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Light is the tongue that speaks his heart, using 'aql
I was born in a rose field-
taught that the world was made of thorns,
and to live was to pierce the soles of my feet.

so I remove my shoes and dig my toes into the ground-
I’d rather scar than be sheltered

I was raised in a wildfire-
taught that words were made of flames,
and to speak was to blister the buds of my tongue

so I coat my throat with gasoline and swallow down a match-
I’d rather burn than be silent
Alio Apr 6
Malicious, malignant
Crude, cruel
Your punishment for me
When didn’t tell you things I felt
Was to treat me like a dog

Call every thirty minutes
Not allowed alone with the kids
Else the police will show up
Make sure you’re not dead

I didn’t tell about the darkness
For fear of what you’d do
And as it grew it seeped out
Creeped up, out of the blue
And just as I thought
How did you respond?
Well let’s just say now
Im a fish without pond
I’m a hare without speed
Im an eagle without wings
I’m a person. Without air.

Feeling worse
More alone
More hated
More close
Just days ago I thought
I knew the worst

But ‘lo
I was wrong
And now I’m just wrung
Without fun
Seen as dung
Just a fungús

I wish it were done
Or that I’d never spoke at all
Everything was better
When it was all behind walls
Yenson Jan 12
Call me dour and unimaginative
even say in foggy vistas
that I am numb and thick-skinned
but without mendacity
I duly hand on heart thus proclaim
I just cannot at all relate
to these croaky periphrastic fantasies
of weak disenchanted ghosts
who cursing their opaque transparency
in vacuous bland plasma
crave sojourn in howling and bawling
begging attention and validity
excusez moi mon petite les miserables
but your fantasies
neither resonates nor romanticize
in the sublime realities
of those who walk on solid terra firma
and despite ghostlore
do still see themselves in the dark
and know to keep things real
there's a lot for me to write
but not much for me to say
because I can never voice out loud
how much you've caused me pain
i don't want you to listen to what you've done to me, i want you to see it
Brian Turner Oct 2021
She speaks without thinking
He thinks without speaking
Two forces once linked as one
Bound for social discourse

She touches without feeling
He feels without touching
Desperate to entwine
Repelled by thoughts of separation

They break without being broken
They fall without moving
Mental forces at work
Emotions rushing out of sync
Do you speak without thinking?
Robert Ronnow Oct 2021
From marble and granite to steel and glass,
we were discussing Rhina Espaillat’s On the Avenue in class,
was it 1950s or 1980s NYC and were the fifties
the city’s halcyon days or is it now, the 2020s,
the boroughs teeming with immigrants
from the round earth’s imagined corners,
Hasidim and Muslim, Haitian and Russian, as we
Italians and Irish in an earlier era were. Everything will
be ok or not, the recombinations which make
prediction and intuition fortunately hopeless
and each individual an experiment gone well or wrong.
On the avenue God speaks by spewing
toy and clothing stores, breakdancers and ice skaters,
the Brooklyn Navy Yard seen from the Brooklyn Bridge,
the skyline admired when my car broke down on the Triborough Bridge.
The numbers of us overwhelm, there exist powers
overwhelming for the human body and mind.
I don’t mind but I can’t make sense of it.
Gandhi said What you do may not seem important
but it is very important that you do it. By that what is meant?
Linda said Why does God always have to be a man?
I said He could be a She but she’s probably really
a Tyrannosaurus rex. I like to be in America!
—Espaillat, Rhina, “On the Avenue”, Playing at Stillness, Truman State University Press, 2005.
—Donne, John, “At the round earth’s imagined corners”.
Snipes Oct 2021
Make it to tomorrow
Hit the sheets
Make this the last paper
I speak
They yell
My mom says get to bed
But my head is lead
Onto belief on what’s fed
The loose leaf
I hit the sheets
Make this the last paper
I speak
They yell
My mom says use your head
But my gun is filled with lead
Into the streets with speed
The strong grip
Hit the safety
Make this trigger pulled
The last paper
I speak
They yell
Bedded in hell
Make it to tomorrow
I better be reel
Alicia Moore Oct 2021
“All water tastes the same,” he spoke with a frowned brow.
That’s how I knew we weren’t meant to be.
My tongue stays tied around my throat.
It forms an unbreakable noose around my neck.
I choke on my words.
Hanging the sentences I've not yet found.

Thoughts race past like speeding cars.
Yet I remain speechless...
I can't speak...

How can my mind hold all these questions but no answers.
All these new ideas, but no idea how to execute them.
I remain speechless.

I grab at the air in hopes of better days,
'cause all I seem to get is bitter days.
I am too young to grow cold...
This noose tightens the more I dissolve and suppress.
I need to find words for that which troubles me and show no neglect.
I must find the voice that has evaded me.
I have not written in many years. Starting up again. some of the things I will post are works in progress and will be tweaked...
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