Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
For you,
I feel an ancient yearning
Baked into my bones
A cosmic ache-
A prehistoric hunger-
A primitive pining

Yes,
It’s a supernatural connection—
Mine and yours—
A rest-the-vessel,
Let-the-tides-guide,
Sacred sort of love

Because betwixt us,
There is a longing
Only the moon
No — only god, herself  
And all her sapphic sovereignty
Could resist

There is a glowing desire
So fervent within us
That I wish I could reach into your Heavenly Body
And pull out your stars  
And thread them into the nest of my womb

An immortal, galactic romance—
Ours is—
Fit for gallery halls and poetry readings
And woven with all the glittery things  
But it’s Roommates, they’ll call us
Roommates, reads our plaque

Roommates—
Not lovers, nor sweethearts
Not partners, nor darlings
No lust
No lore
The saga of us, enduring no more

Celestial stains and divine shame
Roommates, we’ll remain
So we’ll guard this holy matrimony,
We’ll let our lovers’ anthem die
We know the truth is in the stars
We know who lives a lie
A nod to queer erasure in history and a commentary on the current political climate
Dhimss 1d
The matter of the fact happens to be, I've ****** my way to ascension and I know how my shackles broke.

I wasn't rambling about nonsense but the **** I was spewing wasn't venom but love. I was sharing information about the future and that brought me to find the right help because at one point I realized I was everyone's safe space but I forgot who mine were.

I've been in every possible timeline. I know Claire, I know the real bubblegum baddies. I just thought I was tripped through all of that though.

Maybe change is uncomfortable in the way people with body dysmorphia feel, changing clothes in front of a mirror with shearing blind lights.

Maybe it wasn't me that was crazy. I just asked the right questions.

I was apolitical for a reason, but then I realized politics is your fundamental human right and if I don't fight for my human rights, who will?

If I don't claw and scream my way out, who will?
I've always been nice but I've always also been just out of reach from happiness.

So maybe it wasn't me.
Maybe, maybe isn't even the word.
The words ought to be in the present tense because change can't be seen until it's all done.
psych ward retrieves
Michael 4d
Where were you
when our democracy died?
I was watching cartoons,
with my child by my side.
Ambiguously aware
of our dangerous slide,
as trusted family and friends
say it’s all in my mind.
Safe, for now, in my skin
amongst my “own kind,”
until the day comes,
we are asked to align…
Will we then remember the day
our democracy died?
THE LAST AMERICAN
CONFESSION TO OR TOO
OF FOOLS DUE THUS
ARE FRIENDS AS FEW
THE LAST AMERICAN
THE LORD TO OR TOO
WHAT GOOD A PAY
A TRUTH RIGHT TO
THEREFORE TOO AM
THE LAST AMERICAN
A CRY TO OR TOO AS
I CONFESS. I LOVE YOU.
Everyone is out for a monopoly,
Military, gas, or machinery,
We all want the same kind of green.
But me?
I sure built a monopoly,
But mines of monopolists.
Gotta think a step ahead.
Words appear nonsensical
Fact checks are becoming daily headlines.
Pure prevarications
Not mere vagueness
Bold untruths, shams
Two-faced attempts
To cheat to win
In a battle of ideas.
Better still, flooding
Air-waves, all media
With bogus pretext
That fend off
A battle
From ever being fought.

More than just falsification,
blatant fabrications!
Labeling truth a lie
Shut-downs instead of debate,
All communication aimed
to discredit, debunk, and divide.

* (back in the day we called this **** and bull)
Politics, lies, nonsense
Michael Mar 5
The golden calf commands!
Lower your gaze!
Bind your hands!
Pretend the lies
That raze the lands,
That **** the soul,
Are not the plans
Of a golden…
*******
They sell fear,
On the evening news,
So I don't watch it anymore.

They show you police brutality,
Mass murders,
And war.

But what they refuse to put on that screen,
Is the people fighting to do the right thing.
Because who would buy their fear,
If they could see the world changing.
I've noticed a sizable difference in the news showing violence and destruction compared to protests and reforms.
Àŧùl Mar 4
There was a hegemony on the stage,
There were listeners downstairs,
And the latter were Et Cetera.

The stampede killed the Et Cetera,
Not touching those on the stage,
Sparing the spinners of yarn.
My HP Poem #2052
©Atul Kaushal
Next page