes will mislead, your ears will displease
And there is no way we can refund divine warranties

This machinery
has a half life of quarks
And energies that vibrate into other orbits
Trajectories
Retaining the spin and informative piece
Of that golden goose let loose amongst the canopy
Of dark,
off into neverland, straight on
Till new morning,
Beyond the stars

So please good sir don't migrate away from me
I have so much to give and such pain I have seen

Those that fatten their goose with **** till it quacks,
Those ravenous souls who ate their gift for a snack,
And when life finally cuts them down to their last,
They will howl and yowl and pray that goose back.

This is a game,
Have a good little laugh
Don't waste your time or your money
On a daffy Aflack

Policy that keeps you policed to the earth,
No way to fly,
Stuck in the dirt.
That is no way to live in the dream,
That is no way to let death trickle in

So please, pretty please, make sure you have coverages
And a couple extra dollars in the pocket of those jeans
Wander freely, you great big atomic bomb, you.
Do catastrophic damages and I'll pay your dues.

Ride the road coast to coast,
Fly a bird 'round the world,
Take a truck till you're home,
Find a love you can trust.
Find a place where your egg
And your legs seek nowhere else
Lay down those roots,
It's Eden or bust.
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