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Man Nov 11
mediocrity
be the judge of me
and see if I give a ****
I know how hard I work
I know who I am
can spit in my face
and still call myself a man
the pompous one
with her comments
as she slithers by
with
the rudest
of dogs

the confident family;
confident
     to a fault
sitting too close
and talking
too loud

the hypocrite
complaining
of the mess
and leaving behind
a scavenger's
detritus

the insecure sage
a font of knowledge
based on
hearsay
and opinion
with only
a pinch
     of fact

the innocently gormless
with no thought
for sense
     or logic
common or otherwise
but only
for the now
and
the immediate

these are
the passengers
on the
carousel
     of frustrations
for today;
replayed
rephrased
resurrected
over
and over

i think
so little
     of them
yet
i'm unable
to stop myself
thinking
about them
Katie Apr 4
You told me on Valentine's Day
That your high-school sweetheart
Now turned college relationship
Was getting you a promise ring

And while at the time we were separated
By miles of physical distance
And the uncaring screens of our devices
You broke my heart that day

I couldn't tell you this at the time
And I don't think I can ever tell you
So I'm writing yet another poem
From the safety of pseudo-anonymity

So much for being queer, huh?

What happened to the girl
Who kissed me in the locker rooms
Under the guise of telling me a secret
Because you crushed on me first?

What happened to the girl
Who taught me the definition of "biromantic"
And that religion was *******
If it didn't match your own beliefs?

What happened to the girl
That I accidentally broke the heart of
And who forgave me for everything
Even though I didn't deserve it?

So much for being queer, I guess.

You found your fairy-tale ending,
Your "Happily Ever After"
And I bet you'd like me to think
That it "just so happened" to be with a man

Tell me, did you feel ashamed at all
When you realized you were straight for him
After he ****** you raw on the floor
Of your childhood bedroom?

Or did you fall for him before that,
When he caught your eye in band
Trombone bassline in the back row
While your clarinet took the melody?

So much for being queer, indeed.

I want so badly to be mad at you,
To have any justification for my heartbreak
Even though it's just now resurfacing
After four years of repression

But its fruitless to hold grudges
When I know how happy he makes you
And I suppose I should be grateful
That he respected me as your ex-girlfriend

So from one broken heart to another,
I hope you're happier with him
Than you ever were with me -
But please don't send me a wedding invite.
Presented without comment, explanation, or names - you know who you are.
A Beautiful and A Bitter Shroud

When I was little, I found a magic box,
tucked under the eaves where
we were told not to go.
Something compelling about the
forbidden, triangular space,
sealed off by lath and plaster,
made me resolved, beyond curious.
I kicked and pulled until plaster shattered
and wood cracked, delightfully.
The large box was filled
with silk, organza and tulle,
the proud-worn gowns
of my mother's college days.
At those ***** she danced
in them, hair coiled up
and earrings sparkling.
It was not about the men, I knew,
but her need to be admired.
I don't recall a punishment
for opening the box
but she relented and allowed
my sister and I to put on
her finery and pretend.
We wrapped them round us
and twirled to imaginary waltzes,
stepping on long hems so many times
that  the gowns all came undone.
The rags were put away
and the room sealed up.
In my youth I recall but a few
times Mother gave in
and let us be children
or fairy princesses for a while.
Now she is old and finally
trying to wrap me in her shroud,
to make resentment drag me down
and envy of me, crippled with self-hate.
But that no longer works
and I tell her, finally grown
that this is not allowed.
I summon up pity and vague sympathy,
even if love left long ago.
I tell myself that
everyone dies alone.
m lang Mar 31
your allure;
our intense ****** energy.
best *** ever
was also a ******* killer.

you drive me crazy,
you make me angry.
how many times do we get in fights?

but the way our bodies intertwine,
oh honey-
you are mine forever and always.

the decreased temperament
as the screams of “****” filled the air,
both intimate and out of resentment.

