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bara tubuhku
satu nafas, tikaman di perut
tapi bukan dari luar
bukan dari luar

cairan menjelma jadi belati
satu tegukan ramuan rempah sakti
rimpang agung warisan bumi pertiwi
jemari kuning si mbok hadir membukti
hangat jamu kuning pekat nan wangi
meresap, dinding terkikis
rasanya jantung diri digenggam keji

kini terlepas dari ragaku
sebegini ampuhnya
hingga ia menyerah luruh
sewaktu-waktu berdalih biasa saja
itu hanya gumpalan darah biasa
tidak ada yamg mengambil jiwa secara paksa
tubuhnya saja belum terbentuk sempurna
itu hanya gumpalan darah biasa
240919 | 00:09AM, kecemasan yang itu-itu lagi, perkara kesiapan, lamunan imaginasi tentang ada atau tiadanya makhluk kecil di tubuh manusia. Para wanita umumnya tahu persis kecemasan bisa diselesaikan dengan pelancar datang bulan.
Maya Duran Sep 18
Everything you own is covered in blood.
     They arrive on moments composed of crumpled paper, tired and degraded by the heat and pressure of God's palm, left in Her pocket too long. ******* and apathetic inaction meet in the center of the sheet where your pelvis, your s e x rests while you sleep and lie and lie and sleep and sleep and lie. A Rorschach blot card where you see the death of dignity. Mother, Roommate, and Tinder Dates that you never bring home see everything that they had hoped you weren't.

     Cochina. Pig, ******* pig.

     And I can't read that last verse out loud. That tells you everything you need to know.

Everything you own is covered in blood.
     You bleed when you don't feel enough, or when what you feel isn't what you ought to feel--silly ******* scholarship with the brains and the championed cheek bones (if you just lost the weight, she says to herself sometimes, and her friends don't agree, but there is a deafening lack of disagreement that takes the room).

     Bold girl who never made suicide jokes because she was so so so good at this game called self love until she wasn't. Until she ran out of bad ***** juice. Until she felt the weight of it, the world.

     And so you choose to feel the bite of an exacto knife.

Reliable, that.
Pleasurable, that.
Guilty, guilty pleasure.
Shameful pleasure.

     We were supposed to be grown up, glowed up. Above this.

                                                  **** this.

     When did it become so hard to love yourself?
TW for Self Harm. It was a bad evening. Old temptations came for me
anyone else hurt like f*?
just me?
Ray Dunn Jul 30
i brought my flowers
into the market square,
but when they all met the frost
they withered and turned bare.

i ran out of bread—
snow blocking my path home,
so i sold the last flower i had
and to god i must atone.
i just bought flowers for my garden and lugging them up the bath on a wheel barrow i felt like an old timey peasant it was so funny
Pretty girl Apr 18
i am but a child with my eyes closed believing i am invisible
cloaked in my own curiosity
i tiptoe over sentences and ask about big words like
what does ******* mean?

My mama told me don't ask for it
What is it?
How do I paint my nails red without smearing the Polish?

When i felt (becoming a woman) run down my legs along went my wonder, childlike
My body was now poetic in the way it wrote verses across the pad
We are cyclic beings
Living under our cyclic mother 
We howl to her and she turns red
Our cheeks and finger tips blush
Like a cherry 
Like blood 
Like a fire with a heart
We become her
We bleed, we ovulate, we phase 
In an infinity loop
(Mirror images, round, fertile energies)
Becoming and unbecoming
Badshah Khan Mar 6
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) - 65

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

A Highly Saint!
Whom they indeed achieve,
In his prime time not for an elongate period,
But it is constant forever till the time finale!

Allah Khair..... Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab - Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
within the red is life unwoven
an unknown that rests undefined
before it knows it’s end
it leaves traces of its redundance in the shape of senseless tremors
and restless quivers
that leave me paralysed in time

the blood curse 
the ritual of unborn futures  
it leaves me thinking  of
slashing the bonds of my abdomen
for the bittersweet release
of this cascading trauma
will leave me unmade
and free from bloodfilled womanhood
Sketcher Nov 2018
I will contemplate my boredom today, it's terrible,
I must dedicate my actions to something ethical,
So I'll go agitate all the photo chemicals,
It won't automate, it's not a technical miracle,
I will be the chaser of an adventure to set out,
To steal a stack of photo paper someone had left out,
Took it from "The Enticing Taylor", stole his photo clout,
I'm no hater but you better remember to take out,
Your **** when you are done in the dark room...
I might be a hater... but not really...
Nylee Nov 2018
It is seasonal
limited time period
Your smile, his frown
My car, her scar
A small episode by far.

Tiny twinkles
Cloudy atmosphere
Pull push
Open and close the door
Then sit on the floor.

And rest
Blooming rose
And the bleeding thorns
Leaving the pieces torn.

All it begins
And ends
We live and die
Nothing remains
No entertainment.

Replaced fractions
Divided notions
Agreed and discarded
Lies filled in truth
Because life gives no proof.

Ten steps, eleven jumps
Crawling there
After a huge fall
In between few moments
A sad sentiment.

A vacant headspace
It came and went away
Nothing stays
Good bad ****
All too early
A thought left

Rough days
Cold nights
replaces warmth
tight shoulders
Stiff movements
Aching muscles.

The bitter taste
Sweetened in spring
And the autumn leaves
Winter is coming
The ages pass
Just like that
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