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AJ Jun 8
I crave the change I also dread,
It dances loud inside my head
For when you’ve lived in chains so long,
They start to feel like where you belong

They bind me tight, they hold me still,
They crush my voice, they break my will,
But in their grip, I’ve come to stay,
And fear the world without their sway

What would I do, if I were free?
No walls, no locks, no weight on me?
This place, though cold, I’ve come to know,
It shaped my steps, it taught me “no.”

My dreams keep whispering through the dark,
But even dreams have lost their spark
For even there, I fear the cost,
Afraid to find what I have lost

I long for joy, yet flinch from light,
I watch it glowing, clear and bright,
But I’ve lived so long in shadow’s arms,
The sun, to me, might do me harm

How can I walk with eyes so gray,
Into a gold and blinding day?
Without the chains to pull me back,
What compass guides the open track?

What rules exist when none remain?
What shape is joy that’s born from pain?
And so I stay, both near and far,
A prisoner who guards their own bar
eliana 4d
How do you sit down and talk to your sister
and tell her that her Daddy has gone?
It's easier explaining the meaning of death
and why people die and draw their last breath.

But Daddy, he's gone to no peaceful heaven.
Instead he's in prison and serving a seven,
so how do you sit down and tell your own sister
the whys and the reasons her Daddy has gone?

"Listen, sis, you'll need to be strong.
Daddy has done something terribly wrong.
He's gone into prison for quite a long time,
and this is what happens when you commit crime."

"Daddy still loves us, he'll phone and he'll write,
ring you to wish you goodnight and sleep tight.
We can sit down together and write him a letter.
It'll make Daddy smile and make him feel better."

I tried telling my sister with emotional tact
the truth of the matter, but you can't hide the fact.
Her Daddy has gone and has gone for a while.
You can't say it with flowers or manage a smile.

So how do you sit down and talk to your sister
and answer her questions why Daddy has gone?
All you can do is just tell him your way
and pray to the Lord he'll be home soon one day.
still yet to tell my ***** but shes only 5🫤 idk how to tell her or if i even should.
Mateah Jun 10
I've become convinced that love ends in pain.

Maybe not in eternity, but in this life, I believe that's true. Love in this life has an end already written. And it hurts. Giving into love is like locking yourself in a prison, knowing that a lethal injection is the only way out. I used to think that didn't matter to me... "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Well my defense mechanisms are screaming the opposite. They're making the part of love that's supposed to be sweet have a bitter aftertaste. I thought I would choose love, even knowing the end. Now love's been presented to me so nicely, but my guts are in a knot and that lethal injection is haunting me. How do you defy every self-preservation bone in your body for love?

To make it even more difficult, I don't see anyone else struggling with this decision. Other people just embrace the lethal injection without a second thought. They're okay with the trade. They don't even care if a key to the prison exists cause they would never so much as think about taking it. Love is worth it to them...

Why isn't it to me?

What made my defense mechanisms so heightened that I can't deny them for something I want. For something that would be really good... Maybe a key doesn't exist. But my mind found another solution: don't go into the prison. Just avoid the whole thing to begin with. So here I am, stuck in the middle. In what feels like a perpetual struggle between my heart wanting something beautiful and good, but my brain being in fight-or-flight mode trying to protect me. It's exhausting. It's a lot easier just being alone... My life was still so full...
The "happily ever after" side of me wants to believe I'll choose love. But my brain is a realist. And it has a hard time believing I'll choose the prison...
More of a journal entry than a poem... But this helped me process a lot when I was struggling with these feelings. Would love to know if anyone else deals with this...
They reside on the other side.
They bathe in fertility.
They own yard-keepers and servants;
Dogs, cats and charming plants.

They breathe the camphorated air like us,
Swallow the transparent dust,
Cross over and fall in the muddy rivers
Like our siblings living under the tiny tents.

They reside on the other side of town,
Over the mountains.
They bathe in tranquil fertility
Of the country-side.

They ignore that we are the same
And that we experience daily the same dilemmas.
One day, them and us, all of us will answer
Present deep in the river, under the karmic bridge.


P.S. This poem was originally written during my college years. Nelson Mandela was still illegally and wrongfully jailed, spending (wasting) 27 years of his heroic and precious life unjustly incarcerated. Mr. Nelson Mandela and my African brothers and sisters are the sources of my inspiration.

