Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
Choked out by the forces that make me scream
Face shoved into the dirt
Boot, between my shoulder blades
Exist in the perfect cacophny of crying and failed escapes

Dragging me into the rivers of salt lined water
Tears don't form when you are underwater
So drown the innocence out of me so I can't think past the smell of dirt
Cover my throat with a shirt, and wait for me to emerge

The sound of a snap, and a flash
I am trapped, kept from coming clean with a photograph
Curled into a ball, trapped in time
Bound in that awful grime

Listening to "Dance Hall Drug" realizing the meaning
And suddenly my head is bleeding
The clock has turned red, and I've lost my head in a guillotine
It's okay, just light a match and watch me disappear; I'm kerosene

I'm easy to control, with a photo
And I'm just an average depressed ****
Drowned into the person I should be
And I guess I am the best depressed verision of me, lost at sea

Clamate dolor
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
I'm a cannibal, consuming the flesh of my past
Taking back what was once attached
I'm not going to be the submissive, quiet kid I used to be
I've grown and I'm stronger now, you can't control me

I'm not a victim of your stupidity to get a laugh and some masculinity
I've been busy, and I'm not looking for sympathy
Your hands will never touch me again
You will not get under my skin

I hear things are going well for you, Joey
But your mom and her protection can't stop you from growing lonely
The more people you hurt, the worse it gets for you
That guilt will one day run you through

Tyler, you were always way too protected, with your mom being a teacher at school
And you always thought you were so cool with your copy of the schools keys, you used to "rule"
I could never seem to escape you, but now you are on your own
And you should have known that someday someone would pull the rug out from under your throne

You were so mighty, Nick, with a mom to go handle all your problems
And you certainly took advantage when you were filled with all that self-importance
And when your mom asked where you were, you lied and said it was my fault
Because I just really wanted to add to my list of tramua's ****** assualt

I wasn't cute, I wasn't charming, I wasn't overly girly, but I was weak and "easy"
Of course it's easy to overpower someone if you are big and sneaky
I never had someone to protect me, like Nick, Tyler, and Joey's moms
And I never had someone who'd believe me when I finally took down my walls

I was always different from the other kids, and family wasn't going to help
Who would believe me, over a popular straight A student; for me it was a dead end
No one believes me, I am not good enough, not important enough, to be given attention
But I won't stop working, trying to prove myself, until I am seen as good enough, without question

I am not anyone's plaything anymore, I am my own person
I am not an outlet for your sick *******
I am a being with thoughts and I'm not as easy to control as I used to be
I will bring you down with me
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
People don't hear the true ****
They hear the pretty depressing ******* I feed to you
In stanzas and well made lines

I hide a-lot in these pill pockets of truth of mine
Like the fact that I undercounted my attempts of suicide
I've failed attempts at home before, but no one would know

Or I've been sexually assaulted more than once
But no one could know the real ****
Because I'm sure it's a turn off

No one gives a **** about the unraveling poet
No one would notice if I stopped posting
It's the curse of writing

The world tries to sweep me under the rug
Even on watt-pad, if you notice, there's no tag for suicide
And the depressing books, get swept aside for the Romance and Fantasy

I can say my work helps others, but that's not true
I can say my kindness makes a difference, but no one notices me
My actions don't do ****, and it's evident by the way people treat me

I am invisible, I am in hiding
I am lying to myself when I say there is hope for me
I should have known from the beginning, people like me don't get happy endings

People see a boy dressed in all black, and suddenly, he's up to no good
It doesn't matter if he always smiles at people and says good morning
It doesn't matter if he works hard to get a good education, and puts in effort

He's dressed in black, so he's not good enough
The world doesn't want to change, and it shows
Why try to change when the world just doesn't care?

