Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jack Radbourne Aug 2020
It’s actually quite fun
throwing mud,
if you can accept it
sticks sometimes
to your own slow fingers,
staining them.

But gather it all up
in handfuls,
dirt, wet for preference,
as missiles targeted
away there:

At the dark heart hated
by us all
and by all means repeat
the treatment,
until the target becomes
the victim.

There. Hopefully you feel
better now.
دema flutter Aug 2020
you trap me
in-between your arms,

telling me all about a secret
you have buried
underneath your tongue
for months now,

but kindness
is the only part
of me that manages
to escape from your grip.
Raul M Murray Aug 2020
Everybody needs a *****
No thanks I can create on my own
My idiosyncratic thinking
Is bouncy as the suns atom

Looking for a reason to capitalise
On mind control apparatus
But read on please you
Can become my apprentice

Because this poetry can heal
Dimensions of the brain
A poetic analeptic that heals
When feeling down at heel

The bidirectional pulse wave
Of another person is not a desire
My encephalon is creative
Enough to excite you on the microwave

So adjust the frequency
Even try shortwave to find life
In space because this poet
Has no ***** dependency

My style is cramped with the BCI
Purloin’s my opportunity
To be unique in writing
Being a survivor & spry

The invasion of privacy is deplorable
Taking advantage of the poor you do
You have privacy so should I too
Reading people’s brain is irreconcilable

Don’t need two people to write a pen
I don’t want to be a ***** in the pig sty
And get ***** with other ranks of pigs
Every person’s brain is a personal den
BCI - Brain Computer Interface

Analeptic - adjective
(chiefly of a drug) tending to restore a person's health or strength; restorative.

Spry - adjective (spryer, spryest)
(especially of an old person) active; lively: he continued to look spry and active well into his eighties.

Purloin -verb [with object] formal or humorous
steal (something): he must have managed to purloin a copy of the key.

Pen - verb (pens, penning, penned) [with object]
write or compose: Olivia penned award-winning poetry.
Ayn Mar 2020
You can throw me
Right into the wall,
But I’ll still walk
Right down the hall

Your scratching stick,
And that scarring stone
Every day you’ve thrown.
I was always on my own,
Now those scars are my throne.

Swimming through the ocean,
I’m a duck, sleeping in the open.
But the teeth will soon bear,
You’re not the only one to rip and tear.

I’ve also got subtle flair.
I wish I could’ve fought back. Then I wouldn’t have been beaten up as much. The name calling was fine, but it wasn’t fun when I’d get beat up day after day.
Grace Frederick Nov 2018
I wish
I could forget you
the damage you've done
and the pain you've brought
but in the end
I want to thank you
for bringing the pain
that made me stronger
Forget You
and the harm you brought me
because at the end of the day
I am who I am
with no thanks to you.

I want to forget you
you've brought so much harm
and for what
your own amusement?
Forget you
because your harm didn't tear me
to the ground.
In fact it made me a rising star

Forget you
Dolly Balou Oct 2017
They say life is a highway, I say it’s a battle.
I love to drive yet not one ounce of my being wishes to drive upon this highway any longer.
Battles tend to be fought with an army, yet here I stand alone.
Why do they force their essence into my being.
Why do they require physicality from me.
This is not something I wish to give.
Leave me be, and my body too.
The last thing I want is to smell your scent in through my skin.
I do not wish to taste the bitterness of your personality that you feel so kindly to force me to do.
If you want me to drive, let me drive.
But I refuse to drive anywhere near the highway which you built.
That highway is not made for my kind.
That highway is what turns beautiful souls into broken ones.
The filth in my bones is seeping out, overflowing into the street.
I try to wash this filth away.
Eye’s closed.
I do not wish to see this filth.
Just let it be gone already.
I am sick of fighting this battle.
I have had enough of fighting.
You have succeeding in consuming my entire being with the filth you forced upon me.
Buried deep.
So deep.
I never knew the deepness of myself, let alone the depths of my despair.
I never chose this.
Why should I have to live this.
Why should I have to keep my head up and carry on.
How does your head hang?
Between the ties of a noose?
It should.
That is what I feel.
Yet in reality it is what you are.
I know you don’t have power over me.
All this time I have been fighting.
This battle does not deserve to be fought.
You cannot hurt me.
I refuse to let the gravel of your highway slow me down or make me crash.
I will not crash.
Not for you, not for anyone.
It is my time to grasp the wheel.
I control my own vehicle, not you.
I will not allow you to climb into the driver’s seat.
You will not place your hands on, or anywhere near, my steering wheel.
The vehicle may seem broken, but it is not.
It just needed some TLC.
Push me again, I dare you.
Watch yourself be ran the **** over.
I will not wait.
I will not spare you.
Angelique Dec 2016
instant retraction
retaliation of the mind
rejection is hard to understand
the underlying revelation blinding
A work in progress.
Next page