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Poetic T Oct 2017
Eating more than that
                      they can chew.

laxative dreams explode
                             in slumber.
CJ M Oct 2015
A good world is what we live in, but a racist country is what we are. Let’s admit it. Racism is the American way, it’s found itself in more than one faction of life.
Black children slaughtered in the streets by those supposedly trying to protect them: Police, others, “concerned citizens”, all there as an enemy to a people meant for peace.
And it’s remained that way for decades. Decades? Try centuries. Why for America not change her ways? Why for such a lost people be judged and labeled for their not knowing any better?
Why is it that a black boy in a school can be picked out of the crowd like cherries in a fruit cocktail, and be subjected to such redundant behavior? Why is it that dark isn’t seen as beautiful? Why is it that we catch hell like ***** in a baseball glove? And why won’t this world change?
My people, the good people, have been led astray, taking away our little progress and turning it against us like a machine of war. My people, the black people, have been taught the art of self hate from their former slave masters, we have been taught that the darker the uglier but the lighter the better, as it still shows to this day, and this mindset disgusts me.
And when I close my eyes, I see nothing but the faces of those killed, far too many to name, and yet even after years and years, no justice wrought and no tears spared from the eyes of family members. And yet the injustice continues where murderous policemen still roam the streets like hyenas looking for a fresh **** in a ghetto where nothing but torment already can be made.
Where is my peace?
Where is my brother’s peace?
Where is my sister’s?
Where are the leaders of my people with the same skin-tone, why are those available already sold out? Why am I being used even when I don’t know it? Why am I living in a hell made by a people whose whole purpose was to torment my ancestors.
Times have changed, customs accepted and new stereotypes made. Now anyone can say “*****” and it not seem racist because it’s the thing now. I’m sorry, my brotha, I had no idea such a thing could trend. Now ****** foreplay is considered dance, dry-******* your nuts off is considered a “trap dance” and this supposed trap is exactly what it’s called. But yet we don’t complain? Rise up, my black brothers, arise my young sisters. For we are at war with a beast of our own creation, and that beast is seeking to obtain our inner guts as a fulfilling meal if we don’t do anything about it.
Rest in peace, my fallen comrades, for as this war progresses, I will soon join you beyond the stars of the mind and under the ground of those who stomp to battle against a foe who challenges us all.
Washington 10.10.15
forget poem. This is an ultimate vent for me. It stings like tears in dry eyes how much this country is plagued by hidden and open racism but nothing's being done to change it. so here it is.
Natasha Sep 2015
you sang a song


              of love & life


       but I could hear


                         the hate & pain



    in your soulful voice.
Natasha Jul 2015
drift unto

      the seamless abyss


             stars beneath your feet




      grass on your finger tips




                 head heavy




      body light




                                 here today




   gone tonight.


too much

   too soon


      


         nothing to take


               everything to lose.



  
                        I can't ask



                             could never tell you


              so



    goodbye sun,



                hello moon.
ladidadida
Natasha Jul 2015
the days just before spring
just after fall
where the damp and cold grips the air
but summer still sings her
uplifting call.

comfortable outside in
track pants & a sweater
chilling fingers if they are
not woven tightly together.

but oh,
how lovely is the cool breeze
off the ocean?

to just take a minute of the day
between all the daily commotion

to sit and bask
in the salty sweet air.
the air here smells like no other.
Poetic T Jun 2015
Nectar is tasted upon
Awaiting lips, fingers
greedily licked dry.
This can be taken a few ways naughty or nice :)
Poetic T Mar 2015
Poetry
           is
Like
         Cooking,
We
       May
All
         Use
The
       Same
Ingredient's,
                     But
It
           Is
The
                 Quantity
And
             Taste
Of
             Each
   One
That
         Makes
   Each
Morsel
                   Melt
In
             The
Mind
           A
Different
                     Way....
Each word wrote tastes different in the mind
The last thought before I go to bed
Is always a handfull of the same things
-how should I be feeling right now
-I hope I didn't hurt anyones feeling that didn't deserve it
-you
-the sky is nice
-so are trees
-you
-and bees
all of those things are great, but also in some way bring great pain,
almost
Like a
pure grief
I don't know my feelings ever, I try with poetry. I don't know if it makes sense to you but it kind of does for me so ya know. it's my outlet. But opinions are accepted!
Poetic T Dec 2014
Passion upon sins,
Flesh nectar of love tasted,
Thirst quenched upon lips.
To taste upon each with joyful lust
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