I am a statistic, a grade, a number; I am not a person
I am not a friend, a son, or a brother
I am just a name written on paper, I am just a word

There is no hidden meaning to "Gray"
There is no meaning to the word
There is no meaning to me

If I don't show up today, would anyone notice?
How long would it be until people started wondering?
Or would I just become an urban legend

If I die today, would anyone come to my funeral
Or would it be empty, with just my body waiting to be buried
Would people bring flowers I actually like, like a Nymphaea nelumbo, a cherry blossom, or cacti

Or would I just get carnations, the boring ones
Would people give fake speeches about how they knew me
How "great of a person I was" when they'd never spoken to me

When I die, this poetry is the only thing that will suggest the truth
It'll be my defensive to the "I had no idea" argument people love to pull out
When you did, everyone did, I'm kind of ******* obvious

Yet I'm still holding onto our secret
I'm still shut up about your crime
I'm still pretending it never happened like a good little victim

But no one gives a ****, I doubt you even know my name
I doubt you even remember what you've done
And I hope my death makes you feel guilty as ****, well, if you remember me

The world doesn't care about "victims", "survivors", or "warriors"
or whatever else the world decides to call us
They care about making a quick buck, and getting a bit of fame

Shove us into the spotlight to make you look good
Use us for attention, money, and publicity, but I'm sure
It's all out of the goodness of you heart, right?

The truth freaking *****
But I won't apologise for speaking up
Cause I'm the one no one notices anyway, right?
imehsahdehahs Feb 2020
That's little bit

Adam and kidd


I **** every

little **** eye meet



1 is to eat

2 is for M eat

3 is trouble SUM

making my own tinder

is kinder ( ha ha ha)




hades ******'s hole

complex like

Madonna & the *****


so is it  death ride or row?


No need for *******


so is it  death ride or row?


No need for *******




spit me or swallow me,Alice

spit me or swallow me,Alice

spit me or swallow me,Alice

and

come with me to where the rainbow's end

come with me to where the rainbow's end

come with me to where the rainbow's end




IF you get out never look back

this is the house of leaves

this is the house of leaves













stuffocate

little

children







stuffocate

little

children





stuffocate

little

children
7:25
SoVi Feb 2020
Take me to the
Back row
Back room
Back door

Touch me
Where I said no
Pretend and act
Like you don't know

That these
Tears
Aches
Cries
Are from you



© Sofia Villagrana 2020
Nina Feb 2020
2 years ago,
I found out i was pregnant
Carrying a child  whose father i don't even know
A man who ***** me in my sleep
And left me with nothing but pain

Despite so,
I wanted to keep my child
I wanted to take care of him
But life doesn't always goes as planned

It wasn't my decision to keep him
But during the time i had him,
I was the happiest
Because i had fallen in love
With a baby i have not met
A child i swore to take care
A child that made me love myself
In order to love him

Losing him
Was heartbreaking

If i could turn back time
I wouldve taken good care of myself
So i can have you in my life right now
But at the same time
I would've wished i never met the man
Who left you and me

2years ago today
I made a foolish mistake
But i never once regretted having you in my life

I love you still
I will love you always
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
Wulf and Eadwacer
anonymous Anglo-Saxon poem, circa 960 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My clan’s curs pursue him like crippled game.
They’ll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.

Wulf’s on one island; we’re on another.
His island’s a fortress fastened by fens.
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They’ll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.

My thoughts pursued Wulf like panting hounds.
Whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur grasped me in his paws.
Good feelings for him, but for me, loathsome!
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your infrequent visits
have left me famished, deprived of real meat!
Do you hear, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods.
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.

Originally published by Measure

"Wulf and Eadwacer" may be the oldest poem in the English language written by a female poet. It has been classified as an elegy, a lament, an early ballad or villanelle, a riddle, a charm, and a frauenlieder or "woman's song." This famously ambiguous poem is hard to pin down!

Keywords/Tags: Wulf, Eadwacer, Anglo-Saxon, Old English, translation, wolf, pack, ****, whelp, baby, child, dogs, curs, hounds, island, fens, woods, sacrifice, song, sever, severed



Bede's Death Song
ancient Old English/Anglo-Saxon lyric poem, circa 735 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Facing Death, that inescapable journey,
who can be wiser than he
who reflects, while breath yet remains,
on whether his life brought others happiness, or pains,
since his soul may yet win delight's or night's way
after his death-day.

Bede's "Death Song" is one of the best poems of the fledgling English language now known as Old English or Anglo-Saxon English. Written circa 735 AD, the poem may have been composed by Bede on his death-bed. It is the most-copied Old English poem, with 45 extant versions. The poem is also known as "Bede's Lament." It was glossed by a 13th century scribe known as the Tremulous Hand of Worchester because of the "shaky" nature of his handwriting.

