Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
annh Sep 5
You ask of which I am most afeart, the rumbling tumblings of the troll beneath the bridge or the tinkering favours of an eccentric fairy godmother. Alas, it is the marzipan crumbs of inspiration leading me down the brambled garden path which most unsettle me; the ink that does not write; the unpainted page with not a gingerbread house...in sight.
‘If you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.’
- Mo Willems, Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs.
Phil Bailey Apr 22
I lurk on social media.
I post all day and night.
It strokes and stokes my ego
to pick a verbal fight.

When I see inspiring stories
or such videos I watch,
my cruel and vicious comments
will take them down a notch.

Oh feel my power and my wrath,
my insults, mean and shocking,
like "Loser", "Snowflake", "Re-****", "***"
(do you tremble at my mocking?)

I hate the world, I loathe myself,
my friends all went away.
Girls say I'm scary and a creep.
My rage grows every day.

My impotence consumes me,
I respond with posts of rage.
Anonymous through GMail
and my fake Facebook page.

My hatred grows as my soul shrinks
and so my spleen I vent.
Safe, deep within my bunker,
down in my mom's basement.
Sorry, that was rather dark, but I really don't like trolls.
Piyush Sharma Dec 2019
Not all boys are about women,
Some really have qualities of heaven.
Not all of us are here to troll,
Some are really seeking love from a naked soul.

Sometimes our silence just means we're quiet,
Sometimes we expect someone to ask us, "You alright?"
Because we have souls too,
Try walking sometime a mile in our shoe.

Being alone doesn't mean we are weird,
All night long, our souls have also cried.
It doesn't mean we're harmful if we are raging out,
Sometimes a caring hug is enough to stay throughout.
AsianGenderWater Aug 2019
Drones fly through the hivebatch,
Watching those disgusting lowbloods
Go on with their day.

Burgundy, bronze, gold.
Lowblood, lowblood, and yet another lowblood.
How dreadfully boring this place is.

Why don’t we change things up a bit?
Why don’t we hear those little ones scream?

Missile after missile
Is shot from my ship.
Scream after scream
Is let out by the children.

Finally!
Something fun!

Why don’t we take a picture
To remember this day?

Scarlet flames dance around
Ashes that were once bodies.

I grab my palmhusk
And take a selfie.

Ψish you Ψere here!
I replayed Hiveswap: Act 1 yesterday. Here’s a poem inspired by Trizza Tethis’s selfie at the end of the act.

When is Act 2 coming out???
Rizna M Rameez May 2019
Maybe the thumbs down
Is there to remind us
That we have the power to hurt
And to allow us to grow enough of a consciousness

To nurture the ability to know that we have freedom of speech
Yet we'd rather use instead of the power to hurt,
The power to heal.
27.05.2019
Julia Apr 2019
Every three blocks city people are moving
Did you bring the cassettes
There's room for one more desk
Every few cases a discarded chair
An evicted shoe rack
A blue and white stack
The cases crescendo with gems multiplying
And under the bridge a wind fairy is crying
September 2016
Seattle, WA
MJL Feb 2019
Diseased turnip
Rooting in the dirt
Rotting fodder
Unpicked
Untapped
Gnarled and bitter
Lying under your bridge
When you are gone
No-one will miss your rancid rag


© 2019 MJL
Next page