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Benjamin Feb 23
and just how far have you gone for the sake of your "camaraderie," my friend?

their half-glow hearts and prejudiced minds could have swallowed you whole,

or abandoned you, wit be-******, and genius be-******, you
might have died a pauper—

I hear they’d **** a man much more guarded than you, they might string him up,

tie his broken body to a fencepost, leave him ******,

satisfy a tyranny under the watchful eye of a loving God,

trade a boy in Laramie for a jet-black brutal odium,

**** a kid and wonder what his mother did to steer him wrong—

but still you wrote of calamus and of holding hands and handsome lovers,

still you gave us songs to sing back to our lovers, gentle songs,

despite the shame and censorship they cursed you with, despite

the threat that everything could be undone, despite the scripture,

well I must say, dear Good Gray Poet, before I fold my hand,

thank you, Walt, for giving us what you never had.
Rebecca Bates Feb 18
Matthew, Matthew, icy blond,
Dressed exactingly.
Lip curled down, distinctly bored,
Texting rapidly.

Matthew, Matthew, eloquent
Elegant, aristocratic
Malignant and malevolent,
Infectious, symptomatic.

Matthew, Matthew, I'll dispatch you
From my heart and hopes again.
Mismatched but I can’t detach you
Triple-bonded nitrogen.

Ever after? No way, never,
But Matthew, oh! What I remember.
Backbone of a sonnet, soul of a limerick?
I felt the ground beneath me,
There was nothing at all,
I had nothing,
To stop the fall.

I could hear the shrieks,
of ghosts in time past,
I wonder how long,
they will last,

I could feel the breath of a slimy creature behind,
a conjure casted cat ran through my mind,
I thought of death and how my clock winds,
but alas, death leaves my contract left unsigned,

I opened my eyes, bright sun up above,
Startled, I jolted up with a buzz, gave my body a shove,
flowers on the ground spelled out love,
heat on my face I had nothing to speak of,

I took a long walk to understand,
what I thought was in the masterplan,
I sunk my toes in the dirt to feel the land,
I realized the plan isn't about my lifespan
Love this one a lot more than I thought I would
This is a tale of long ago
I was a small boy new to this
Tedious life that is a show
The only thing inside was bliss,
Oh, Mistress, I held that pencil with a fist

I took those thoughts that run away
pulled them into the real world
I imagined a chicken named earl
In recess, I jotted notes on a pad with a twirl
for an assignment, my thoughts couldn't stay

It poured out my hand like neverland
my hand as stable as Afghanistan
The chicken had a mind of his own
and Earl made that page his home

I knew from that day on
Writer was a part of my identity's lexicon
True Story btw I was 6
Do not instigate,
use power to demonstrate,
the battle within
The progressive flow of time
can never, ever unwind
don't think towards infinity
and degrade your own trinity

The title of alive is but a mask
finding your power is your true task
I look back and I realize now
why my depression screamed so loud

I wasn't true to myself
I could think of nothing, and nothing else
To regain my insanity, my dignity
Grow my resolve towards infinity
I'm really feeling it today. Watching a Robin Williams documentary. Do what you need to do, I realize what I need now.
Stuck in a chair,
Mind disappeared somewhere,
No time, and no care,
No place out of there
CRobinson Oct 2018
Many nights I see you lay awake,
tormented by the mistakes of your past.
I see your thoughts
replaying it in your mind like a bad rerun you can't turn off
I can't take it anymore...
I can't take watching you inject that pain into your mind
over
        and
               over
                       again...
Don't you know there is rest for you on The Skull?
There is rest for every broken
                                                    sadden­ed
                                                                ­     weary soul.
All you have to do is move it to my side.
I can take it.
I paid for it.
It is done.
Now sleep, child.
Take rest
I'll keep watch.

Matthew 11:28-30
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light"
I have clinical depression and this verse has kept me going.
Matthew Chau Apr 2018
one forceful burst of holiday wind
makes me glance passively to the left,
tracing the lines in your ponytail as you
continue to stare beneath the pier. the
void silence between us is normal; i shiver
and you follow suit. you’re wearing triple
layers and i’m wishing i would have been
more prepared.

the seals suddenly go belly-up and you call for
the others. they come over; one is embracing
the other from behind; arms bolted to hips.
in the right angle, underneath the lamp post, i
pretend to unsee a slightly fresh mark on her neck.

i sense the awkwardness drifting our way as if the
white fog in the night had suddenly come alive. i
inch a hint closer. enough so you wouldn’t notice.
in fact, i’m not sure what would have happened.
i wonder if you would have stopped me, having known.

there’s about three inches and four centimeters between
our arms now. the others have gone upstairs and the voices
around us have retired. the small voice beneath my ears is
pressuring me to shoot my shot but my being remains stagnant.
we observe the seals dance joyously within nature’s boundaries.

you’re still shivering.
from my poetry book, Bravado.
instagram: matthew__chau
Matthew Chau Apr 2018
taking a substantial bite from the already petite slice,
he smiles and shoves the remainder of the fruit in my face.
“it tastes just like you; innocent and oh-so delicious.”

my skin crawls on every level imaginable submerged in flesh.
turning around as to hide my contorted expression, i just nod.
i absolutely hate him, but they claim he took care of me as a child.

“you don’t have to like him; he just needs acknowledgment.”

he grips my hands and spins me around. just like he used to.
but harder. much harder. i used to feel terror; it’s routine now.
stare at the concrete as spit projects on my face - internal meditation.

they never believe me when i bring it up. i get it, there’s no proof.
these marks around my throat – allergies from the weather.
you’re right, these bruises, they’re from rough housing. tough love.

literally.

he says the easiest way to discipline someone was reinforcing punishment.
you should see the strength he uses to test for ripeness at the market.
now imagine this: the watermelon is your skull, and his fists are knives.

i just avoid eye contact and clench my abdomen; the knees are coming.
“i’m going to spread you open today, boy; like a ******* ****** watermelon”
he loves seeing the liquid run down my chin – perfectly young and seedless.

and i react just how he likes it:

like his ******* watermelon.
from my poetry book, Bravado
instagram: matthew__chau
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