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My Dear Poet Jul 11
Frankie said, “Jane’s okay”
and Jane,…well
she never really liked
Frankie’s way,
Yet his charm and that tattoo
of ‘Mom’ on his arm
made him seem like a nice boy

You see…
he never won her heart
just stole her mind
“In just a matter of time”
he’d brag, “She’ll be mine”
no sooner she was won
with a ring fit for her thumb
Frankie found himself a new toy
So sad
Dinamus Jul 9
I have a confession to make
I'm a manipulator
I'm a fake
My heart is a glacier
I love to see you break

I've an ace up my sleeve
Eyes of the devil
Every lie you'll believe
You're my experimental

You think you're winning?
I'll have the last laugh
No stranger to sinning
Call me the next Faust
Pooja Basnett Jun 25
You said you were my knight in shining armor,
I was blinded by the radiance!
I thought you were here to rescue me,
Little did I know, you were here to steal!
Your sweet talk, your blue skies, they were all a lie,
You think I will walk away,  won’t put up a fight!
You might be a wizard, but you will be beaten in your own game,
Truth wins, Always!!
Yenson Jun 22
Let's face it
its more ******* warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and *******
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn  bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******* War-fare and you all know so.....
Kelly Mistry Jun 14
How can you not see?
How can you not know?
Not hear

The manipulation beneath the concern
It may be real to them
The concern

“I just want what’s best”
For you
(For them)

“Best” is a narrow place to be
Pressure from all sides, pinning you in place

You’re just a puzzle piece
If you won’t make yourself fit in your place
They’re happy to help you cut off
                                                             the parts that don’t fit

Their image
Their vision for their world

It’s hard to resist
When they believe their own press
That they are the savior
The martyr

The truth is

They are a spider
And to be free of their web
Sometimes requires

Cutting all ties
The original version used female gendered pronouns, because that is true to my life and experience, but that felt too narrow, so this is a version with non-gendered and/or non-singular pronouns
Kelly Mistry Jun 14
How can you not see?
How can you not know?
Not hear

The manipulation beneath the concern
It may be real to her
The concern

“I just want what’s best”
For you
(For her)

“Best” is a narrow place to be
Pressure from all sides, pinning you in place

You’re just a puzzle piece
If you won’t make yourself fit in your place
She’s happy to help you cut off
                                                         the parts that don’t fit

Her image
Her vision for her world

It’s hard to resist
When she believes her own press
That she is the savior
The martyr

The truth is

She is a spider
And to be free of the web
Sometimes requires

Cutting all ties
Neelam Jun 7
When art becomes the commodity,

nothing remains of the artist.

He is clothed with manipulation and deception,

falsehood reigns, overshadowing

true sparkle of a raw talent,

He is Nothing but a BRAND,

A SOLD OUT soul.
Dedicated to a "sold out" musician.
Kitty Jun 3
Does my skirt provoke you?
Are you scarred by my top?
Does the length and depth define me,
Could I do a better job?

Am I made by what I wear?
An outfit I compose
The paint I layer on my face
The cut of my clothes.

You say I have no self control,
No power of restraint,
You place me in a little box
A student with a male teacher or peer.
It’s her fault he could not.

Hold himself away from her
Chain himself to the chair
labelling her his object
Instead of averting his stare

I’m not defined by cloth it’s purpose is warmth
Nor the body underneath
It is me and my intelligence

Does my existence provoke you
Fill you with disgust
Because my ability to choose
Is simply not good enough

For the standards you set me
The body I must have,
To be considered ‘pretty’
To be considered ‘bad’

My skirt can not be to short
My shirt not to deep
Because a low neckline
Will prevent my ability to speak

Does my happiness provoke you
My confidence in who I am
Because it’s taken a long time
To love myself
My Dear Poet May 21
Turn the dial
on my back
and spin me around

Press the button
on my head
and push me down

Ring the bell
in my ear
bring on the sound

Push me off
the ledge
pick me off the ground

Check the crack
in the battery pack
no longer around
Claudia Cates Apr 27
You’ve continued to Gaslight me
and minimize my concerns
whether they’re about me or you,
and it’s making me crazy; it’s making me doubt myself and
my every move
when it comes to you.
And sometimes
what i do with my life.
And I’m not sure anymore darling;
i don’t think this is light anymore.
This is dark—
it’s gotten quite dark.

When did it become midnight?
It’s pitch black out here,
and i didn’t notice until the pink faded away
and i turned to look at u
instead of the dark blue.

You were my distraction,
my medication,
my muse.

And what’s worse is that i still haven’t quite gotten a handle on deciphering between whether or not
to get upset over something that was not ill-intended...
but i do.
I always do.
And it’s my fault
because it’s my mind;
it’s something the chemicals in my brain do.
And i guess I just can’t do this anymore because
you’re not healthy for me.
My brain doesn’t seem to be producing those chemicals I need
when I'm without you.
Do you know what that’s called?

So I’d look at your eyes
instead of the night sky;
the sky that was as black as the ink in my journal,
where I write endlessly about the things you do that hurt me because I can’t, I (just) can’t tell you them.
(Your schizophrenia and depression do regardless.)
And anyway, you tell me otherwise.
You make me feel crazy, remember?
Like I have memory loss or an early onset of dementia...

You motherf*cker.

All the while,
I never realized we were in the dark.
We’re still in the dark.
So, what do I do?

What will I be left with if I do that thing you’re going to tell me to do?
wrote this after i couldn't take it anymore. am i crazy?
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