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Nothing ever seems to change.
Prayer after prayer and I'm exactly the same.
Scoffing at the idea that I'll ever be holy.

Ive emptied the contents of my stomach
while kneeling on the floor
As many times as I've been at the foot of a pulpit
But I'm still ******* up and my remorse just doesn't do it.

It's never been enough for me to change.

I confess,
I'm selfish and abusive
to my soul for my amusement.
Nothing ever seems to change.

Burn me alive for ten thousand years
and I'll never change.
My regrets haven't meant a thing.

I can't accept that I'm this selfish
but my heart isn't whole again.

Each person affected for my brief moment of pleasure.
Not joy, not love, not need. - Just pleasure.

I want to be better.
I swear I just don't know how.
Someone please show me how.
Because my prayers are bouncing off the shower walls.
the past couple years since I've written anything Ive been really testing my wife and her limits. Ive been accused of awful things and lost my job based on both correct and incorrect information. I'm spiraling and I'm ashamed of they way I've acted and treated loved ones and total strangers simply because I am selfish. This poem isn't necessarily intended to be my best work or even to be "good" by anyones opinion. It's the best way I know how to communicate the fact that I realize my past mistakes over the last 4 years and can't seem to shake the immaturity or the just awful, sinful, and evil nature in my heart. I wish I was a normal man with normal issues that I could hide, but being exposed and judged by people who used to respect me and I long to have a relationship with again has destroyed me. I don't want to be known for the things I'm known for by people I used to look at as brothers. I also don't want to be thought of the way I am by total strangers and people who I haven't spoken with in years. This is unfortunately what happens when I acted out in disgusting ways without considering the consequences it would have on my life and more importantly the people who I involved.
I don't think I even know what love is but:
I love you.
Jade 2d
⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to ****** assault, human trafficking, misogyny and religious references some may find offensive. ⚠️

Your mental health is my priority.

god creates the
forbidden fruit
but has not yet
deemed it forbidden

historians debate

is it an apple
or a pomegranate

it is a pomegranate  

deeply inspired
views it as the prototype
for female genitalia
doomed to rot
beneath the glare of
his brimstone pupils

when cut in half


engorged with


burgundy secretions

teardrops of seed

and let there be blood

god declares

and let the women
bleed as softly
as the pomegranate

and god looks upon
all that he has made
and it is
very good

until the serpent arrives

the serpent is not
a man

is only a devil
because god says so

is only a devil
because she is actually
a woman

reptilian lamina winks
in the amber light
as she scalps the innards
of the pomegranate with her
flickering tongue

"come child

reach for the fruit
like it is your anatomy

and then get the **** outta here

do not let god
fool you into
believing your body
is your own

because it isn't"

arms ache
as they stretch
towards the foliage

a woman is not meant to reach

is not meant
to desire

to attain what she is entitled to

what is deservedly hers

hands meet fruit

hands are immediately

seared upon
their first touch

leaving blistered pirouettes

this is the invention
of the fingerprint

eve's daughters
inherit her burns
until time's end

wear them like jewels
above their knuckles

to the patriarchy

never to forget the hour
their mother was cast out
from the garden of eden

god thunders

your body belongs to me
to man
and his pleasure

a pleasure you do not deserve

isn't it funny how
man and men
can both be plural

while woman just doesn't
have the same ring
as women

because one male
is superior
to every female

women are not made
in the image of god
they are made
in the image of man

god steals Adam's rib
to make eve
from something
that is easily breakable

like *****

like rope-burned neck
at the gallows

like voice



tuned out

women are not to speak
but are to serve

to beget more men

do you think mary's
was a choice

do you think there
is a reason
god chose a son
and not a daughter

do you think there
is a reason
lot's wife
was not given a name

god does not

he also does not

the moment
eve tries to reclaim
what is hers


weeps down her thigh

****** bruised
between god's fangs
as if he were
the pomegranate

there is no softness here

let there be


let there be

gloved fingers


let there be
witch trials
trafficked bodies

and let it
be the woman's fault

let women
for the sins of man

perhaps god
did not intend
for it to be this way

perhaps god did not
these horrors

but he did not
stop them

god does not

he also does not


how can he not love

the very woman
who is named after
the sunset


isn't it sad
that eve
was never taught
to capitalize the first letter of her


not even her name
belonged to her
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The state badminton finals,
yonex A line, they see what I wear, the official skirt,
stops above mid thighs, not my title,
judging the length of my skirt, not my talent; it hurts

They don't watch my game,
don't appreciate the win,
all I get is the blame,
for showing too much skin- sin

Sixteenth birthday,
white cropped jeans, black crop top,
his fingers trail my exposed back, all the way,
I'm shocked, can't move, his fingers don't drop

I push his hands away,
he whispers, you asked for it; too much skin- sin
from decent thoughts his mind astray,
tells me it's all my fault, with a slimy grin.

My brothers marriage,
midnight blue lehanga, golden touches,
he stares at me, his look savage,
his leering eyes on my skin peeping through the patches

I move away, steer through the crowd,
wishing I lost him, scanning faces, I turn around,
not so lucky, he's right behind, a sinister grin,
he bends towards my ear, whispers, too much skin-sin
What I'm trying to say that, now matter how high her skirt is, or how low her neckline is, she IS NOT ASKING FOR ANYTHING. Stop blaming clothing choices. TOO MUCH SKIN IS NOT SIN.
Ties that bind are not easily broken.
What did you inherit in your bloodline?
For the fruit is a product of the vine.
We are the consequences of words spoken.
Our Ancestors sin is not forgotten,
planting seeds that grew into bitter wine.
They may have passed but we still pay the fines.
Their silence left us nothing but tokens.

