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Heidi Franke Mar 5
I felt it
When I spoke
To the judge,
For my son,
Years of shell work
Encasing fear and sanity, cracked with each glance, falling away. Everyone listening.
I was left lost
Like a snail losing it's shell
Mushy and vulnerable
A Pulpy mess.

Was it enough
That I said
Or too much.
So much was left out
The Russian Roulette admission
The thoughts of jumping 15 floors from his hotel
So many letters making up words and paragraphs upon paragraphs
of 15 years.
Throwing out a gun
Into the city trash.

How could I be anything more than a mother
Who let the saving flatten her out of existence. Incoherence and pulp.
Will it be discarded
All that effort
To keep him alive
At my expense.
Is that what mothers do?
I'll never get to return. Life doesn't
Let you.
Speaking to judge on behalf of mentally ill son's crimes.
GraciexJones Jun 2021
She inhales a huge chunk of the chemically bitter white gram,
Shouts 'I said GOD DAAAAMNMM! GODANM' in the woman’s toilet,
The women snare at her and she beams a grin as she wipes her nostrils clean,
She strolls back to the same uncomfortable silence she had originally left,
A man with a face like a slapped *** and small crabby eyes stares at her,  
He lights a cigarette and continues to ask her questions about Mr Wallace,
She angelically takes a sip out of her £5 dollar milkshake,
An announcement storms the room “JACK RABBIT TWIST CONTEST”
She glares at him with an excited smug expression,
The man profusely refuses,
She pulls at the chance and says “I want to dance, and I want to win a trophy”

She centres the room with her bold presence,
Introduces herself and the man to the audience,
Chucky Berry 'You never can tell' dawns the room,
She strikes a mixture of aristocrats dance poses,
He follows along whilst wiggling his legs and arms,
She twirls and moves closer to him,
She spins and rocks the swimmer move,
Thrusting her chest towards him,
He drops into the mash-potato dance
She shakes her *** and struts her feet,
He jiggles into faster swings and sways his hips,
Captivated by her flow and energy,
She becomes entranced by his charisma,
The two intwine like a wreath of flowers,
She devours him with her blood shot eyes

The song comes to an end,
The crowd roar with excitement,
She beams at him with pride,
He shyly smiles and bows down with Mia Wallace
Jonathan Oct 2020
If you want to sing your song of retribution,
Face me with your empty eyes wide open.
If you demand that I pay my full restitution,
I’ll give you my penance along with my sin.
I’m not here for your old, dead institution,
I don’t give a **** about the piety of your men.
If you really are the end-all-be-all resolution,
Then simply strike me down and take your win.
Jake Welsh Feb 2020
sunlight reawakens us
from our open-eyed slumber

things happened last night, i don’t know where to begin
partly because of the outrageous events that occurred
and partly since i can’t keep my thoughts straight

boy, i could go for some pancakes and tea
and a moving monologue of redemption.
actually, no pancakes, just the other stuff.

to be honest, i’m not feeling so well. dizzy, you know?
i mean, the sun is up and shining
but i just can’t shake the feeling that the night’s not over.
my fourth (!) chapbook is coming together steadily. looking back at my work, i've noticed a trend towards conventional poem structure, but there's part of me that wants to get back to prose. it's that never ending itch to do things differently, i tell ya.
Garrett Johnson Oct 2019
Earthly blood.

Left inside the crimson.
Ton of
Like the village where we came from.
Dust on the self.
Dust on the shelf where Frida Kahlo stood.
Dust standing dance.
Dust for your health.
And flowers for the some to die.
Just like how I should.

Garrett Johnson.
Sylvia oh Sylvia.
I was dancing in the bar
Where love was the drug
I was soon dancing among the common people
Stepping into the shoes of glasses
Shots for flaming heads for friday nights
Crazy nights could come with the gay fights

I was dancing in the bar
Falling into the glasses and laissez faire
Breaking the coffee in the corner
Creating riffs, and shaking hips
I was dancing in a lesbian bar
Critics were not in the ******* kunstelromm
I was reading books, and apparently working overtime

They say tomoboys read books
If I don’t do it right, I can be wrong
Slowdust and wanderlust- slowly wetting lands
Megitta Ignacia Jun 2019
You're Vincent Vega
I'm Mia Wallace
Plunged the needle to my chest
Adrenaline injection it is
Significant other or a guardian angel?
Baby, you're my 24/7 bodyguard.

You saved me
You saved me
I thanked God, He sent you
I don't need Marsellus Wallace anymore
Completely healed
This immidiate
This instant.
060619 | 18:35 PM di office, lagi hari lebaran hari kedua, bentar lagi mau makan ketupat bareng keluarga kecilku di bali. Tuhan maha baik. Akhirnya kuserahkan diriku pada dia si scorpio yang satu ini :) fully committed now
Chris Saitta May 2019
Paper lantern prose,
Crematorium of hearts,
Beating quick to ash.
dairy Oct 2018
you were a pulp
a sweet little bit
you laugh a while
you ran a mile
you die a little
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