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Connor Apr 2018
She sits in a
Room by herself.

Her dad's at a bar, cheating
While mom is getting high.

After dinner
She hears them
Fighting again.

She covers her ears
Hoping it ends soon.

She hears him slap her.
She hears mom's whimpers.

Footsteps are storming
Up, up the stairs,
Getting closer.

They stop.
They have gone to bed angry.

A nice man picks her up
From school the next day.

He gives her sweets,
A warm blanket, and
Even a coloring book.

He takes her to a
Strange building.

He sweeps her off her feet,
And strolls into the building.

As it turns out,
He was a policeman,
Her parents were arrested.

Her dad looks at her
His eyes glassy.

Goodbye, they say.
She never saw them again.

She loves her new home
Where she is loved
And never forgotten.
A story about an neglected little girl. I bet you guys thought she got picked up by a ****, huh? That's what I was aiming for :)
Sarah Elizabeth Oct 2017
I think
The definition of being
"Emotionally Unstable"
Is dropping a pencil on the floor
And wanting to cry
Because of the pencil falling
But the irony
Of how you are able to pick up an inanimate object
But unable
To pick up yourself

It is
Reading a book
Looking at the words
Not truly seeing them
Rereading the first page
100 times
Hoping to find the meaning
That your life
Seems to have lost

It is
Dropping things for no reason
Because you're too numb
To feel your own fingers
But feel too much
To let go
And forgive yourself

It is
Worshipping the hands of the clock
Like a savior
As if every passing minute will bring you to a better future
Not realizing
that every passing minute
Is a vice
That never seems to loosen its hold
On your consciousness

It is
Writing poetry
In hopes
That one day
You will better understand yourself
Through words on a page
Than through your own mind
That you will no longer be a subconscious stranger
Occupying your own thoughts
And misleading
The girl you wish to be.
Today I almost started crying In class after dropping a pen on the floor. It made me realize that no matter how long I ignore my feelings, they will never ignore me.
Brent Kincaid Jul 2017
You gave us angels and demons
And no lessons on fighting evil
Except for us to pray
The demons away
And put angels please
On our Christmas trees.

You designed specious poetry
And insisted it was truth.
You corrupted our youth
With jealousy and hate
By teaching us natural
Was simply not natural.

You dressed in golden cloth
And in disgusting holy sloth,
You designed palaces
And bejeweled chalices
As you grew roley-poley
Then declared yourself holy.

You set up rules of sanctity
That you, in your insanity
Could never live up to
Not even come close to,
Because your image was not
Like the rules we have got.

A confidence game by scamsters
Who only want to be masters
Of a race of the gullible
And socially malleable.
Your morals are a mystery
Since the beginning of history.
Not death

Breathe slow

Past coil


We don't know

Sad as plain sight

Fake intents

Misdirection and dense

Regrets for tomorrow

Until the demon runs

Mind will be blank

Conscious without reprimand

Disgracing self

And projected shadows

Into millenium of words

That trick only inside

Gross and perfect

Figured somewhat insect

Fear of movement

Ready to read

Never to explore

A monster that is a bore

No true faces

Just stolen ink

Anger in three ports

Without the eyes to close

Ever so unsubtle

Render one cold

With love as slow as shell

Until they grow the verdure fungus
No to rhyming?
Deception mistaken for protection.
 Oh so naive.
Unwittingly taking fiction as gospel, wholeheartedly, they believe.
The art of lying, simply unable to conceive.

In these formative years, all the elders did was sugarcoat.
 Upon uncovering the truth.
They realize all that they've been fed is poison, slowly, it has been secreted.
 Down their throat.
 Cruelly cheated.
The innocence of youth.
(C) 2015
Three decades back,
A communist,
As a fad atheist,
To my chagrin
You taught us
"God doesn't exist!"

To my surprise
After mass
I saw you yesterday
Kneeling down
Hands upward
Wholeheartedly when
You Pray.

Out of His mercy
And benevolence
No doubt
God will forgive you
At once,
For what matters
Is your repentance.

But  I can't help to ask
What will be the fate of
Of those credulous children
At their formative years
You sent off the track
Without a mental map
To return back?
Based on a true story.Ethiopia, once, had embraced socialism.Though a highly religious country the so called communists were promoting atheism.Ironically taking lesson the hardest way most of the atheist have become  faithful.
Knights Aug 2015
Like vanilla spice
And as sweet as chocolate
Her lips were nice
But the rest was poison
She'll be plotting your demise
As you're hypnotized
Felt the pretense behind closed eyes,
  composed vibrations of rhetoric              
   freelancing in executing ignis fatuus

drank the kool-aid of your own grandeur
   a punch drunk conviction's onus
   in false pretenses of a  mislead head trip

a study in contradiction's convulsions
    simmered of half past lucid judgement,
   junctures of reality submersed
      in cloudy formations
        impervious to reasoning*

...a saga written upon piqued skies of indifference
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