Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ren Sturgis Feb 8
Show me you care,
and I'll show some respect.
I'm getting out of hand and you treat me with neglect.
You know all this time I've started to suspect
that even though our problems worsen,
you won't do anything yet.
Chloe Dec 2021
shines light
Don’t make it
too bright
No one needs
to see it

The quiet
is loud
Can’t make it
No one ever

Don’t make
a sound
It is too bright
I see too much
Kassandra Hiller Nov 2021
I remember your love, i’ve never felt passion like what was given to me by you.
I was bent into shapes I could never live comfortably, into people I never wanted me to be.
I stayed in your discomfort despite the pain that felt like daggers every time you’d attack me with your words and I agreed this was the price of your love.
Words left your mouth and landed on my skin and I accepted the apologies for every bruise left on my body.
The pain could fade or I could find a way to make it manageable, it was the passion that kept me going, the obsession I mistook for love.
And I’ll look into the eyes of every future love, and make believe it’s you staring back at me.
Robert Watson Nov 2021
A gallery full of flawless art.
The colorful walls are lined with portraits.
My canvas face observes patiently.

The drones buzz around the room.
Stinging, they leave no honey.
Jagged lines, a black and white visage.

Swarms amass on the colored sheets,
Desperate for a hit of gratifying nectar.
My crude gaze has none to offer.

The incessant humming is deafening.
As I hang there, suspended, in neglect.
The sun sets; wasps return to their hives.

The artist who drafted me chose stark lines,
And hung me unfinished in that dark corner,
Reminding us of apathy for works in progress.
Ellis Oct 2021
I was told I didn’t need to know the Ingredients
For making a child with a heart of Gold
That they were born holding a Medal
Which said they owned everything and All
Of it was because they had convictional Purpose
The doctor would cry and bring a rose Flour
To thank the mother for Baking
An excellent batch of babies, Soda
Would be poured in champagne glasses, Salt
Sprinkled a top its head to spread like Butter
The flavours of intellect and it also Softened
The hearts of others around; old wounds Granulated
Smelled like caramelizing Sugar
Inside the room, the bodies Packed
Together to peer at the Brown
Strings of hair atop the child, who’s Sugar
-like shrieks of life broke open the Egg
Of love and made it taste like Vanilla
Its tears looked the most Semisweet
A dripping fountain of Chocolate
Fondue, be careful not to Chip
The teeth when it grows, it will grow Coarsely
Then, like jagged pebbles Chopped
With a dull knife; finally, assemble the Nuts
And bolts tight because this will hurt ,if
Not properly done, or simply toss away if the kid wasn’t desired
read the last word of every line
My tongue stays tied around my throat.
It forms an unbreakable noose around my neck.
I choke on my words.
Hanging the sentences I've not yet found.

Thoughts race past like speeding cars.
Yet I remain speechless...
I can't speak...

How can my mind hold all these questions but no answers.
All these new ideas, but no idea how to execute them.
I remain speechless.

I grab at the air in hopes of better days,
'cause all I seem to get is bitter days.
I am too young to grow cold...
This noose tightens the more I dissolve and suppress.
I need to find words for that which troubles me and show no neglect.
I must find the voice that has evaded me.
I have not written in many years. Starting up again. some of the things I will post are works in progress and will be tweaked...
You hide the truth.
Everything you say to me
feels like glue.
I get stuck in it
and don't know what to do...
I always end up finding out the truth,
just not from you.
You lie to me, intentionally or not, you hide the truth. It shocks me like a broken wire, it makes me feel like I'm on fire. I don't know how to be around you and not feel used up.
Alma Jun 2021
Blows of grime frigidly strike me
from another dust bowl
Your small storms build up under my nails into a calcified crescent.
These claws are now the most dense part of me. My frail bones resemble paper mache in comparison.
I gnaw the claws off
to preserve what once was.

A resemblance to little stumps,
from cut trees,
or clipped branches?
Which would hurt, less?
Leaving a drought all together with one swift cut or pruning off the sickness.

I don’t want to scratch skin
the way your high speed sand does!
Rippling over my aching arms!

I want..
I should
Create an oasis,
one out of those sick branches to shield my once
Sandy eyes

Dig for comfort in the calm I built


to build armor of twine and run
Into the storm with no tears in my eyes

leave a note in the dirt with my soft stubs and walk out of your dessert.
“Blood is thicker than water”
A prequel
Next page