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Chicken Feb 22
Little ****
I'll pull you up
to my face
and
eat you.

Make you into
something else
It's painful
but
you knew.

Every atom
Every speck
transforms time
and
time again.

If air is the chorus
then you
are the choir
singing
despite pain.
Everything has a sound, a frequency, no matter what state it is in.

We live in an endless structure of sound, of song, the multitude of the verses.

Why do you like music so much?
Ronnie Feb 22
Never ask a poet what they think
about the things that matter.
They will not give a definite answer
for their hearts tend to ache
somewhat too severely
and even then some things
are better left unsaid
unfinished
in a black and white world
where any shade of grey is a crime
somewhere over the rainbow
in a place where it is the safest
to not be there at all
or else you are certainly the one to blame
even if the lace is buried deep within
your overwhelming guilt and shame
hidden under all the what ifs and pleats
and somewhere deeper yet
there is the quietest of voices
too afraid to speak of the bruises
left on the inside of her thighs
and within her heart
the voice of reason that tells you
please don’t walk down that alley
keep your friends close
and the keys in your hand closer
keep your head up high
and your hopes down low
or whatever else makes sense
in this dog eat dog world
where everything you will ever know
will be shredded and recycled
oh, if only
to be crushed into a pulp
and spoon-fed to another generation
diluted with careful consideration
into a day-in day-out nine to five
not even a cog in the machine
a ***** at best
and you will be *******
tightened up more and more
until you can’t hold it together
and whatever it takes
falls apart into pieces
broken glass on the asphalt
a hole in the wall
that sinking feeling
where a soul should be
but the angels don’t visit anymore
or answer our prayers
the line is always busy
there is always something else
something more important
a bullet in the bible
escalating into emergency
but who is out there for the unarmed boy
dying on the sidewalk
misjudged for the colour of his skin
who is out there to stop the hand of a father
suspended in mid-air
with the children cowering at his feet
who is out there for the American dream
turning into a global nightmare
who can tell the pending future
staring down the barrel of the gun
wondering which side you should be on
and what of that which you call freedom
only to trade it for martyrdom
what of candour and justice
and their antonymous nature
what of the artists and the poets
and everyone else that took a shot
but didn’t even come close
living in a daydream
playing from the same broken record
telling us that there is meaning
and there is worth in the things we do
except that from time to time
the needle would skip
distorting the vision
and at times like these
it’s the easiest to look away
for every scratch on the surface of reality
encourages you simply to
pull the trigger

No.
I will not, I refuse
to let this get the best of me.
The pen is a blade. I slit my wrist
and pour my heart out onto the page
instead. This is a sacrifice
I am willing to make.
I will tear myself apart
on my own terms.
If I cannot do it myself,
who else will?
My most recent poem for my university class, inspired by the likes of Baraka and Ginsberg. Prompt given to us was "protest poetry".
Invocation Jan 26
How is it I can reach out and bless everyone I touch except you

You tell me I'm enough
I'm doing well
I don't believe you

I disappointed myself again
Even if you can't see it
My bar was set higher than you set one for me
You said shoot for the moon and I shot for a Pluto that others said didn't count anyway
Please don't hide your needs from me, I need you to depend on me or I'm going to go crazy watching you work yourself to death ...
Thomas Mackie Jan 24
I fell in love in the frame of a window.

You looked at me and then turned the corner,



and then the next,






and then you were gone.
Trapped behind the register, I make prolonged and meaningful eye contact with a stranger outside.
Kayla Hardy Jan 22
INFJ - T

I grow exhausted at the exuberance of crowds.
Not able to ignore that nagging voice that whispers the evils of them
Feelings of fear overpower the simple formula of conversation
Jutting into remind me of my appearance compared to theirs -
Too weak to fight against it.

It’s not easy to speak my mind.
Never daring to even introduce myself
Following a very strict line
Just taking each day step by step -
Thinking someday I’ll be able to explain.

Inside, I judge everything.
New situations make the feelings shake
Fear and turbulence expand within
Jaw clenched and sweaty palms -
Thin skin begins to bruise.

Introverted and intuitive
Nervous, yet calm
From day to day
Just a puppet -
To a never-ending nightmare
Kayla Hardy Jan 22
It is sudden and total
distinguishing and dangerous
fluctuating and gives no warning
occurring frequently but is always present
relatively a much more complicated phenomenon
the initiation is dark and repeated in very large numbers
different members fracture from the tension
gradually the level strain will yield
but then time can and will vary
until we’re static again.


Source: Richard G. Budynas and J. Keith Nisbett, “Shigley’s Mechanical Engineering Design”, McGraw Hill, 2015
Brynn S Dec 2018
The translucent glass
Small vines wrap around
It connects the inside to the outer shell
The bones of hollow
And the gloss of blues
Vivid to the eye
Reflections of light show themselves
The small mysteries of earthy heavens
The sounds of frigid winds carry
The small angels of earth
They blend and blind the blood ones
Those who stalk its lusterful beauty
To watch it float is like to watch a tear fall
Fall from the eyes of innocence
Glowing with flames of ice
Perpetual harmonious laughter
Ringing like small myths to the eyes
Glorious creature they are
Glorious they will be,
Those who fly
Inspiration from Dr. Faustus, giving light to darkness
Rizna M Rameez Nov 2018
We poets
                All


Rebels

           Break free from

These grammatical restrains

Give not a thought
            To befuddling these scrumdillydunderings
                
                         Shackles don't bind

Our weary hands

Writing when

                     Life tires us
We free ourselves
          
                     From your rules
Don't give a ****
What you think isn't cool


         Cuz we have our own rules
We don't play by

All
Your
Fools

                      Shatter 'em.
20.11.2018
Man, did I have fun writing this. Writing this turned my mood Roald Dahl style. Kinda. Don't give a **** whether what I say makes sense right now. Enjoy :)
Sombro Nov 2018
His hand on mine,
Guiding the pencil lines
He chuckled at my scripted joke
Destructive structure
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