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L Dec 2018
A friend,
                                        a night.

Some food,
                                        a smoke.

Invitation --
                                        a couple drinks.

A couple more,
                                       making friends.

Pass the phone
                                       a couple times.

One mistake
                                       a promise & a crash.
The night it all went to ****.
marianne Sep 2018
let them be heard from beyond the grave,
let them tell the stories of everyone
ravished and burned
buried alongside the evils the ignorant and privileged
threw six feet below this blood-soiled land
while the fool who granted himself
the glory, the honor, the memory that will never be rightfully his,
lies peacefully in a sacred place

do not silence them if they shake the streets with rage
do not shame them if they burn the metro with blinding fury
this is the least we can do, we cannot simply contain the memory
of every homes extinguished into grey smoke,
of every dungeons that turned into homes,
of every child that only had hunger and violence
for teachers rather than their parents,
of every girl that was marked against her will,
of every iron fist that instilled fear,
of every every bullet fired onwards from that day
of the humanity that ceased to be

let the people fight for the yesteryears,
let it be known that the deeds of the devil will never be forgotten
let it be heard that for as long as we draw breath,
he will be condemned back to hell,he will pay for his crimes
and along with him are those that do not speak their minds,
that choose to remain foolishly blind,
that do not sympathise,
let them all be reminded:
history cannot be changed, only remembered
and if bound to be repeated, will be fought like hell because the Filipino may fall but never bend, may falter but never break, may stand in front of the edge, but with crimson-soaked cheeks and wounded fists,
we will take with us to the death, our oath: never forget. --W
today marks the day that a dictator led our country to hell and we will not remain silenced for he deserves topay for his crimes along with everyone who thinks otherwide
Cloud Aug 2018
Panic.
The final sound of the door being locked from outside.
Mothers crying for children. Children crying for Mothers.
Hundreds of people shoving you into corners trying to reach loved ones.
A young boy falls to the floor, the mother watches him being trampled, unable to move, unable to breathe.
My lungs are screaming for air.
Where? Why?

Fear.
Stumbling into an unknown darkness.
The fear of falling asleep and never waking up.
Contemplating whether death is better than this.
The terrifying crack of a shotgun.
A silence howling with anxiety.
The beating of the engine counting down minutes perfectly synchronised with my heart.
The lady next to me has her eyes closed, I shake her, silently praying for her to be asleep, she doesn’t stir.

Despair.
I’ve lost track of time, two days, three days, a never ending eternity?
Death surrounds me, trying to pull me in to envelop me, it’s so hard to fight, so easy to welcome.
I am surrounded by people, but have never felt so alone.
We are running on animal instincts, whatever food we have we don’t share.
On this train, good morals ****.

Agony.
The heat, the stifling heat. It is dizzying, nauseating.
The air is too thick to breathe, to live.
There is an overpowering stench, caused by the heat, the absence of a toilet and death.
There is not much space, but what space there is, is filled by a suffocating heat, a choking smell and burning grief.
Pain is soaring through my veins, a toxic predator pouncing on every fibre of hope in my exhausted body.

Embarrassment.
They have reduced us to animals.
I am embarrassed, embarrassed of my hygiene, embarrassed of my inability to do anything, embarrassed of my selfishness.
Embarrassment is no worse than ******, as when a person is embarrassed they wish to be dead.
It is emotional homicide.

Exhaustion.
I am so tired.
My body is crumpled, being held up by others, some dead, some wishing to be dead.
At first I was focused on surviving, my body was fighting, but now I’m too tired to fight.
My hunger is now just a numb aching, but my thirst seems to be pounding every cell in my body, a constant beating.
I am tired of crying, tired of praying, tired of hearing other people’s cries, tired of hearing other people’s prayers.

