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Some of you,
Some of you are kind
Some of you,
Some of you are mean

Mean
And this word feels insignificant
Feels childish
Feels empty, and hollow, and small, and nothing, and yet
That’s what you are,
Because that is what you have made me
Because, all of you
All of you,
Have tiny pieces of me.

To all the men that have found me,
You have found the part of me you want.
Years I have spent crafting to reflect the version of myself you want to see.
Like wrapping myself up as a present
I tailor the ribbon, the colours all for you
Am I messy?
Are my corners ripped and jagged?
Does my bow come loose?
Is my tape perfectly invisible?
Do I open with ease?
Can you guess what’s inside?
Am I something you asked for?
Do you need the receipt for an easy return?
Am I the on the wish-list?
Am I the forth pair of socks you really didn’t need?
Are you going to use me everyday?
Am I essential?
Am I just a toy?
Will I collect dust amongst the mountains of things you acquire as you gracefully move through life?
Will you remember me, pull me out amongst the stacked piles of your memories, dust me off and smile at the faint recollection of my touch?
Will you assemble me, build me up as something to be proud of, or will you leave me in the box, still scattered in pieces?
Will you recycle me, regift me, give me to charity when you’re done with me, when I don’t quite fit anymore, when I don’t quite work anymore, when I don’t quite match your aesthetic, mirror the version of yourself you want to exist as, act in accordance to your will, moan on time, smile on time, talk on time, preform on time, dance on time, laugh on time, listen on time, love on time.

Please god love me,
Please lord see me,
Please man hear me,
Please boy need me,
Want me,
Want me,
Want me.

I am so tired of being suffocated in the versions of myself I have crafted for you
men
I am so bored of reproducing the same giggle, coy smile and gentle whisper to entice you
Men
I am so fed up with hating myself before you can
Men
I am so sickened by the way I objectify myself to tailor to your high school *******
Men
I am so exhausted of reshaping my mouth to fit perfectly into yours
Men
I am so broken over not being special enough, not loud enough, not quiet enough, not brave enough, not clumsy enough, not **** enough, not coy enough, not funny enough, not stupid enough, not smart enough
Men
I am so done with writing not enough.

Like a broken music box,
My heart seems to skip over the same note on repeat
And you think it’s frustrating to your ears
Oh my god am I enraged at this same song
This same despondent pinging in which every single note seems just off

You slap me amongst your key rings and let dangle centimetres away from the lock that holds the access point to your heart
And I know I am more than just an ornament
More than just a house plant you forget to water
More than just your 2 day old Chinese food that you hope won’t make you sick
More than just that old sweater never wear but that you keep because it smells like home
More than just the at home gym equipment you bought because you said “new year, new me”
More than just your hobby,
More than just your prize,

I have spent years,
Building the small part in myself I hope someone will call home
And here you are treating it as though it is a cage

To all the men I know,
To all the men I’ve known,
I am no longer comfortable bending, reshaping, cracking, adjusting at the will of your glance
I am angry, not because I am malleable
But because your hands made me so.
Spoken word, spoken mess.
PrttyBrd May 11
carried on the dream I tasted in your voice
I was never afraid of heights

when I was falling
                                 falling
                                            falling
all I felt was cool air brushing my hair
as it rushed across my skin

it still tasted like you
or the idea of you
or who I wished you were
or who you pretended to be

it tasted like truth
but the truth is...
I trusted without enough doubt to realize
that touching the sky
meant I couldn't see the ground
that fairytales were meant for those with wings
because flying is a prerequisite
and I was just auditing the experience

soaring through promises I needed to believe
I knew who you were....
                       until you weren't

I believed who I was
but I never believed myself to be stupid
or naive
or...stupid

real is how we perceive it
but any way I slice you up
the pavement still wears my skin

multi-tonal adhesives cannot
heal the trust I broke by believing you

who am I now?
fear of heights and a traumatic aversion
to self-trust

plus a dash self-loathing

when I close my eyes
I still ride dreams that taste like truth
but the truth is...

flying is a prerequisite
and I was just auditing the experience
51122
Evie G Feb 23
Who here loves *******?!!!
I mean, dogs
Obviously…
Immature people.

I love ***** shows.

Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place
A shame some cute faces will just go to waste.
While some may whine and some may resist,
If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist?

Lined up in a row
Look at them go
Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money.
Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly

Nails perfectly trimmed
Intelligence dimmed
Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves,
its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries.
But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly

Look its absurd
When they whine all their words
Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like ***.