you come, you go
i stay
waiting
for you to come home.
i hate men i hate men i hate you
two seven twenty twenty-two
My Dear Poet Jan 19
Don’t cry tears
cry seeds for roses
who found no place in Eden

Don’t grow guns
Fight for the flowers
that bloom in shadows hour
waiting for the sun

Like crawling moss
inside cellars
where wine is stored
from twisted vine
Guard your heart
and mind

Or ivy in attics
where memories are hoard
away from eyes and light
Guard your sight

Tears fall like pellets
scattered shells of bullets
buried in dirt, like seeds
that shoot up into hurt

But if you’re wounded
by life
plant a garden
in every light of your love
Keep your head up high
wait for the sky
to shower you from above
wafa Jan 4
I remember the days from 2 years ago,
when the only thing I wanted to do was cry.
And when I was finally done crying,
I did the most cliché and expected thing,
; cutting my hair short.

The thought to cut my hair never occurred to me again.
Because I want to keep the length of my hair as a reminder,
of the days I spent without you.
Because cutting my hair again would be a betrayal,
would be tricking my mind into thinking,
"this is the end of my episodes..."

I know it isn't the end.
Sometimes I just want to give up on life
These past 3 years have blasted me with so much strife
No one truly understands what it's like to be me
They talk down to me and that makes me so angry
Saying whatever they **** well please
I'm forced to just put up with it; geeze!
Since life is so unfair
I think to myself "Why should I even care?"
Nobody else does and its warped my mindset
I no longer give the benefit of the doubt.
I assume the worse of everyone.
So many of my "friends" had shown me their true colors
And I hate that I gave them my friendship in the first place.
They certainly didn't deserve it.
Giovanna, Olivia, Melissa
You three girls affected me the worse. I wish I had never met any of you.
You did me so ***** when you unfriended me.
I constantly wish you regret your decision but it's not likely.
I don't even want to mention the women that scammed, extorted and blackmailed me.
They are not worthy of still being in my head
I keep them there tho so as not to repeat my mistakes.
Been a minute since I wrote a poem so I just wanted to get out just about everything I've had on my mind. Some of this goes further back than the 3 years I've been in this state.
Sharon Talbot Oct 2021
Things sometimes fall apart
Among sisters and brothers,
No matter what they once were.
Childhood picnics and dreamy games,
Memories of trips with Dad,
Since Mom was tired of us.
We would climb Appalachian peaks
Or drive to look at the Mayflower.
Every summer there was a golden week
A lakeside cottage and all-day swims
In crystal water, becoming mermaids.
But time passes and bitterness accrues.
Imagined slights grow like slow tumors,
Never excised but nurtured by some.
I go to college and am freed
From the poison of ignorant rage,
From the creeping depression left
Like diesel fog on an endless floor.
Four or five years of delight pass
With only hints here or there
Of a sibling’s misery at home.
Of a once close sister, Maggie,
Who is ignored and never loved
By any man she pursues.
She blames me for it, for reasons
I have yet to fathom.
Of a brother, Francis, deluded, drugged,
Steals the family car in a rage
And drives to New York City.
Of Deirdre, the middle sister,
Whose friend who knows men who feed
On her ignorance and rebellion.
Only Susannah tries to rise above
The maelstrom of misery.
I send her to a school far away
And she sheds despair, at least.
Decades drawl, children are born to us,
While the bridge between us, obscured,
Sags and frays under weight of rancor.
Christmas dinners and birthday parties
Turn into chores, invitations kept as scores.
Petty grudges, like acid, sever the bridge
At last, all ties are abandoned.
When we are all grown and scattered,
No one speaking to anyone else,
Unaware, uncaring about the others.
Only Susannah visits me and smiles,
With no ulterior plan for insane revenge,
Or accusations for errant slights.
Her once dark hair is grizzled and wild
And her girlish skin now creased.
But her treacle eyes, “black aggies”,
I used to call them, still shine.
Only Susannah writes a letter,
Wishing us well and
Healing scars made by others,
Returning the word “family”.
To my basket of small treasures,
I carry with me
Into the twilight.
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