Hope.
I hear a voice, singing.
A mother to her child.
The sweet sound of her voice seems to dissolve the clouds of pain and misery hanging over us.
Another voice joins in, a man’s voice.
Two more people join in; gradually the whole carriage starts to sing, united.
I join in grasping for the shreds of energy I didn’t think I had.
We sing louder and louder, our voices drown out the protesting orders to stop.
The train slows to a stop, and the doors slide open.
I breathe, and for the first time in too long, my lungs are satisfied with the oxygen that reaches them.
As our bodies rush out of the carriage, still singing, I am filled with a new sense of hope that whatever is coming next couldn’t possibly be worse than what I’d just been through.
Could it?
During the Holocaust cattle trains were used for mass deportation of Jews and other victims of the Holocaust to concentration camps. Men, women and children were stuffed into these carriages with no food, water or toilet and just a small barred window. The journeys took days, sometimes weeks and a large number of people didn't survive the journey. Having survived the journey the victims would then either be immediately taken to a gas chamber and brutally murdered or forced to work under the harshest conditions imaginable where they were unlikely to survive. Having visited a number of the concentration camps in Poland and heard accounts of survivors, I wanted to try and capture a fraction of the pain those people endured in that journey full of doubts and questions.
andromeda green May 2018
Santa Fe, Texas
May 18, 2018

welcome to America.
where there had been 11 school shootings before
the end of january of 2018.
welcome to America
where the mentality of the attacker
is the problem,
and not the system.
welcome to America
where a 17 year old Pakistani girl was killed in her school
among 9 other beautiful souls.
welcome to America, Sabika
which was greeted to you nearly six months ago
where you arrived in the "land of hopes and dreams"
to learn and grow and achieve.
welcome to America
the country that showed promise from the looming Taliban threats in Karachi, your hometown.
welcome to America
the country that you were going to help save Pakistan
by building stronger US - Pakistan relationships
and showing women empowerment by being
(possibly) the second female prime minister of Pakistan.
never again would you watch fireworks explode in the sky on August 14
never again would you count up your money on Eid
never again would you eat your mom's biryani on a hot summer day.
welcome to America, Sabika Sheikh
your hopes and dreams were alive and floating
in the land you gave your heart to
and the land that would take it away.

- a.g.
on May 18, 2018, 10 people were killed in the school shooting in Santa Fe High School. among them was Pakistani exchange student Sabika Sheikh, who was to return to Pakistan in 3 weeks. she was 17 years old. please comment your thoughts and feel free to write your own poem about one of the hundreds who have been killed in school shootings across the US.
Alaina Moore May 2018
You do not
****** me,
high as hell,
give me a bunk apology,
and six months later
turn around and change the facts.
Cause they're ******* facts!
I was there,
with your unwelcomed touch.
He walked in to my rescue,
while you dry ******
fantasies
on my couch. (burn it)

You
are
dead
to
me.
/ignore


For the record, I don't own that couch anymore.

Byyeeeeeee
Aaron LaLux Mar 2018
This whole country is a crime seen,
3rd Eye’s blurry need some Visine,
driving home with one headlight,
can’t see straight hit the high beams,

feeling like a Wallflower that’s lost all power,
praying for peace while they continue fighting,
and I know I can’t stop all the violence,
but that won’t stop me from trying,

can’t get through to the new school,
try memes,
can’t get the truth through to these dudes,
they keep denying,

I mean what does it mean,
when a black kid’s not even safe in his own yard,
assassinated in his grandmother’s backyard,
story retold by the grandma of Stephon Clark,
trained killers hunted him down and ****** him,
maybe he would’ve survived if his skin was a little less dark,
maybe to see the light first we need a spark,
trying to keep it together even though things seem to be falling apart,

the use of deadly force is often excessive,
but penalties on the killers are rarely enforced,
as if a police officer’s badge is a license to ****,
it’s not any less savage because they’re in uniform,

what does that say of our society,
when boys getting killed my men is the norm,
and us kids are sick of it more than a little bit,
school shootings cop shooting what’s going on,