But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had
A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad
Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs
It’s like there’s no party, only balloons.
If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours
Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws.

Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own.

They must be culled
Anger dulled
Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a *****.

We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more.
So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
Lux Falls Jan 9
Cold sheets
Restless mind
and a heavy chest
What a painful trio
That sings to a moonless night
What kind of sorrow could be
caught up in a loveless night?

Wet eyes spilling
on pillow billings
Bed swallowing the body whole
What emotion would ever make an adult coo
Like a baby calling from their lonely cot
What glee to make us all fools
Thomas W Case Nov 2021
All of you are
such amazing poets.
And poetry has a long oral
history.

Why not start your
own youtube channel
and perform your
poetry?
Some say poetry is a
dead art.
I say it isn't.
Let's return to
our roots and scream
our poetry from the
roof tops.

So I challenge all
of you poets,
let's kick some ***
with our voices.
This is a challenge to do spoken word poetry on youtube or some other site, then put in a link with your poem. We can all support each other and encourage each other on the way.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wN63fddvsTI&

this is my link, if this only brings up one poem, just search Thomas W. Case and the others will pop upCome join the fun and support your fellow poets.
Glass Oct 2021
my body and soul in a boxers ring
the ref has been shot, throttled, and kinged
compliant to no one, inside is a known run
yet all parties here are the foe
are the loser the liar and lo--
the body is violent.
the audience: god, and they sit there silent.
soul socked, blocked, and bruised, he shivers to quiet
and body, it staggers and quivers in triumph
but it shakes and it cries because its eyes are mine
for a fire inside
does not inspire
but burns and hollows to rinds

soul, he delivers a blind hit.
in stride and in mind, an inmate of wildness.
of trial-less, unending, childish depending, spiraling slightly askew

and of tiredness.

the soul, he kneels, and body, it keels
the ref has revived and is quick to the meal
she tears apart body and dips into soul

there's only one answer
as god keeps their hands still
no matter the way that it's told.
it, he, they, she, me
09/25/21
Avestani Sep 2021
The potential of disaster or perfect collision
Did we lose sight of the original mission
Are distance and status creating division?
Confidence wavers at the moment of decision
Hesitant to feel, give into the flow of unspoken words that seldom hold the feeling behind verbal contact, lost passion on the wind drifting off from our tongues and our eyes, watch the hands, does the longing drive you mad, sure of the reception knowing you'll be accepted, but both cowards at the apex not willing to indulge ourselves in the most harmless of risks, a moment, a loss, a potential bliss, knowing our worth, knowing each other, exchanging emotions as we find ourselves within each other's range but like magnets the attraction leads to repulsion, fueled by conceptual barriers constructed by the filth of the physical, calamity of humanity a fickle mind and frozen heart so much so that eagerness for light and love is masked by fear of pain and past, like walls that form between our dreams that petrify reality, the game is played until its done, until time has won, and we've never begun, but oh we dreamed of it with clarity, the love we'd have, if we were free, like the animals we are, indulging in carnality and hedonism, reject the will of civilization, concepts formed to dominate, put man above man, we could see the boundaries between us rent apart nothing more than empty words hinging on empty thoughts that mean nothing to the energy between us, a million reasons, a thousand rejections, thought if cards played right could be perfection, to bet some time, a move of faith, we could separate from the conscious of man, the weakness and lies it brings, accept the will of the spirits, immersed in the universe, heeding the call of nature we locked away in our own man made order, heeding spirits with wisdom beyond any man, creature, or beast, and see if our love was something God planned.
Tim Benjamin Sep 2021
I've lived an ordinary life
I have never accomplished anything grand
I havnt climbed a mountain or seen the northern lights
I've never discovered land untouched by man
I've never gotten to walk the great wall of China or seen the pyramids of Egypt.
But in those moments laying in your bed, feeling the way you body fills with air while you sleep in my arms I know what extraordinary feels like.
I've had the joy of gazing into your eyes in those moments before they close as our lips inch closer and closer with every beat of our entangled hearts.
I've gotten to see your smile illuminate an entire world.
My world became as bright as the sunflowers you held in the hands that I grasp in fear of letting you slip through my fingers.
Because of you Gabrielle my ordinary life has been touched by the extraordinary and I have felt love pounding in my chest praying it could soar across the sky. Writing you name across every cloud.
I have felt the magical wonder of beauty that refuses to stay quiet. Whispering your beauty to every star that has the audacity to try and outshine you.
And what more can the ordinary ask for than a touch of the extraordinary.
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