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Amaris Oct 4
A childish accusation, "You promised"
Before fear's taught kids are bolder
Denied the right, who can I trust
And I can't say, now that I'm older
Growing up we all learn how to lie
Despite all our parents' trying
It's become my second nature, why?
I've found it's easier than fighting
When the world demands a lot of you
You learn to adjust or fall apart
Rarely is the desired answer true
Tangled in lies, where do I start
I know I can do better and I should
A refrain throughout our heads
Binding words, be a kid that's "good"
Follow through all that's been said
My master is fear, I've learned my lesson
Lying seems to be an act that's kind
We tend to try to have good intentions
"How are you today?" "I'm doing fine."
Musing away at the counter
retail a nonsense type job
selling his soul, filling a hole
throwing away DNA swabs

The guy just wants too talk
he spends four hours each week
talking the talk, unable to walk
a simple man, chalked up as meek

No life beyond the moment
sad and lonely he cries
tears that he hides, alone he abides
desolate and pitiful eyes

We see them as old and decrepit
maybe memory fleeing their minds
not dim of soul, just kinda slow
their history buried, inside

Listen a moment for honor
you'll hear it in pitch, and in pride
a person of heart, and of merit
not sure if it's true
or a
Who am I to criticize those who came before
Who am I, to look in their eye
of those who were better
and knew so much more
as their gifts and memory
Luca C Sep 22
And once there was a girl who wrote her sour feelings into even more bitter words. This girl, who was lost, and wide eyed, with no one to run to, decided the best way to survive, was her own way:

Keep your mouth shut because your words are knives and you dont want to hurt them. You dont want to hurt anyone. Not anymore

Keep silent because the truth is a very careful thing, a very very awful thing that you yourself havent even swallowed. No one wants to hear you whine anyway. Not when its not even that bad.

Pinch yourself. Scratch your wrist. Bite your knuckles. Pull your hair out. Any thing to keep from screaming out, you must remain silent. Stare into the eyes of the devil, your own devil, with a closed mouth.

Keep your mind empty, don't process the words you hear, the knives being thrown at you from the very lips that were supposed to kiss your cuts and bruises, even from the mouths of strangers on the streets. They can't hurt you, if there's nothing to hurt. You are empty. You are nothing.

Condition love into an emotion that is beyond yourself. What can such an empty, cold-hearted, girl, comprehend? Definitely not a feeling as soft and vulnerable as love. You are too dark, too rough around the edges for that. Too mean,  too much. Too sick too twisted too dead too sarcastic too heartless too passive too unfazed too cruel too unsympathetic too immoral too shaken too impure too oblivious too scared. Too terrified.

So hold it in, dont let your hands shake, don't let your breath quiver, don't let your legs lock, don't let your speech jumble, don't let your knees jump, under the never-ending fear than runs through your veins. Spill it out over your arms and thighs in the middle of a dark and terrible night where in your dreams a man comes and your hands do shake and your breath does quiver. Where you are weak and your fingers fumble and your voice is gone, so stricken with fear that the only way to get it out is with something sharper than thier words. Sharper than your own, which seems impossible because, your words do break skin and they do shed blood and they do make screams silent in the night. And you reach for something that takes it all away and you still wont sleep because if its not the man then its losing everything you have left, which you told yourself was nothing, and if its not that, its losing the love of your life, and if its not that its being trapped in green, or being choked by blue, or falling through blue and green and white and you are terrified and it is very quite amusing
Ounii Sep 5
run run run

The world blurs
Silhouettes shimmer
I run past them
Others run too, shimmering next to me.
I can’t touch them.
I don’t look back as they disappear.
I run,
run run run
until I’m Alone
Left only with these stretch marks
Jordan Ray Aug 20
My love set me free, you belong with me,
My mind is confined in a space that I can't breathe,
You're holding his hand, is this really what you want?

My love I'm sorry, for the way I made you feel,
My eyes are blind, and I'm struggling to see,
You're sharing his bed, is this really what you wanted?

When the lights go dark at the end of the day,
And I'm closing my eyes, but I'm staying awake,
'Cause my mind is racing and I can't seem to slow it down...

But baby I'm older now, I was young, I was stupid, but they're no excuses
I'm older now, I was young, I was reckless, I shouldn't have left us
I'm older now, I was young, I was stupid, I wish that you'd notice
I'm older now, I was you, I was reckless, I shouldn't have left us
Some More Song Lyrics I've Written :/
Ines Rose Jul 31
It’s people who go way back
That won’t give me a call back
I left them back in Philly
Left them in my old city

It’s people who go way back
But I don’t want to backtrack
Some of them will grow and glow
Others will reap what they sow

It’s people who go way back
And yet I have to fall back
We could have stacked together
And been best friends forever

It’s people who go way back,
That disappeared like yik yak
Please keep that same energy
Quand tu me voit sur Paris
Quand tu me voit sur Paris = When you see me in Paris
I've been battling with this one since January.
Yes I know it's "There are". The AAVE is on purpose.
city of flips Jul 17
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.

she is sweet but sad. super sad.

a good poet who wants to guide me.

but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.

seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,

and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.

"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"

my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.

my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,

how I do not want
to be skinned alive.

for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.

and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley

no more conning my mind into letting my body be-fused.^  

that ain't me babe.
Terry Collett Jul 17
You preferred the Mahler
rather than the Delius;
the record played on
your Hi-Fi as we sat
on your blue sofa.

You'd brought us two
glasses of whiskey
and we sat and listened.

There was a print on the wall:
some country scene,
lovers at the corner, kissing.

The curtains were drawn closed
to shut out the street lights
and moon.

Not sure
I could be roused
by Delius, you said,
Mahler it is
who rouses me.

We sipped and sat
next to each other.

Last time I was there,
after Mahler's 5th
we went into your bedroom
and undressed
and made love.

After we lay there hot
and drenched with sweat,
and you said your husband
could never bring you
to such heights.

I remember
our first time,
a year or so before,
and I had come
to your apartment,
and after talk
and drinks,
you seduced me.

You were much
older than I,
but it unwound me
and brought life back
into your bed.

Sometimes I brought
wine or sherry;
often we drank
a whole bottle
between us.

Years later,
a friend of ours
stopped me and said
you had died:
your heart had stopped
and you were found
alone on your bed.

I hadn't seen you
in years;
we had drifted apart.

I remember
your warm smile
and over-beating heart.
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