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acacia Jul 7
Postured up high
green vertical sign
vertical is blue
after green comes blue

He takes it in all night
sipping from a cursed chalice
pull down your armor
show the world your undergarments
take off your hidden charms

Drag a sword across the way
stab them in the chest
they pray to your name
they pray you find their way
Uncoil your serpent
let jets rush through your ears
feel your soul detach, feel your spirit detach,
let this hole detach, keep your spirit in tact

You'd look softer in moonlight
you, the God, calls upon Mount Lake --
you dip your mind into the "A-ness of A";
flail all of your belongings, they belong to the ground
everything is all natural, everything you do is a distraction

Contemplation -- is that what you want?
contemplation -- is that your goal?
Followers think you're their only true lover,
they lay down their kidneys for you --
pedestal, you lay on, above the matrix,
above the world, above (y)our citta, above the soul;

take back everything you say,
purge all of your thoughts: you never had to be this way,
your ghosts now lurk in your pocket, bees swarm your eyes,
they will never stop until -- don't ponder stupid questions like that,
don't assume I'm higher than you, don't you assume I grovel at you feet --

go to the planet of nothing, see what it all really looks like
grandiose can only get you so far
your arrogance stinks up your soul
this room wreaks with cynical fascism, the carpet molds
and your contagious bacteria grows

I will clean up your mess for you,
I'll bask in this narcissistic stench of yours
they take your pictures, they curse at your name,
they see you smile, they lick up your blame
I'd want to be your only true lover
I'm not a spatial thinker

You follow up the road to the stairs
to the highest door shrouded in white
Here,you sing in hymns and snowy tundras,
Here, you are clad in black
your skin is white as carbon
your heart is browner and darker and blacker than below

I burn down your trees
you burn down my city
they aid in your destruction
pseudo-knowledge is their best bet
you've tricked them all now

Get out of my castle
this could be Our castle
I'm ready for it right now
give me the Green light,
let me be the blue-black flame,
the flame to hold your white up high

O, my flame
I still hold your vision in my mind
the walks we will take
the grass verdant and the water trickling
down our steps
it's all there to remind ourselves
that we are interwoven with ourselves and
the birds and trees and bees
these bushes float above the grassy hills
Do you still love the fairies? The spirits
are nothing but our own mind, we are the spirits
in the garden, in our garden, in your garden

O, my flame,
some things will never change
some things have never changed at all
though it may seem that way
to our unseeing eyes
to our veiled eyes
we cannot see all colors, anyway,
so what makes you think that we
see it all? we cannot hear all sounds, anyway,
so what makes you think that we
can contemplate it all?

I will always be there for you, Ground,
to feed you and to water you
O, my flame,
the night-light breathes through
our trees, we walk the distance in the night
the rain won't touch us here
Do you want it to touch us there?

O, my flame,
swim towards me, swim through the fields,
swim through the meadows, swim through the air,
swim through the porous clouds, swim through the smoldering
smoke, swim through the smoke-soaked toads, swim in a knee-length
whatever it takes to get towards me, whatever it takes to get near me,
whatever it takes to fall in me,
say you are still kindled
Some things will never change
Aspen Trimble Nov 2018
How dare you
How dare you sit there cradling your head
Wishing you had never been born
When you have birthed someone yourself
How dare you consider leaving him
His father doesn’t know how to take care of a baby by himself
How dare you think of the check the military would give him if you were gone
How dare you think that that would be enough.
The tension in your shoulders increases the pressure in your head. You fix it. You did it.
Your hands are what’s causing so much pain
Your nails are in your legs
You’ve been doing everything on your own for so long.
Is that why now you need to be told your next step
You need to be told where to go to be better
You wish you were better
No you say, you want to be good at something not better just good at
You’re sick of articles saying that everyone is good at something because you need to be worth something.
You need to make money
Help your family
Help yourself.
You want to be remembered as more than a mom
More than a wife
**** more than some girl who took her own life
So you want to be good at something
You want to be worth something
You want back the passion you had
You want to strive for talent and skills
Being kind isn’t enough because being kind doesn’t help replace the dryer.
Being someone to talk to doesn’t pay for a deposit on a house
Well then ******* try something new
You say you’re not good at anything new no ****
You have no talents because you don’t work for them
You have no passion because you give up on everything.
You gave up guitar viola art writing crochet knitting school working out everything. You gave up on yourself.
So how dare you
How dare you hold your head and pretend you’re not good enough
When you’ve never given yourself the chance to be great.
A form of therapy I guess. I just busted it out and I’m posting it. If it’s not good or there’s grammar issues that’s why but I’m not fixing them.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018

