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Esther L Krenzin Oct 2018
Strong and resolute, it stands
seeking with claw-like limbs
for sunlight and raindrops.
Leaves, crimson and gold
slip from trailing branches
coming to rest on frozen ground.
Whispering and sighing
the great oak bends and sways
in the icy wind.
Roots, beneath the surface
delve deep down
growing
strengthening
as ages pass--
untouched by frost.
The strong winds may blow
and wage their wars
brittle branches may splinter.
But still the oak stands
bending
not breaking against the forces.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
We must learn to be more flexible in life, and not let the world make us hard and unforgiving. If a tree were hard and brittle, than it would break and fall over. And if it had no roots, it would never be standing in the first place. When we are born, we are born a tree bud with roots like small veins. As the years past we grow and learn the ways of the world, our roots growing and spreading. Life may be difficult, there may be suffering, and we may become hard and splinter into pieces. But remember that everything that is broken, comes back stronger than before. I once saw lightning strike down a towering oak, causing it to fall and leave nothing but a barren stump.
After a year or two, a little tree began to grow from the stump of its former self, becoming everything it was before it fell--if not even more beautiful.
To this day, it still stands, looking as if nothing ever happened.
Life will knock you down, but it is your choice whether or not you will stand up again, or stay down.
EmotionalPoet Apr 2019
You are who you are, I am who I am, nothing will change
And now our fake love ..estranged
I just HAVE to move on for God's sake!
I'm tired of wasting my self, no more to take
It's finally time for my soul to feel free
I can't move, I count to three..
One : "breath"
Two : "let it sink in"
Three : "exhale slowly"
Oh..my...word, Holly Molly!
Do something for me, why do I need to suffer?!?
It's not enough what I've done?
What else do I need to learn?
They say every step is a lesson
I haven't written in a while, I'm a mess on and on..
Trying to write a poem, I followed you again
I'm trying to find your new girlfriend
Where is she what's her name?
Will she bear your child one day?
Something I was always afraid of was that I never mattered to you.
And it seems that this is my lesson :
I need to love myself more than I ever loved you..
Just something I needed to take off my chest. Haven't written in a while, too much pain kept me down. Thanks
Laura Apr 2019
Rot
There is a rot within my bones,
an infection forcibly injected,
a spread of sludge whose origins
are drenched in impunity.

I did not know I was whole
until my wholeness was preyed upon;
did not know I was a country
until unwillingly colonized.
I did not know what silence meant
until it became obligation over option;
did not know I could be spoken for
by someone who’s asked me no questions.

I never questioned who I was
until others proved what they are not

and now there is a rot in my bones,
irreversible, unhealable, all encompassing.
I am defined by my rot,
named by an unspeakable sludge,
unseen until the mirror cracks,
until I am no longer the only one looking back
Cin Apr 2019
It's like a stupid, ******* game of Jenga or building blocks.
A proud child will spend all their time building, constructing, carefully, and tediously placing one block atop the other.
A big beautiful tower.
Glowing, the child basks in the glory and contentment of having created such a beautiful thing from such hard work.
But alas, the tower crashes and falls.
Blocks spilling everywhere and in all directions.
Complete annihilation.
The child is devastated.
It must begin from scratch.
Picking up and also having to find where the pieces may have landed.
Tears in her eyes, she recuperates and she grudgingly must begin anew.
An entire new tower from the debris.

I am the tower.
I am the child.
I must begin again.
2012-2013
This was something that I wrote very haphazardly in my art journal and that I found again recently. I must have written it in 2012 or 2013. Here I am 7 years later transcribing it on to the world wide web.
Sexus Obscura Mar 2019
my body is a tragedy
lined with fragmented artefacts
of a wartorn state
highlighted by shades of red
and lines of grey sadness

there is nothing like the pity
in the eyes of those trusted to provide aid
it sings a woeful song of healing and love
until you are okay to walk again

you become a symbol
of their service to society
and they move on to lands more beautiful
and planes much less devasted

you are left in the shadows
still broken but warmer than before
warmer despite the poison
you have been doused in called care
Nina Mazzerice Mar 2019
The unkindness was done to us, but now we are the unkindness.
We are people turned victim turned survivor turned raven,
Grouped together to fight the evil we were violated with.

We are creatures of pain, and we are creatures of protection.
We are creatures of mourning, and we are creatures of empathy.
We are creatures of misery, and we are creatures of wisdom.

And we will croak, caw, warble, and scream
Just so we know we are not alone.
I am putting together and planning to publish collection of poems by survivors of ****, ****** assault, ******, or ****** abuse. If you fall into this category and would be willing to contribute a poem or two, please email it to me at nina.mazzerice@gmail.com. Please consider this. Have a good day!
Nicole Tracii Mar 2019
[April is ****** Assault Awareness Month.]

“****** Assault Awareness Month” is *******.

For 30 days you’ll wear a teal ribbon and hold “We Believe Survivors” signs.

But
Should I thank you for 30 days of ally-ship?
No.
Did you believe me on March 31st?
No.
Will you believe me on May 1st?
No.

30 days.
You’ll scream
ALLY ALLY ALLY
Believe survivors
ALLY ALLY ALLY
Support Survivors
ALLY ALLY ALLY
Hold rapists accountable.
ALLY
Bull. ****.

Go ahead and pretend ****** assault only happens in April.
Throw out your teal ribbons on May 1st
because it’s not ****** Assault Awareness Month anymore.
You don’t have to care anymore.

But I do.
What my rapists did is something I live with
335 more days
than you’ll care about an issue.

You don’t realize the ribbons you pin your bags and shirts are
smaller
than the
bruises he left on my thighs
But
you don’t care what one survivors thinks of you
so long as the world knows that
for 30 days, you wore a teal ribbon

Your message of ally-ship
30 days a year
doesn’t erase
your hypocrisy the other
335 days.
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