Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
rjh Nov 2018
i do not want to crack myself open for you any more.
i wish i could take back all of the love that i gave you and keep it for someone more deserving, keep it for myself.
i did not care enough for myself in the past. i want to change that.

i recognize that i deserve better. i deserve love, goodness, and health. i deserve happiness. pure joy. i deserve to feel good things, no matter how i felt in the past. even when i am at my lowest, even when i feel that i hate myself, i will continue to respect myself enough to not strip the love i need and want away from myself.
i hope you all feel the same way for yourselves.
Sara Jun 2018
I'm told I'm bad at lying,
all too often I say too much.
When I get sick of trying
I find I flick from on to off.

The warmest smile can quickly turn
into an icy state;
in eyes which swore they knew you
-you will find there's no one there.

I'd love just like a waterfall
with no fear of running out;
'til from my eyes water would fall
like raindrops in a drought.

Now, the most inclusive laughter
slows right down to a flickering glance.
Fuses cut short
after weathering storms
and we dont know
how long
they will last.
writer's rough patch
What if beauty was preserved?

Will it still carry the same significance?
Will preservatives slur her growth?
Will she still become who she was destined to be?
Will her natural beauty be enough to deny any need of preservation?
Sarah Elaine Mar 2017
Towering above realities,
A facade of sorts,
     of protection
     of security
     of isolation
     of preservation
Attempts to bring down, break through..
                    chisel away piece by piece.
                    claw, scratch, dig.
Only the true get in..
Only the real get in..
Only the true persevere... Only the real persevere.
The mob, elites, journalists
As well as poets like I
To our environment-unfriendly bent
Turning a blind eye
Also tardy in asking  "Why
We strip of mother nature's green mantle,
While to maintain the statuesque
It gets locked in a sever battle?"
Equally not checking overgrazing,
We allowed fertile soil and sand
Amok,wild floods ride
To a close by touristic lake,
Whose mouth an expansion
Used to make
As much as its foreign body intake.

Soon,with the vast array of
Flora and fauna it supports,
Before we knew it
The magnificent lake died
Ceding place to a barren land,
An eyesore that looked a dump yard!
We used to believe  the talk about environment change is a far-fetched prognosis but things began to change before our eyes.Seasons simply bear their name their features are completely changed! Dedicated to Haromaya Lake!
Martin Narrod Mar 2016
The saddest day, it was yesterday.
Smoky sullen pushy congested lightless sky day.
Wrecked and weathered, gluey, obtuse and penned with
Melancholy and wanton desire. Wanting on and selling off

The Vampires and wretched thieves hibernating back in coach,
Seated in peacock-scoundrel dress. There's was the rudimentary
Yet pertinent foulness of childlike hatred, but they wore it under
Coarsely fitting suits to cover their hefty bags of ginormous fat.

Fatty ***** to scrutinize. Fatty ***** to wallow in the throes of
Dark fatty dementia.
Purses of alabaster filled with hemoglobin. Obfuscating zilch.
Scurvy on the arms, reptiles in their ears, and a million miles of
Stenchy, noisome, in glut. Wallowing, heavy and anti-professional.

Loff-less, un-catchy, unkempt, and in a clamor.
Boarish and obtrusive.
Gushy of anguish and the uncomfortable hide of rhino
Replaced for the swill excrement vetted porcine hocks of a
Kaleidoscope rich, aftermarket slug-pact for the bowels of
This century's egoes. Heavy on the cheeses, Cheetos, and Pathos.

In the hutch, a gaily brimming sunswept valley chimes
With the fruitful gaiety around the crowned Pantone TX1333 and Sienna heads that does keep. Homes are heavier, heaving the shrills.
Archaic muted cries of childhood, upsetted tummies serving at the Sighs of Lucifer. There are scoundrels here and in the underwear and in The water and under the water.

Frogs moo, chimney's weep, most other's Mother's have done true **** Jobs keeping their reared up to par with the others to avoid being Other'd. And our own language isn't being kept. It's undoing itself atop The bridges of mouths and the ridges of jawlines, and they have faded Swiftly, and no surrogate or custodial colloquialism has lived up to the Shadows and forethought of our greatest grandparents. And what has Your Jesus brought you except uncertainty, foul-play, and foul players And despondent and boarish chicas.

So now there you have this: brevity.
Another soft-tipped dactylic hand for undertaking.
By the end of days there will be the licking of butts,
Poor movies with Salma Hayek, and the lot of children's books
No children, not even these triplets will remember their fine names:

Tee, Bee, and Cee.
Crocus and sourdough lilies
Brimming over the nostril opera's of
These adopted gospels.
Only the ramparts of our literary apartheid and totally ******
Sexualness in kids and dults of all ages.
Grade A slovenly scholars
In agreement that we're ******* over tomorrow.
I just need attention,
Love and its invention.
Sanity on the rocks,
I seize with supervision.
Ice cold to the touch,
Her ******* in my clutch,
I love it so much,
But I'm frostbitten it's such,
A beautiful thing.
An old Facebook post of mine.
Lyn Dale Jan 2016
here’s what i’ll do
a good british thing
i’ll queue
get to the front, lean on the counter
(chipped and worn and scratched formica)
‘One memory preservation order please’
(it always pays to be polite)
‘That’s not how it works, here’s the form’
(form i can)
thankyouthankyouthanksverymuch
many boxes to tick
many scratches to itch
complete finally, submitted with its
appropriate fee
in a few weeks, two or three
i’ll receive
an unbreakable, unviolatable
memory
Next page