Was the celebrated scholar known and revered as the Venerable Bede also one of the earliest Anglo-Saxon poets? The answer appears to be "yes," since Bede was "doctus in nostris carminibus" ("learned in our song") according to his most famous disciple, Saint Cuthbert.

Cuthbert's letter on Bede's death, the "Epistola Cuthberti de obitu Bedae," is commonly taken by modern scholars to indicate that Bede composed the five-line vernacular Anglo-Saxon poem known as "Bede’s Death Song." However, there is no way to be certain that Bede was the poem's original author.

Bede (673–735) is known today as Saint Bede, Good Bede and Venerable Bede (Latin: Beda Venerabilis). One may thus conclude that he was held in extremely high regard by his peers. The name Bede may be related to the Anglo-Saxon word for prayer, "bed."

Bede was a English Benedictine monk of the Northumbrian monastery of Saint Peter at Monkwearmouth and of its companion monastery Saint Paul's in Wearmouth-Jarrow. Both monasteries were at the time part of the Kingdom of Northumbria. Bede, a distinguished scholar, had access to a library which included works by Eusebius and Orosius, among others. His most famous work, "Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum" ("The Ecclesiastical History of the English People"), has resulted in Bede being called "the Father of English History." Bede has also been called the "Father of the footnote" because he was "the first author in any language to rigorously trace his sources, and as a result he set a precedent of scholarly accuracy for writers across the range of disciplines." He was also a skilled linguist and translator whose Latin and Greek writings contributed significantly to early English Christianity.
Asominate Feb 2020
Porcelain begins to shatter
These dolls we all know to well
Looking past beyond the laughter
There is a story to tell:
Up on our shelves you eye us everyday
You pull us down, you want to play
Our bodies hit the floor
In pieces, you don't want us anymore

Porcelain put back together
You aren't done playing yet
Our skins stained, our clothes rags, tattered
We still can never forget:
In a corner catching dust
You never ever cleaned us up
We're left alone lying, traumatized
Unwanted in your hungry eyes

Porcelain isn't the better
Our shards, they cut your hand
And your feet, you should've never
Played rough, do you understand?
Fragile, you never handled us with care
Our bodies break, our clothes you tear
Now you're the one who bleeding
We're thrown away, defeated
Mims Feb 2020
Maybe
At the beginning of the end
Of a slew
Of bad dreams
And night terrors
I will discover
The darkest caverns
Where you learned you could hold her hands to silence her
Where did you learn you could hold her hands to silence her
WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO HOLD HER HANDS TO SILENCE HER
In the middle of a conversation, she was animated, she was young, and she would talk as much with her hands as her mouth
WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO HOLD HER HANDS TO SILENCE HER
WHERE
DID YOU LEARN
WHERE
DID YOU SEE
DID YOU WATCH IT OVER AND OVER
ON A SCREEN OF *******
AND THEN TRY IT OUT FOR YOURSELF

IF YOU HOLD HER HANDS SHE WILL GO QUIET  
AND
WHITE LIKE A SHEET
Was it behind closed doors
Was it upstairs in the crevice of a horror story


IF YOU HOLD HER HANDS YOU WILL SILENCE HER
BUT
WHERE DID YOU LEARN
That
WHERE DID YOU SEE
That
how could you know?
You showed us all
Like you had practiced
In the middle of a conversation
You would grab her wrists
And she would look back
Mouth sewed shut with a rusty needle
Covered in blood
  
That’s why I believed her
I mean god, how could anyone not believe her
When she said
You’d stolen her voice
I saw it
I watched it
Different context
But the action
Haunts me
The truth is
When my sister and her boyfriend broke up,
I was waiting for her to tell me.
Aggressive, young
(it’s just ***)

to consume someone completely

(it’s just ***)

to strip someone of their power

(it’s just ***)

to rob them of their identity

(it’s just ***)

to take away their future

(it’s just ***)

to imprison them in their own bones

(it’s just ***)

to tear them apart

(it’s just ***)
Next page