The cracked down on him, inhuman heroes.
They were from the same squad, he and the bullies.
They’ve been laughing at his temper full of stragness.
But you made the talll one say “sorry”, he was the king of bullies

“Why let him with just one “sorry”?” Here am I, right beside you.
I say it like I’m wicked, and smile along with you.
And with joke I hope hil a wound of his or two.
A couple years shall pass, and he’ll be a mountain guarding weak ones, too.

Oh, yes, hi will be guarding with the strength of words.
His eyes, they burn, like sunset skies if you look eastwards.
Hi will be our fellow, buiding from chaos of freedom the best of worlds.
He was saved today, well he will save tomorrow, big friend, trust in these words.
A year ago I translated my best poems from English into my native languages.
Now it’s time I do it in reverse. This is translation of “Gorah”. The original is in Ukrainian.
When you get to the bottom of this letter
You will see the world anew, then perhaps know me better.
When you have listened, given thought to what I'm saying,
You will understand I hope my reputation for hating.

When I was a boy they let the world abuse me,
Instead of learning love I daily learned to hide my bruises,
On a permanent basis soaking up their hatred
To become this broken doll no one wants to play with.

Acting out a role in a life of empty stages,
I used Love to justify non-existent rages.
I treated the innocent the way the guilty treated me,
I employed Love as the camouflage for cruelty.

I learned. Now, I am Passive aggressive and a democracy of one,
Sometimes a dictator and no Mother's Son.
I've known no Father's discipline and no Father's love.
When i push people away I make sure I draw blood.

What my goals are doesn't matter,
I can get under anyone's skin with a little Poet's patter.
I can feign humour, show remorse, charm birds off the trees -
I like you all better down on your knees.

I stand tall on my own, my sights set on the prize,
My best weapon ever... the child in my eyes.
And, I am telling you now it is too late to stop me...
Every word is a blade and the concealed weapon is Poetry.
I love to tell stories and make drama in my writing, why shouldn't I create them in my poetry?
KAE 1d
Fury running through all my veins.
Fire goes through every part and centimeter of my body.

Fury and fire sweep through my whole being, soul and spirit. They destroy everything in their path, as if they were a hurricane.

They consume me. They take over me. They take control over me because I can not control them, they are stronger than a thousand demons.

I feel like I become a beast while fire and fury grow inside me.

A beast thirsting for hatred, revenge, with a huge pleasure to destroy everything around him.

They can not break free and I lose control.
Because of that, fire and fury are trapped in my skin and in my bones
Villain 4d
Remember when I cut my hands
and wrists
and you told the world
behind my back


I'll remember
when you smoked
did drugs
skipped class
messaged a stranger back

Tell the world
Behind your back

You stabbed me
caught by surprise

I cleaned the knife
ready to get you back

I'm not all about revenge
this is only what you deserve

I need help
You need help

We're never going to help ourselves

Better tell someone
it only hurts more
this way
At least I give things back
You take things for yourself
rrscc 7d
Who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is a planet away of who.

Who I am is just a person wearing a pretence,
What I am is just a character of what I try to commence.
Where I am, is this visage, carrying the drama in this scene,
Why we are, is where I merely am playing my part, as my actions are already set in the figurine.

It’s not adequately unexpected for the viciousness that is presented in human forms,
Its pretentious validity, in various forms, in vivid and foolproof flaws, as veteran as victim it withholds.
He desert, hides, cloaks or flees. He screams, breaks, vanish, retreats. He hides, shields, masquerade and juggles. All of these patterns that run in circles and hobbles.

We are not disarmed as much by the sword or bullet but rather by our past,
The whispers, the memories, the mistreat that is amassed.
For I too will have vengeance for myself,
For I plan a vendetta that will never be forgotten, and will haunt thyself.

To effectively grow I have to push past the point of my comfort zone and experience inhumane situations,
No expectations of thoughts and feelings, no blank lines or allowance of consultations because I will lose myself and make my own insinuation.

So please let your anger, hate, *******, intimidation,
Your screams, betrayal, pain, instigation
Thy emotions, force, projections and manipulation,
Be my entertainment that only helps my dissimulation.

For who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is the vendetta that’s been bought.
"No more tears now; I will think about revenge."

-- Mary, Queen of Scots
------------------------------------------------

Someone once told me that
I have the eyes of a Queen,
that they have known sorrow
in this life and in the last.

I think I must have shared
a heart with
Mary, Queen of Scots,
for I too have experienced
profound betrayal,
one that has shackled itself
to my being so violently,
that my soul has turned
purple with contusion.

Tell me--have you no shame?

Will you betray your Queen?

Will you exclude her
from your most sacred gatherings
of friendship and empathy?

Will you speak of her
most intimate secrets?

Will you befriend her foes?

Will you defile her name
in your own frivolous writings?

Will you accuse her of treason
so as to distract from
your own mutinous crimes?

My beloved companions,
my brothers and sisters--
will you attempt to commit
this heinous sin of sororicide
against the woman
who loved you so generously
(so poetically)?

I entreat--
will you?

(yet, I know you already have).

But though my Queendom
may be small,
it is not insignificant,
for it is vast in ways
incomprehensible to your
selfish minds--
its kindness and poetry
are infinite,
both of which you
have taken gross advantage of.

And though my Queendom
may crumble at your hands,
it shall never fall;
with stanzas
mighty and passionate
I will rebuild without you.

You have overstayed
your welcome here.
(perhaps you never belonged
in the first place).

There was once a time
when you vowed to protect
your Queen
and, now, all I've got
to show for it
is a broken pinkie
and the scuff of footprints
across my spine.

What shall it be next?

My head upon a silver platter?

No.

I was not reborn
only so my reign should
be sullied by these
treacherous sadists
I once called "friends".

It is my head
you want,
but this time,
it is yours I shall have.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.come/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
BeckyH 7d
I love watching the fire
The way it fizzles and crackles and pops.
How you feed it green boughs from a sapling
And watch as the life in it stops.
I love placing on letters
Watch words as the yellow and curl.
Destroying the dreams and the memories
Much like  you did with this girl.
I love watching the fire
My twisted face glows in it's light.
I'm here on my own, not there at your home,
But scorn me again and I might.
She delved in white,
     something so pure that was seamless
as though nothing could contaminate
          what was enthral in looks.

But beneath  the demure
  was a weapon pointing
                          at others hearts.
Onyx points, seeping with abhorrence.
showing that there was more than
                      her false pretences.

If a wolf has a blood **** it was her,
                  velvet soft, but blood seeps
beneath even the purest of looks..
                                     And hers was bile.

She stand there like a light in the woods
             of loneliness, but get to close
and her arrow will pierce even the most
                                                    loving heart.

Hear her white noise confusing the reality
         of a loving heart.
Bleeding it dry,
                    till only a corpse
of white lays before her. And she smiles...
Dae 7d
you’re so pretty

my sweet suffering

just like my daphne

you’re blooming again.

i forgot to remember

your little delirium

why do i bother?

now,with everything forgotten,

you’re gonna dance, dance, dance.

you’re so indulgent

my sweet suffering

just like my daphne

you’re choking again.

i won’t acknowledge

your growing ego.

is it my turn?

now, with eyes wide open,

you’re gonna fade, fade, fade.

you’re so dense

my bitter suffering

just like my daphne

you’re wilting again.

i can't hear

your poisoned words

are you done yet?

now,with my last match,

you’re gonna burn, burn, burn.
One of the first poems I have had the confidence to publish, I appreciate criticism but please don't tear me apart. Thanks <3
the moon
the stars
and the fireflies
you are staring at
will one day
pack together
to steal the sparkles
of your eyes
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