that links begins at the oldest of my poems here, which are nearing
the point of no return, maybe only because people cant tell me that hate them here, but more likely,
because some of of ya'll liked 'em writ, ye might like 'em said.
A link Please share
mythie Feb 2018
Crying softly, I rest a hand on your cheek.
"Everything's going to be okay."
"You didn't need them anyway!"
Until your face turns into ashes.

An unrecognisable mass that once was you.
What happened to the you I knew?
I hear glass shatter.
As your silhouette gets further.

I don't understand why you always look so sad.
Life would be so much easier if you were glad.
But when I touch your pretty face.
Your porcelain skin starts to break.

I look through the glass.
"I'm doing okay.
I am okay.
Even though I needed them, anyway."
Then the glass breaks.

Words echoing through the cave that is my mind.
Trying to put all the pieces back together.
But they can never fit just quite right.
It's always you, but not the one that I knew.

"Today is a good day."
I lie.
"You can do it."
I lie.

"You're stable, happy with life.
One day, you'll make the perfect wife."
I look into the mirror.
Then my face turns to black.
mythie Jan 2018

My throat hurts.
But the scream was soft.
My pillow holds all my screams.
So they can never escape.

I feel better.


My eyes burn.
But my eyes won't water anymore.
My pillow holds all my tears.
So they can never escape.

I feel better.

I go to punch my pillow.
I need to vent.
Let it out.


My knuckles are bruised.
The kid in front of me is crying.
Where is my pillow?
Where am I?

I feel awful.


But this time.
Everyone can hear.
My pained cries echo the streets.
I can't hold it in anymore.

Blood trickles down my throat.
My eyes are red and puffy.
My knuckles are ****** from punching the pavement.
I can't stop.

I keep crying.
I keep screaming.
I keep punching.
I keep doing it.


I can finally breathe.
After all this time.
I finally realised.
My pillow was suffocating me.
mjad Nov 2017
The world spins
It spins and spins
We never question
Or doubt or fear
What would happen
If it suddenly halted
We are too busy
Walking and talking
Loving and hating
To think about words
That we don't want to hear
The end is inevitable

My sorrow grows
It grows and grows
I never question
Or doubt or predict
What would happen
If it suddenly stopped
I am too busy
Sulking and sobbing
Raging and ranting
To think about anything
That could be a bit joyful
Happiness is invisible
anon Nov 2017
this poem
has a title
so that all who read it
that this poem has a meaning

because without something to reference
a name
or a title
things are left behind

just like me
in all the years
i tried to remain



untitled people
like me
are given no
second glances
first chances
social advances


left behind
like a poem
a name
Em MacKenzie Jul 2017
Many a times I find my mind is static just at best,
my lungs are damaged, and I'm empty in my chest.
The days are lagging, painfully dragging, the time is ticking slow,
then looking at the calendar, I wonder where did this month go?

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and a ton of empty air,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but the in the end, no one would care.

You're feeling right when you fight,
and you dabble in defense,
and last night you were playing scrabble
but every word lacked sense.
You coat your spleen in nicotine and claim to live just fine,
but you're getting thin, lacking every vitamin,
"you really should get more sunshine."

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some grass that could be more green,
and you could claim that you're still sane,
but no one knows what that word means.

Many of strangers bring on danger, but most will treat you well,
and with the heat coming from the street,
you'd think I'd be on my way to Hell.
The one you love most is now a ghost,
and you're overcome with dread,
and it's not a faze, we really do praise,
the ones that are now dead.

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some thoughts that were never there,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but in the end, no one would care.
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