and where are our leaders at times like this,
I mean shout out to Emma Gonzalez,
I respect her heart and congratulate her courage,
but why do adults have to learn from kids,

where are our role models,
where is the love,
global warming it’s heating up,
still kids get killed in cold blood,

this is not a front,

I’m not fronting,
I’m not faking,
I’m whole foods,
they’re all bacon,

fat no protein,
facts no smoke dreams,
fact is these pros need practice,
because this whole country’s a crime scene,

every day another cover up,
got cameras on every block,
still when a kid gets shot,
it seems like the body cams are always covered up,

how can it be 2018,
where we’re constantly under surveillance,
yet we never see the footage of cops,
when they shoot civilians,

and I’m trying to stay patient,
but I’m running out a patience,

and it’s not just cops killing kids,
kids are killing kids too,
but most people don’t even want to hear about it,
let alone actually get up and move,

wanna know how many people have been killed by guns,
millions and millions in the United States alone,
and no one is safe not even a 22 year old kid,
siting in the backyard of his grandmother’s home,

this whole place is a Danger Zone,

this whole country is a crime seen,
3rd Eye’s blurry need some Visine,
driving home with one headlight,
can’t see straight hit the high beams,

feeling like a Wallflower that’s lost all power,
praying for peace while they continue fighting,
and I know I can’t stop all the violence,
but that won’t stop me from trying…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

New Book FREE Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005
Zane Safrit Mar 2018
Heard all the news
Read all the sites
Talking heads views
Little sound bites

I just don't care
I really don't
Cause I got you
Cause I got you.

Trump's up in Flames
Our world is too
No one to blame
It's all boo-hoo

I just don't care
I really don't
Cause I got you
Cause I got you.

Children got fear
Adults got guns
The NRA cheers
We're all undone

I just don't care
I really don't
Cause I got you
Cause I got you.

Black man at home
Waving brand new phone
Cops shoot him dead
20 shots center mass

I just don't care
I really don't
Cause I got you
Cause I got you.

© Zane Safrit, 2018 All rights reserved.
Just a riff
AtMidCode Mar 2018
nay
i never learn how to say the truth to my friends, unless they're good things
i'm not big on sugarcoating, but neither on being brutally and truthfully honest
most especially to you

i can never describe the fear and the anxiety of disappointing you
of just spitting the words i really wanted to say but always always too afraid or stricken to speak because you might just not get it and i might just end up hurting you instead of simply laying down my opinions

opinions
i have tons of them inside my head and they just stay there, waiting to be used on the day i'll finally find the courage to say that you're too much and the pain is sometimes unbearable and can you please stop or just pause because
because my heart is too heavy from all your accusations
my lungs too tight from this choked up feeling, for always letting you win without batting an eyelash and just opening your lips to let your own harsh words out

my soul, dear friend, is bruised too much
i can hardly recognized it because of the many stitches i sew on it every night so that it'll look like it's ready yet again for another war with you

you see
my mind is not that strong to block all your scary glares and your always present annoyed voice everytime i attempt to say what i want you to hear
i can't seem to dodge your blows as i try to turn my back on you because that will only give you more reason to think that here i am again, leaving you after all the time you picked me up and stayed with me

how can you not see that i am so. ****. tired.
of putting up with your *****
of your careless throwing of disguised-as-honest-but-really-are-just-hurtful words?
how?

this is the reason i left you before
and only by a circumstance i first thought was a blessing but is really just another opportunity for you to break me way worse than before
did we meet
and if there's something i learned from that
it's that i won't let you do that to me ever again

i'm one of them
as Cassie would say
the bent, but the unbroken
-to my Middle English nei

*if there's one thing i am sorry for, it's that i kept mum about all the ****** things and let you think that all that you've done are okay, that i can and will always do it
*i won't nod nor cast my eyes downward ever again  just to not make  you feel bad
* let's let each other go, and keep it that way. we may have loved each other once but that's it
*to freedom : wait till i get you, patience for now, my love
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