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Cat Fiske Aug 2015
my second most read poem.
recording over 1000 reads.
with 0 likes,
in 3 collections I added it too.

the title.
is the reason there are no likes,
and the fact someone can't like a poem about *******,

when I talk about how they had lost their respect,
compared to any girl out there,

makes me feel less and less confident about the fact,
someone acted on my body like that,

for someone to be not only ***** but then physically abused,
and trying to spread the news

to show you what it does to a girl,
how gross you feel to look at yourself when ur mom wants to hurl,

where u lie when people ask you about your burn,
because you feel the torture will come back.

where you let anyone grab them.
because your blessed with triple D cups,

and at least you feel like you're not worthless,
and  because I named it grab my *****,
I dont Care,
I got no likes,

Like a boy gave my body,
No respect,

I think thats as fair to say as what he did to me,
as it's as fair to know I have a little over 800 views on the poem below,
and 20 likes.
about trauma too.
I don't get how this all adds up,

I got poems written about the same exact thing,
with 2, 3, 4 likes, not even 400 views some barley 200!
all about being ***** and abused,
but how come this one,
had been ignored,
and overlooked,
a ******* name,

thats cowardly
like a ******,
like an abuser,
were not one person could give someone respect after it was all taken from them,
and they wrote about it.
I just..
I ranted and I cut myself off, I am not looking for likes, but not even a comment, or message was the point I was trying to make, and it was really hard for me to post that, and I feel disrespected by who ever read it, and I feel bad for everyone else who has had the same thing happen to them. just where they can't get anyone to give them an ounce of respect.  and Again its not about getting likes, its the content, that I just feel got over looked due to a title and that upsets me alot.
Aparna Jul 2013
Paper boats and twisted rivers,
Dead fishes, floating on water.

Blue ink in the babbling azure,
Their names in cursive, faded-
*Adam and Eve
Keara Powers Jul 2015
Let’s go somewhere

Far away,

Where no one tells us

What to say,

And nobody sees us

And knows our names,
Far away from their
Petty little games
Luke Gagnon Jul 2015
1                                                                ­    4
she offers me,                                             a spot of dust
she raises me                                              under the couch,
on platitudes and warm bread                I know it’s
in return for my devotion                         there

she loves me like the boats                       today, I start spring-cleaning,
she keeps out on the ocean                      (this alone
she loves me to be molded,                      should receive
not to be unfolded                                     more recognition than it will)
                                                           ­           I pull out the couch
she bore me bones                                     the vacuum doesn’t quite
the lacrimal bone                                       reach the dust lying
the breastbone                                            on unused carpet,
all the cervical vertebrae                          the head
I use them to simulate                              keeps hitting the wall
her expectations                                        unproductive
­
                                                                ­     I put the furniture back
2                                                           ­        in place
I have names,                                             no one will see the lack
I wear them like badges                           of progress
inspired by something not quite
earned yet                                                   5
         ­                                                            while­ lucid dreaming
I assigned                                                   conste­llations were on
each name                                                  my skin
a compartment                                          and freckles in
of me                                                           the night sky
If I name them maybe
they will become                                       pollution drowned out
real, not just necessary                             two thirds
                                                          ­           even if most imploded
                                                        ­             before they were seen

3                                                          ­         6
with enough necessity                             were it not for shadows
anyone can tell a lie                                  I would surely learn to
                                                              ­       hate the light
you can read this vertically or horizontally
Snigdha Banerjee Jul 2015
We have calcium in our bones
Iron in our veins
Carbon in our souls
And
Nitrogen in our brains
94.3 percent stardust
And
With souls made of flames
We are all just stars that have people names
Origin
N Paul Jun 2015
Squint scurried.
From rooftop to rooftop,
He skipped and he flipped as he
Scrambled amongst the tiles,
The blur of slate was his domain,
As, through the haze of reckless speed,
The slowly revolving City
Did imprint upon his vision.
So that as his sly lids descended
Its outline he admired;
Its screaming centre he desired.

In the end even Squint cannot run forever.
So he will slow, and shade his eyes,
Catch his breath and gaze and sigh.

And when he’s had his fill of the sights and the smog.
Down he slides amongst the pipes
Of better folk; of harder folk,
Of those with Proper Names
Like ‘Welder’ and ‘Melder’
And ‘Roland’ and ‘Fairer’.
Names that came after a ‘Mr’,
A ‘Lord’ or a ‘Sister’.
Names that one Day he would have for his Own.
For in the Glass City, Names were always changin’ hands.

Squint.
Not much of a Name,
Even for one so young as he
It would seem he would deserve
A Name of much more worth
Than simple, humble ‘Squint’.

But Squint lived up to his Name.
He may look young and full of fun,
But crouch on a wall and you might just
Be appalled to see that not a moment after
Squint is left alone, his eyes will glitter.
And if any Man’s flesh could ever express such malicious scheming,
It was the writhing face of our humble Squint,
Once his eyeballs set to gleaming.
Part 2 of an ongoing series - The Stealing of Names
Follow and get ready for the next instalment, coming soon!
Cat Fiske Apr 2015
I always wanted a name like a color,
But then I felt bad,
Because what if the other colors got sad,
because if my name,
was to cause them pain,
I'd cry,
and wish to be wrapped,
and panted,
in a rainbows vein,
And be know as,
spectrum,
Color Spectrum.

I'll be an array,
of entities,
as light shines threw,
I will be more then the common,
and Physical Propensities,
because besides light waves,
the sea will go though me too,
and the mass and length of both,
Will not hold me down,
because I am color spectrum,
And with the rain and the sun,
I am one,
A prism.

Creating the suns rain,
into a bow of color across the sky,
red, orange, yellow, green,
fly,
blue and indigo,
will not just be colors,
to color up our sky,
and violet,
sweet violet,
will combine us,
make us one,
but we are bond,
a band,

bands of colors,
pretty to the eye,
we still hold so much more,
invisible to us,
but still with us,
because like the bands,
we are the same,
with feelings and emotions,
there,
but unseen,
until you look a little closer,
because we are a spectrum,
and that has more to do with our hearts, bodies, and minds,
then the names, looks, and colors,
we bare,
idk just something i came up with
Lauren A Todd Apr 2015
Liar, troublemaker, cheat:
All names carved into my bones.
But I left that knife protruding from my arm
For all to see.

And after suffocating their own names in stacked lungs
They’ll point and blame, and twist and turn
That knife in my own arm
For all to see.

With shattered bones, I am left quietly
Under your doormat
Only to be used for the cleaning
Of ***** shoes and welcoming strangers
For all to see.

Liar, troublemaker, cheat:
All names I’ll drown in the bath.
Washing off the dirt from your shoes
And the filth of blame,
I’ll take out that knife
For all to see.
Olga Valerevna Mar 2015
where is my head amid all of this dirt
and why do I comprehend what it is worth
put me beside any matter or thought
And I will be able to learn how it's taught
Not that my knowledge goes deeper than yours
Only it differs the way it matures
I am your sister but I am not here
to make what your brethren believe disappear
constantly fighting the what and the why
I will not settle for rivers run dry
we are eternal and lest you forget
People are able to choose to regress
There is a beauty to all that we see
Broken and stripped down to what we perceive
Capable beings, we live yet we dare
to make those around us contrast and compare
But what if we juxtaposed only ourselves
Examined our hearts by the blood in our cells
I think we'd discover much more than a soul
a vision confirming we're not in control
what do you see when you look at the world?
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