Copyright © circa May 1984 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Laokos May 26
weight.
that’s all I feel now.

the weight of silence.
absence.  
thoughts like boots
stuck in mud up to my knees.

thirteen thousand nights
pounding out of my chest like a riot mob
choking on my life
and staring down twenty thousand more.
****.

the searing void
of an ancient sugared kiss
sends tears down my face
like tiny iron weights—
a silent guillotine.
you’re so far away now.
or maybe I am.

dusting off dreams
like they’re old pictures
and setting them back on the shelf
in this violet desert.
mirage or memory?
who knows.

I’ve become a warm corpse
mumbling “no”
to the tired lives that want to ride me
like an old horse
one limp away from being glue.

who is there to tell?
who the hell would listen?
who’d step foot
onto the interstate of my heart
dodging semis
and roadkill potpourri?

doesn’t matter.
the dreams look clean again.
and that’s enough
to keep the lights on in the cell
for another thousand nights.

so keep that duster handy.
go back to sleep.

these nights are hungry.
and they’re not going to eat themselves.
kevin Mar 30
you have found
red ink industries
it's what it is
racist
that word is where i
am not with you
whoever you are
your not out there
this world exists also
a world above
and able to come down on you
the reality of freedom
has terms
not conditions
I come from Kashmir
where land is green & white snow bed
and I come from Kashmir
where roads aren’t black but are red.

I come from Kashmir
where Daughter Tajamul brought Gold
and I come from Kashmir
where daughter Nafiya craves for her father’s body and lost his soul.

I come from Kashmir
where journalists get Peter Mackler & Pulitzer awards
and yet I come from Kashmir
where journalists get charged under UAPA as a reward.

I come from Kashmir
where Thekedar gets benefits under the Roshni Act
and I come from Kashmir
where an internet shutdown of 551 days was for every sect.

I come from Kashmir
where Gupta g ranked 1st in the country
and yet I come from Kashmir
where youth have to carry ID’s to prove their identity.

I come from Kashmir
which was known for its cultural dress Pheran
and I come from Kashmir
which now has more business in selling Kaffan.

I come from Kashmir
which Allama called the valley of braves
and I come from Kashmir
which now is the valley of Graves.

I come from Kashmir
which was called Earth’s Heaven
and yet I come from Kashmir
which now is the World’s Biggest Prison.

I come from Kashmir
where Chinars paint the autumn gold
and I come from Kashmir
where every spring, new tombstones unfold.

I come from Kashmir
where Dal Lake mirrors the moon’s glow
and I come from Kashmir
where blood taints the rivers’ flow.

I come from Kashmir
where children dream of books and play
and I come from Kashmir
where childhoods vanish in smoke and clay.

I come from Kashmir
where lovers once whispered in gardens wide
and yet I come from Kashmir
where silence now walks side by side.

I come from Kashmir
where poets wrote of love and fate
and yet I come from Kashmir
where verses now carry only weight.

I come from Kashmir
which history books fail to define
and I come from Kashmir
which lives between the headlines’ lines.
A voice from Kashmir—serene on the surface, deep with unspoken stories.
Are we free anymore? I’ve asked myself lately,
Sure, it seems so, but a few things are shady,
Well, more than a few; in fact most of our lives
Are controlled and well-governed like dogs kept on lines.

Last week my own neighbor was caught and arrested
For owning plants curing her cancer, depression,
Science speaks truth but the Law doesn’t mind
Their care is your sentence, not the healing inside.

We’re ruled by fear, I’ve come to conclude
It’s limiting consciousness, limiting mood
Forced to pay off all those bills in the mail
Or they’ll haul you away to community jail.

It’s not always this way—look at it like this,
We do have a large sum of freedom as kids,
We can eat, speak, dress, and play how we please
Before the real world arrives, subjugating this ease.

“Get good grades in school, be quiet, and listen,
Better cut the tomfoolery or end up in prison,
Repent all your sins or you can’t go to Heaven”
...Are drilled in our heads by the time we reach seven.

Yes, it is fear; now much clearer to me,
Yet sadly too subtle for the masses to see,
Some of us hope that things will get better,
So we dogs may finally stray from our tether.
Written on 2018-12-21. This was written for a high school poetry project.
Jeremy Betts Dec 2024
Permanent are
The memories trapped in a scar
And though a few might fade,
It'd be quicker to count every star
At times I don't notice them
Other times they're another prison bar
Attempts to hide them are made
But mummification seems a step too far
In my day to day they are
All I can see,
Haunting my reality
They've stolen the getaway car
And I'll not make it far
In this mangled avatar

©2024
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