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Owen Jul 2022
Mens mental health month
came and went without a word
swept under the rug.
Just like it always is and always was
birdy May 2022
If the world knew you,
maybe it wouldn't have
made you this way.
It would uncurse you,
free you from the facade of strength
release your emotions
the hate
the love
the tears.
Because true strength
true bravery
is to let loose the thoughts and feelings
that scare you most.
birdy May 2022
Eyes a deep brown like earth
a certain haze of stability
that I wish to erode
to find the truth
birdy May 2022
a smile --- like a star
fools only from afar
Swan Songs Feb 2021
I’ve got some money and a swag and a gun – and my lover
My lover and I are on the run
We changed our hair, our clothes, our names, we’re undiscovered
But she cannot escape the things I’ve done

Oh, my Daisy Dunne

I’m thinking to myself, “I think I love her”
But not half as much as I’m scared I’ll lose control
So I hold that naïve girl and tell her I love her
Out of fear she might forsake my aching soul

‘Cause I can’t bear the thought of hanging from the rope all on my own
I’m trying to take her to Heaven with me but I’ll burn in Hell alone
Me and Daisy Dunne will run into the angry setting sun
But we cannot outrun the things I’ve done

We’re hiding out in a shack by the sea with my little brother
At half my age he’s twice the man I’ll be
But I see the way he looks at my lover
And I killed the last man who tried to take her from me

I shot him dead and then we fled, but his eyes still stare at me
Now my lover screams from in her dreams while I lie awake listening
Me and Daisy Dunne are one, until the judgement of kingdom come
Until they hang me from my neck for what I’ve done

Oh, my days are done

Please, will someone spare the truth from my poor mother?
Don’t you tell her what befell her eldest son
You can tell her all about my lovely lover
But do not let Mum know the man that I’ve become
I just wish she could have met my Daisy Dunne

One fateful night I caught Daisy’s eye, she was giving me a silent plea
Then I saw some light and I decided it was time for me to set her free
But my Daisy Dunne she took my gun and killed a man who was chasing me
And now she’s standing beside me here at the gallows tree

(As they lower the hood over evil and good, the last things we will see
Are my longing stare and her accusing glare, and it suddenly occurs to me
I have no way of knowing where it is I’m going, but I have the distinct feeling:
Whatever is next, my Daisy will not be there with me
And I could have used my last words to tell her that I’m sorry)
cypress Nov 2020
to come virile & unhinged

contributes wild demands for control

rather an engagement of exact equality may cultivate an intuitive culture
Luke West Aug 2020
Irony of the Clouds
The irony of the clouds, the backwards image of the sky
Happy, white, and full, they fill until they die
Then it rains, and cold cold wet rain hits everything, everyone, and the sky is grey.
Even the clouds let out, have an outlet
People see them as happy, and see other clouds as sad
The irony of the clouds, the same one grows and cries, the same full white cloud, it turns grey, and lets out the things it can’t hold for it’s life.
Oh the shock if they learnt that the clouds hit their brim,
When they realize how ugly pretty little clouds can get
When clouds let lighting out, when clouds aren’t white
When clouds cry and when they shock
When they dissipate and disappear
Some big and some little, some thin and some thick
They all fill and they all let out, and if they don’t, they grow and grow until they can’t grow anymore,
Then they seperate, lost among the clouds, among those that they can’t tell themselves apart from.
Why don’t we let the little cloud weep, so that it can grow white once again?
Perhaps I will never know, but maybe for once, the little cloud can cry, and not be all alone.
Freeform poetry, written about the cultural pressure to keep things in. I write as an outlet, so too bad if you don’t like it, but constructive criticism is helpful!
Kyle Reeves May 2020
my daughter is almost 5
and my son is nearly 2
I could simply say they're one and four
but when the number's higher it sounds a little better
they're less babies and more childlike
you know, bigger and more wise
I'm more wise

my daughter is almost five
and my son is nearly two
they're in our yard with twig berrets
and mud stained smiles posing for a postcard to make the hose drinking generation proud.
he straddles the ground, chest bare like he's Tarzan and howls at the blue sky
challenging the sun

I look at him like he's made of stone
she's a daisy pedal I crush in my hand and compress into a diamond
the toxins dripping from the curling edges of my lips burn the dirt from her face
the shine of the light washes out the blood on my knuckles.
a ring on my finger and my hands look clean

my daughter is almost five
and my son is nearly two
their muddy fingers comb their feral hair
and their green feet clip the grass till they find jagged rocks
they weep over skinned kneecaps and with one arm I pull her close
with the other I slug his shoulder, "buck up kiddo, you'll be alright"
I hold a stone in each hand, and call one a precious gem while I build my house out of the other

my skin has washed against those stones since they were none and none
built into the houses of a thousand graveyards I've watched daisies pile over golden sarcophaguses
watched them wilt at the bottom of alters built on stone
I won't carve epitaphs into these hearts I hold

my daughter is almost five
and my son is nearly two
we drag fallen branches to our firepit and dance to music next to the flames
like weightless stone his strength surges to his tippytoes
she powders his nose with ash and pretends she's a cheetah
her game isn't to **** she just wants to chase
princes have their feet welded to pedestals and the sport's no fun for her

my children aren't rocks, they're stardust
I won't make kings or queens I've no providence  over their future
so I'll **** the venom from the sky and watch them walk back to the stars
I may not be a champion but I'll be their father
Future generations deserve the best from our histories, not toxic artifacts
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