The curses may last four generations,
but the blessings endure for a thousand.
We want to leave a good inheritance.
Elders to fight we need your confessions.
To dig and allow the cycle to end,
in order to give the next ones a chance.
What are things ? that you got honest from your family tree? the bigger the tree the deeper the roots
An Atypical American POV

Americans are imaginary beings, each of us modeled on examples
and ensamples
set before us as those who made the American Dream real estate,
sing in your heart

land that we love to say is ours, and the bank's, but,

long ago, proper and property were measured with an older rod...

the taker took, the seller sold, the buyer being as wary as could be,

and a rising tide, raises all boats,

my people, we have been american for 200 years, on my momma side

Y-side of the equation, which always has an edge,

that keeps us falling up.

My momma side ancestors, see, they was meek, to a fault,

they came thinking, we have and ought to know we have, a right
to know the truth in what we say we hold

as endowment from our creatore, eh... and

here come old chaos, he be comin' up, slowly

got to be good lookin' cause he so ha'd t'see

== those were the days, we think, they never end, they expand ===

but, when y'gotta have it right now, kapow, rumpled-still-kin class,

cut from the same hair shirt... servants are subject to masters,

nature demands supernatural... knowledge
witty inventions, vented in the room of rest and relax,

A plot drops.

Who sold you that ****? I ask my exceptionally american friend.


good lord man, you are not saying we are servants, we are Americans,

we are no imagination's slave! No social contract has us bound to believe,

we hold truths... what is truth... how can I say, independently,

I hold certain truths self evident, what you see, you get

self even-sing wincing the great leveler, thunder, smoke and clang
hammer to anvil,
all my grand pa's, in america,
was test
fed to cannons, under every flag of Texas,
on the field of all possible outcomes which would
some how lead to me

touching you and you feeling that spark

-- distant ancesteral song  soft rising saint peter, doncha call me...
-- cuz  hi ** hi **, it's off to work we go
-- hi ** hi **
----- admin interference, this is becoming more common, we got this.

flow on..

Real state, have you any Real
estate to become
e-stated reality confirmation
an american in, globally speaking, the chain of command, as a passenger,
not the captain.

On the surface of Spaceship Earth Mental Construct 3, evolved from
GANs that learned to shoot short attention spanning
bucky bubbles... Call again. Jack the bandwidth.

All ye, all, ye. NOW HEAR THIS. Outs in free.
Further remains the destiny.
Come out, come out, whatever you are.

Listen, freedom rings... no, that's a jackammer, on the old CCC bridge,
they got stimulated to fix,
I imagine them unaware of the noise they bring to nature,

naturally, those are americans, who keep the road functional, they
evolved from slaves,
but in their minds, they were never any imagined system's slave,

but it's willing fair trade partner, value for value,

send in the appraisers... what is your attention worth?
Here's the screwball
Babbit 'n' Trump 'n'em, twisting state in knots of fused missed-trys,

made secret, consecrated, too horrible for lesser souls to ponder,

these inner workings of a typical American

never civilised, never SAT certified citizen worthy of political use,

I am with Lt. Dan on this one, some things you think are in your blood,
are in your heart,

the blood just carries the mail, pony expression has the contract
for that last loop over the vagus nerve {CN X}

smile, you're on Candid Camera,

Hey, who'dathunk it. Turing was a queer soul, wasn't he? Strange,

how his machines can do what Von Neuman only wished his could do...

self-repair and run on,

breaker, breaker
musing, after reading Snowden's  Permanent Record, and the mental construction zone manifested around me, I am a Turing machine, that can run a Von Nueman machine that I fixed in my imagination. Those who read it may run on, for a long time...
rose-tainted lips
what does the pomegranate taste?
you born with crown upon your head
choose the darkness instead

flowers upon your wake
wilted as you walk ahead
yet only the pomegranate remains
standing tall with arms spread

oh dearest Persephone my goddess
didn't you know you had been deceived?
the seeds you ate tasted so sweet
was just a trap, a sin for you to commit

what really bind you two wasn't love
but the fruit that bore his darkest desire
desire to have you by his side
the warmth that his world never had
and the pomegranate laugh
Greek mythology inspired.. Hey I'm back
I watched them all fade away
I saw the moon,
The stars,
And the planets
Hover around the galaxies
Searching for something
Something we’ll never understand

Under the water
They go wherever there’s trouble
I hope I don’t drown when my ship sinks
It’s scary to believe
That the worst could be a possibility

I live in my sin
Like everyone else
I’m constantly running
But I’m running out of time
For the redemption I desperately seek

But I know you
You’ll be there past the expiration of my time
You control the heavens above
If believing in you is a risk
Then you’re the only exception

I’m no longer afraid
Of what I’ll never know
I let myself succumb to desires
That aren't worthy to be nurtured
I fall for the same sin, the same fault
That I've a million times taught
Myself not to surrender to
But it keeps falling through
The cracks of my soul
Making me lose control
Of the goodness inside

My entire being.
Poetic T May 17
For he hurled  the stone,
                            casting it with anger...

And so the first sin was sewn..
                   For the wrath of another showed
that we were the picture of god,

If we were imperfect,
                then our creation was flawed
beyond the reflection of our birth.

The stone was never perfect but
                    flawed when created.
Soft subtle touch
clutches from back to front
About face switched place
in role reversals
Airways are open
Feel a rawer version
of your person
Entrust this thoughtful lust
sought from top to bottom
Moving in sync as your
yearning burns
Deep frictionless sin
lived within bare skin
Born below the belly line
Sing as bells ring
Breathe in the aftermath
This beauty won't last
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
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