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I pray for those who cannot see the light,
I pray for those who lay awake crying at night,
For those who are too afraid to stand up and scream what they have to say,
I pray for those who get bullied everyday,
For the people who feel alone,
For the one’s that feel like life isn’t going their way.

I am here to tell you you’re not alone,
No matter what you think you are never on your own,
Don’t ever be afraid at what life throws at you,
You can beat it
I believe in you!

I hope you look at these words,
Maybe take them as reflection,
No matter what you’re going though,
Everything is a lesson,
I know what it is like,
I have been here before,

For every closed room,
I am here to open a door.
Spicy Digits Sep 3
Who's guttural laugh is this?
Who's voice with
No sorry's left?

Who is this animal
Who lays out their words
In mosaic rapture?

Sometimes shaking,
Reshaping, reshapened

Who's are these?
And these?
And these?

Bitten hands biting,
Who are they fighting?
Curiosity *******,
Rage romancing

Who's face is this
Who's arms,
who's wide legs
of audacity spread?
Damocles Sep 2
Mirrors broken,
Fractions splitting,
Ever finely,
Watching secrets,
Flowing through me,
Ever asking,
Who am I?

When I can’t even see—
Me anymore
I don’t even dream—
Anymore.

Falling headfirst into the light
So bright it burnt my eyes,
In a dream or was it life?
Embattled with the ruse,
I could abscond with all the rules
A ravaging abuse obtusely used
As I drained away my youth.

Barreling though what I knew,
A misery of sorts,
Traumatic tendrils grip like anchors
The pills were my only resource
A numbness to pick up my sword
Dangled over head, Damocles
Striking down my enemies.

But bridges burnt,
Was a double edged blade
Because even the ones I loved
I could no longer save
As this anger exploded
Like a sun above us shining
Nuclear and blinding
I scorched ties and dried out salves
Until healing was impossible—
Lest you cauterized the wound.

Now as embers cool
And coals burn off to ash
Brittle like aching bones,
Brutal as hindsight,
Where loneliness creeps
And the current of thoughts
Flow like rapids concordantly
Drifting through the steepest fog
Where the mind divides,
I care only for clarity and intimacy
To feed this malnourishment.

It’s been so hard looking through time,
With eyes of a fly,
As these mirror shards remind,
I have never been sure.

Am I an artist?
                  Am I a poet?
                                     Am I a photographer?
            A philosopher?
                              Am I a fighter?
          A vigilante?
                             Am I human?
                   Am I a demon?
      Am I a lover?
                                   Am I anti life?

I stare blankly into a deep black emptiness.
Singing a forced fed lyric.:
Who am I?
Intentionally disjointed. The title is a computer command. When entered in command prompt it tells you what user id you’re using…thus telling you who you are. ©️ Dominick B
Heather Sep 1
Eyes darting across a blank canvas
Where do I begin?
Heart filled with words yet spoken
May this blank canvas embody these unspoken words

Blank—filled
Empty—whole
Bright—yet dark

Words unheard
Accounted for within

Sankofa,
Let’s begin

At the age of 16, poetry, cacophonic, became an outlet for me.
Emotions that once felt so distant, merely a faint and infant shadow, stand beside me today at 23.
Hello, friend, it’s been a while; I thought I would not be graced with your presence again.
As I begin writing again, I challenge myself to use emotions from the past to guide my present. Thank you for giving me the space to open my heart again.
I used to twirl
in everyone else’s dance
until I bled every drop
of my do into their won’t.

Pale as a sacrifice I rose
where I fell and drank
from the well of self.

Belittle, berate, I no
longer hesitate to
prioritize I before you.
neth jones Aug 24
familiar
there's no space like home
no company like a handmade family
no way of love like the handsome routine
  no elbow room like the familiar
a spell of life    til
     an itch takes to the brain
and inches of ***** tape spool
ideas of wetter play
     haemorrhage and pool
            and it's jostled
there's no hum like our humanity / it's a slur upon our sanity
Ren Aug 23
Life keeps striking,
one blow after another,
until my ribs feel hollow,
my spirit bruised.

And then it comes back,
that thought.
Quiet at first,
like a shadow in the corner.
Then louder,
pressing against my chest.

I wrestle with it.
I want to live,
to hold on,
to find a way through,
but that thought
keeps circling back,
like a tide that refuses to rest.

No one sees the battle.
No one understands
the weight of a war fought
in silence.

So I write it down,
trap it in ink,
so it won’t devour me whole.

I am still here,
not because it’s easy,
but because I keep choosing
life,
again,
and again,
even with that thought
always at the door.
Avery R Allen Aug 19
Warning-This poem contains themes of self harm.
Note-This is one of my old poems so it is a bit different from my other ones.

Sometimes I hate the memories.
The fresh wounds are red and the scars are white.
They remain to remind me
How painful life used to be.

I can visualize the ****** razor in my hand,
And I can count scars,
One by one.
I can taste the metallic blood that's running down my aching wrist,
Running down my arm in watercolor strokes of maroon.

I can't keep my hands off blades,
And throughout my life I've cut away,
Just because I can't handle pain,
So I put it in a different form.
Where the memories and scars of it will remain.
I can feel the pain and imagine the blood stains on white carpets,
Trying to scrub away the mess of the pain I've caused myself.

Even though there's no longer pain,
The scars still remain.
And the memories,
The cuts,
Will never truly fade.
Avery R Allen Aug 19
Warning- This poem contains themes of self harm, suicide, ****** abuse, and more. If these topics trigger you I suggest you don't read this poem.

"I think your scars are beautiful." Said no one.
I carry the traumas of my past on my wrists and my thighs.
I feel like a gross monster.
Every day when I look in the mirror, I'm reminded of my pattern of self destruction and self hatred.

But I don't only have scars on the outside.
Open wounds exist inside me from the events of my past.
The memories replay in my mind like a movie theater,
and I watch myself suffer over and over again.
I see myself getting sexually abused, watching my parents drunken accidents.
I see ten year old me getting shoved into a countertop and I can still feel the physical and emotional pain.

Sometimes I want to slit my throat and cut up my wrists so I can be done with the **** this world has to offer,
But I know I can't go out like this, not so young.
I know that I have things to accomplish,
and I have goals to reach,
But it's so hard carrying this weight on my shoulders all the time.
I don't believe I deserve this.
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