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Diana Garza Feb 8
my mind just was
submerged in that daydream
Romance is
An illusion of a team
Reality would eventually hit
no scenario less fancied than this
Not thought of as devotee,
but as a rival I was seen.
Eshana Jan 14
Sister quite contrary -
You wear my clothes in an outline,
I revolt.

A bolt that shuts your cupboard mind, filled with genes I will not consider.

Sips of cider, our eyes spin different scopes.

Sister quite contrary -
Tell me why your jeans sit so tight, your lips so pursed,
Your mind unlike mine.

Written by Eshan de Lange
S Smoothie Sep 2020
The mechanics of your scheming
qualifies your genius.

A tool for destruction
an amalgam of evil prose.

A narrative of your choosing
A bastardisation of facts and excuses tantrums and lies

I see how you whimper and conive
your mark ****** into your hypnopsychosis,

control freak
Erasing my relativity

Desiring my spoils
gained despite your lifetime of torture

Careful analysis of my faults and corrections
My green grass,  the colour of your nightmares

Take your control,
I'll deposit my apathy as collaterol.

I'll tend my garden, you grow your pretty little weeds,
Line them all with cockle shells in a row

You may fool them,
But you dont fool  me.

How you conspire,
the same eyes, same lies

Keep Narcisis in your prayers,
you and your symbiotic succubus relationship.

Fein saints and martyrs
I'll climb higher while you climb into despair

What really counts is the truth that we bate
And the truth that we bare

And I saw you clearly,
I saw you both  

Smiting everything not of your own making
Your jealust consumes

What I create is your next toxic dream
You cant trample on who I am.

Masters of manipulation
Bar one

Your greatest fear;
My success,
My joy,
My hope,
My power in defeat;
Freedom from all your ****** up
Sicophantic dramas.

May you one day achieve the impossible
And be like me,

Nice.
rant
Enjoy the irony
Tizzop Mar 2020
last minutes of trust
in a poem made of dust
you made me hate me

feel the real injection daily
everything seems to poke
you turned into a joke

everything seems to shine
twinkle and rhyme
feel the real injection

this verse is for my protection
this verse is killing you: action!
lamps out of broken teeth

brother breaks his brother's knee
brother stabs his brother's stomach
feel the real injection

everything is for protection
turning choirboys into warriors
brother against brother

everything is an attraction
brother smashes brother's face in
brother against brother face it:

brother against brother
Today is a good day.
Dante Jan 2020
What is peace without the passions of rivalry?
Your touch on my skin without the blood that pools under your nail?

How measly your love would be
without the honeys of sin.
Mrs Timetable Jan 2020
She looks good without it too,
but she's like 25, so...

She doesn't work at Target anymore:
She goes thru jobs like hairdos.

Her kids are trying to find her a husband.
I caught myself making a 'why?' face
and I had to auto correct it
because I was actually talking to her.

She said the only men her age who want marriage
really only want a cook or caregiver.

Now we know why you're single.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
She enters the gratification car
With Victorian lace choker
Porcelain décolletage
And phasers on stun
Don't worry lovergirl
You can't hold a candle to her
But you'll burn your fingers trying
Look at the front of her dress
Look at her passport
Look at how the aisleway clears
She's enroute to a foreign
Meet and greet
Tracking approval
With the shape
Of her sitzfleisch
The conductor has
No need of compass
For her ******* point the way
Once derailed
You can mock and stomp
'Til kingdom come
Until then save your pandering
For trips to the loo
You'll enjoy the ride
Far better if you pretend
She's your sister
And not the woman
Who gave birth to you...
Tizzop Dec 2019
my past is filled with oedipal encounters:
many men i needed to rival

today i unintentionally travelled (really?)
today i involuntarily travelled (no way)
today i travelled into my past:

memories of many men that i needed to rival.
due to my fatherless childhood i didn't have
a man to compete against; that's why i JUMPED at countless chances to do so. none of these conflicts happened by chance.

i picked strangers to compete against.
but then there was this day. a certain day. a secret night.

since then, i have gradually and later on gently overcome my need to compete.

i was bewildered today because i competed against another man. why?

out of the dark, i developed an affection for a woman younger than me; a brief moment of ****** interest. the competitor involved walked her home after a meeting the three of us had been together.

while they were strolling down the street, i followed them. i wanted to see what they were doing. i wanted to observe how they observed each other's attraction.

did so for a couple of minutes; they didn't take notice of me; or they were playing dead while their mouths were overfilled with squishing sounds of saliva.

and then ––  as promptly as old patterns of rivalry had emerged ––
i lost my affection for this young woman.

affection left my soul like a spirit leaves a dead body. the affection vanished into thin air since it couldn't find a shelter in my soul. so this wired affection went on a quest for another creature.

i didn't say goodbye. just wrote something down.
Inspiration for this poem gained from YouTube: "Native American Flute Music: Meditation Music for Shamanic Astral Projection, Healing Music"
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Patience is my super power
On full display every hour
If someone mad gets in my face
My patience helps me maintain grace

When railroad crossings block the road
I simply enter patient mode
If caught up in a traffic jam
My calmness filmed by traffic cam

Long checkout lines leave some irate
Patience helps me endure the wait
Restaurant wait times are the worst
Composure wards off loud outbursts

Patience is my super power
Keeps my life from going sour
One exception my Kryptonite
Sibling face-offs leave me uptight!
11/5/2019 - Poetry form: Kyrielle - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Jonathan Moya Jun 2019
Icarus’ sister exists only in living stone,
the watchful daughter of the craftsman
in the middle of his own labyrinth,
once his prized creation, placed in
the prime line of his drafts, design, eye
of his genius, now a relic existing
in a dusty nowhere cobweb corner
stained with Minotaur blood,
watching her fleshy father
falteringly stitch wax, feathers, twigs
to a frame that could not
take the water and sun of every day birds,
not even the weight of a son’s pride
who complacently raveled and unraveled
his father’s clew, half hearing  cautions,  
his mind flapping beyond the planets.

She cried over how Daedalus could
dote over such mortal error
while she exists in perfect neglect,
cried a tear turned prayer that
mixed with the dust, the murderous
blood crusting the rusty teeth of Perdix’s saw,
knowing hence  that men **** their best dreams,
fear the successful  flight of  their ideas, and  
that her faith, trust now forever lived with the gods.

Hephaestus heard her and bellowed her mind,
taught her to seek inspiration in the rejected
metal slivers that littered the workshop
like the sand of Naxos where Theseus
left Ariadne in her abandoned dreams.

In the cry of that other lost daughter
she heard the sound of ascent,
saw father and son in erratic flight
and followed to the top of the labyrinth
to watch two glints align in descent
and one splash into the sea.

Graced with the knowledge
that forbearers would
name the waters below for this fool,
she deposited Icarus in their father’s arms,
and flew away on brass wings of her own design,
wingtips skipping waves, seeking the sun.
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