Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Freya Adirhe Sep 22
Advesarity consumed their unwilling fidelity
When traps and weapons emerge from its deformity
Becoming mortal enemy hits me harder than this distant identity
Fervently latching to me, imposing some closed-caused authority
In this dense haze of trees, masked perpetrators are high on their legacy
Legacy imprints self-esteem, potent drugs, but never talked about
View me as a punching bag or a litter box for communal deviance

My lovely margins keep being reinstated
Hail these double sided blades as irreplaceable
Close encounter with nature but ephemeral nights are our boundaries
Turbulent morning haze and filaments trip my appendages and rip it
Among the suspects, among forest whispers, potent but hidden between shadows
They view us as a submissive vessels for so called reluctant state of shows

When did the turnover happen?
Striding my stance quietly before waves consume me
Where did the roulette take place?
Deciding on who will stand in the front and spotlight
What base did the society decide on the course of my skin?
Deliriously, prancing on my left foot since I was never enough
Early youths have decided to view me as the carrier and the cause

Truly crash me hard enough, for these, born with double edge calls
Truly drive me close enough, isolation and constellation derive my sudden change of identity
View me quick enough, so my breathe will arrive sparse enough
View us low enough, so our garbs will distract lowly eyes
I'm working on it

-Conceptual Romance, 2016
BD Apr 19
They came expected,
But oh so unexpected,
Dusk stalking blue skies and sun,
A small patch; barely infected,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

The naivety of my youth allowed me to forgive them,
But time has passed,
They have been feeding,
Infesting,
Like mould in a damp corner,
I ‘must be handling them wrong’,
A new product promised to do wonders,
To my ears an angel’s song,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

And yet a few turned to a family,
Beneath the diet, the exercise, the routines, the gallons of water, the research,
I could hear Lucifer laughing,
Like that one person at my school,
That was a year ago,
And yet they and Lucifer still laugh at me,
Through murky panes and pictures,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

Every day they disappear more,
I tell myself I’ve won,
Yet old pictures show me it’s an illusion,
Surely they’ll end for summer’s fun,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

I now greet my friend the mirror,
Between everything I do,
He tells me it’s getting clearer,
His story’s must be true,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone,

I am a fool to my own deceit,
For the naked eye of me the whole world,
Can see these demons,
These scarlet brandings,
And every glimpse I catch in my friend the mirror,
In the reflections of a stranger’s wondering eye,
The voice in my head says ‘why me’
That’s all that it’s come to,
There is no more light in this night that has consumed me,
So all that is left,
Is echoes,
‘Why me’

But they won’t be here for long,
Just a few weeks and they’ll be gone.
Darcy J Mar 13
Sometimes life deals you bullets,
And sometimes those bullets stay on your face in the form of grotesque accessories that you never wanted but can't get rid off.
These are the bullets that have hurt me,
and although they only appear on the surface,
I can feel them shooting holes inside of me every day.
They ****** my confidence and wound my features leaving me with the smallest but most impactful scars for the rest of my life.
To the bullets that throb on my face,
for now, I will hate you,
resent you,
cry over you but one day I will be the last one standing,
I will be the Victor, with a face held high in a bright light staring happily in a mirror.
However, this is the future, I just wish that the future would come as quick as a bullet.
Matthew Jan 21
Child like innocence
and strange infatuations
Limbo

Limited days spent thinking of the
love of my life
soon to change
the next week.

Hiding furtive crushes from the ones you love.
Until they realize it
ten seconds later

Acting as if these trivial days
will matter years later.

But somehow, still wanting those days to never go away.
And never going to end it.
Sidney Chelle Nov 2018
it was never the big boy parts i wanted.
it was their soft details.
i wanted my arms to be more fuzzy, with wisps gleaming golden and straw in sun.
i wanted my shoulders to be broad, unbroken, and busy. i wanted to carry weight and spin girls dizzy.
i wanted a back, straight, always pointing north. i wanted angles and shores, i wanted fuzz and more.
i toothbrushed my face every night, suds glistening, mind listening, waiting for days where i had something to clean,
when it would feel just right.
i told myself i wouldn't let it be me, i pressed into seams and skirt's flow and i acted like i didn't know how it hurt.
i wanted dropped sounds and fewer mounds, i wanted free of feminine ecstasy. i wanted golf rounds and the sounds of a daughter looking at me
and saying daddy.
i pushed my fears into my pants, i held onto cramps and crowns, focusing so that i could be less man and less frowns. i packed and bound and wondered if i was right.
if i really was Eli at night.
so i'm sailing these seas of hormones and bliss, i'm sealing my soul with every kiss, and i'm looking at our horizons.
and i'm wondering if there is a me out there.
theodosia Oct 2018
just like a seed,
i will continue to grow
tears will educate me
and sunshine-like people
will motivate me
to be a better person
i am today.
lol random
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
shirelles
monday night
alone in a big house
light the candles
another one of my rituals
born one hour,
dead the next
to make room
for other
prayers
postures
pen tips
but the way candles
flicker in the sweet
soul
is not another ritual
warm life
to the tune of golden
notes
swimming through
once bleak
     once empty
once impure
       air
and suddenly, I am baptized
more than I ever was
in that sterile, dead
chlorine
    more than spent hymns
in drafty cathedrals
       so, the sound lives.


my bed would tilt
           at twelve years old
I'd wake
               startled of the
                       psychic death
spread like bodies after
            a paid for war
I'd scream like the cats
              fighting by the window
at my aunts house
               I would huddle with
my childhood
                     hiding from the puberty
that stalked me
like a jungle cat
               the mind reeled with
my spent pulse and
                 at night
                        under shamed
                   covers
                                 bitten fingertips
the white light
           on the street
                              looking on
Joanna Charis Aug 2018
You are like a flower;
Elegant and daitny.
You were once a bud—-
Who grew to be a beauty.
Next page