rgz Jan 2
Books of war
What are we writing them for?
We need a quick recess
These pages abhor
What a bore

Decant to pour some more
Down the throats you deplore
We can afford no more
We can't hold those doors
**** the poor

**** their ambitions and desire
We're just fishing in the fire
Making wishes to a liar
Building ditches to get higher
Using twitter to inspire?

I need an oxycontin
Just to keep from stomping
Down on all these 'law'men
Who are far too ******* often
On the wrong side of the law - then
Should you need one they're all gone and
It's the peaceful who are wronged when
The policemen come a knocking
Doors locking
this really took a turn
acacia Dec 2018
can you close the windows? there's a draft. where could i begin?
for starters, my iced tea isn't so iced, now, and my food isn't so warm.
is it possible they've exchanged for the other?
my only command here is that the stove continues to light,
and the boiler continues to boil.
i demand that you fill my plate each night. i demand you to continue running my bath.
ask and i shall receive, right? maybe i should be more polite.
i ask that our blankets continue to cover us, and the bed
continues to comfort and soothe our backpains.
will you continue to allow my trees to grow in your backyard? are
there any other trees in the heart of your town?
can you continue to sweep the floors while I fold the clothes?
continue singing, and sleeping near my heart?
i pray that when i go everything continues to run.
the watered plants, the sleeping dogs, and the oven turned off.
the locks locked, the doors closed, and everything i love (You) is safe and sound. i'll stay in our bed, i'll wait for you -- just let me know,
you'll always come back home to bed with me.
i request these things nicely, my Lord. i request as i look into
your dirt eyes, feel the fire in your palm,
and kiss the velvet on your feet.
i beg of you to never leave--
we can take to the highway; a prayer to you
acacia Dec 2018
write about the color of my cranberries when they are first ripe, then the juices that spill out like soft milk overflowing;

the way your blood race to your nose and the color of warmth that
fills my hands and spreads down to my toes when
i am sitting beside a fire and some lights, shielded from
the blue outside.

here i am, on the coral sand, greeted by the hushed-colored waters to watch as it just barely covers my feet. (it splashes little splashes of itself on me.)

the tongue that glides over lips with sheen is pink, the smell of the perfume is pink;

the smell of the fauna and flora, natural wildlife spurring around, the mist goes about 3,000 feet in my direction – i think it’d also go about 3,000 feet in yours, as well.

the insides of this dewy bud, juicy and softened, and not yet ripe; flooded with instincts (and insects)

and someone else’s pink.

the color is when i'm angry at you but instead i am angry at me;
and if i could i'd be reborn as a starfish or the tiniest caterpillar you've ever seen.
the color is when i'm angry at you but instead i am angry at me
Jessica Dec 2018
When they ask me why I stayed so long
I explain that because of you
I never ran out of things to write about.

Looking back,
I wonder whether all along
I was looking for a lover
or a writing prompt.
Jonathan Surname Oct 2018
I am sad again, but I have no idea why.
Living keenly with an idea of what I want out of life.
My favorite season, autumn, is upon us.
And my writing is frequent and fulfilling.
So why am I sad again and why am I an orange juice, spilling?

I miss the days where drugs meant fun. Where ridicule was a pasttime.
Between best friends, and Windows didn't force updates.
The Internet was an escape around which Identity was ignored.
You were your username,
and you were too full to be bored.

I am sad again despite selling two poems to a couple patrons
during an open mic night I frequent.
I hadn't been much, chose instead to spend
my time writing and feeling sorry for myself.
Now that I'm out again and re-befriending familiar faces.
It almost feels like belonging is as lost as context between the spaces.
I'm stark raving sad and I've only just arrived.
One year finally after the middle-age of twenty five.
If I make it until January consider me your unlucky kin.
A day without morbidity, how long has it since last been?

Too long;
So long, too.
ten minutes per poem, part 2
venn Oct 2018
Dear Newborn,

Hi, hello.


I hope you’re enjoying your stay here on planet Earth.

I’m sure the drive in was a little difficult, a little painful,
perhaps a little ****** (or a lot ******),
like moving from the darkest cavern to the brightest….
well, place. Area. Location.

I can’t think of anything superbly bright right now.
Oh, oh, I know.

It’s like living your whole life floating
in the very reaches of outer space and then
catapulting directly into the sun

Great analogy.

Regardless, welcome.

I said I hope you enjoy your stay,
the key word being hope, because, well,
you may not enjoy it

In fact, it’s guaranteed that there are parts of life
that will be near-torturous,
that will make you wish you had never been brought
into this world

But with that also comes moments of happiness
unlike anything you will ever experience, 
intense joy that makes you feel as though
you’re weightless once again,
floating out in space with no restraints,
no boundaries, just peace

The good will be great,
and the bad will be horrible,
and sometimes the good will be good
and the bad will be just bad,
it all depends on the day

A word of advice: treasure the time you have.

You won’t understand why this is important until you're older,
but do it anyway

Life fades just as quickly as it is brought to fruition,
and there are people on this Earth you will want to treasure
like they are the finest gold ever to be fished out of the land

There will be moments like this, too,
moments you wish would never fade,
and they will fade,
but never let them escape your memory,
and seek to make more of those moments every day,
even when happiness seems like an impossible dream

Life is the most difficult journey you will ever go on,
but has the possibility of being the most rewarding, as well

Allow the pain to be felt just as vibrantly as the happiness.

Never stifle your emotions.

Never limit others.

Never forget where you came from.

Never stop dreaming,

But never allow yourself to be tied down by those dreams, either.

Be free,
do what makes you happy,
be compassionate,
drink and make merry
(once you're legally allowed to, mind you),
and just be.

Exist to the great capacity you possibly can,
and die knowing you lived

Wishing you the greatest of luck,
a young dreamer
Delia Grace Sep 2018
And we’re close in a way
That I couldn’t explain
With your comforting gaze
In the soft morning rain
And the water drips down
On my bare blinking lids
And you’re still there
When my eyes open again

Everyone longs for the sun
Or the sea
To be looking back at them
Through the space in between
But your darkness stares back
With a warmth deep inside
And I hope you hold true
As my fall intervenes

I’m partial to darkness
While the day still stands high
The contrast is simple
Against royal skies
With a comfort in place
And a turning of string
And you strike a sweet chord
With a soft song in mind

And the lyrics you hear
Of the sea and the sun
Don’t talk about feelings
That hit like a gun
When the starlight shines down
And you brighten to gold
You’re a bright brand new amber
And I am undone
A commentary on brown eyes
Delia Grace Sep 2018
Returning with
A plastic bag and
Speckled with the rain
She hears the click
Of the door behind you
And you take off your coat

The patter of her feet
And she slides down the hall
In her favorite fuzzy socks
To greet you with a warm hug
And the smell of Vicks
That will never go away

And you don’t forget
To put water in the soup
(At least this time)
And the kettle whistles
And she mimics it from
The other room

The world is warm
In front of the television
With your favorite movie
Sending changing colors
Across your faces
And her mug of lemon tea
There are pieces of me in both of these characters
Delia Grace Sep 2018
Peeling silver skin
And exposing yourself
To change
In blister punch holes
Is a fight in itself

And running is easy
And hiding is comfort
And tiled voices echo
Against porcelain
And bubbles
Delia Grace Sep 2018
With black-brown eyes
She gazes upon the world.
With cold smiles
She confirms your fears.
With ancient words
She sends you away.

With glittering looks
She binds you.
With shivering voices
She finds out what you’ve done.
With violent fingers
She addresses your sins.
She shines
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