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Throughout the day,
He sleeps in the coffin,
But as the evening arrives,
He wakes up,
With his cunning bright eyes,
And with a spooky smile...
He gets ready in a black dress,
To hunt his prey in the midnight,
As the night gets darker,
He goes out to show his horrible might...

After finding his prey,
He smiles in a killer way,
Raising his hands above in a mystery,
As it's a sign of his victory,
Capturing his prey within him,
One who's lying below is his victim,
For him, victim's blood is as sweet as meringue,
That's why, he's ******* , ******* by his long canine fangs...
Meringue means a creamy mixture of sugar and egg white
Ritz Jun 17
So now you ask, what’s the problem with our system?

You. Society.

Society sends such powerful storms their way,
Forcing them to measure every grief, that never decays.

They climb on a ladder, and put it in their cookie jar,
Until it’s full and can’t hold any more, reaching the stars.

Then it explodes,
Life sends them into sensory overload.

And every glance you send their way,
They wonder if they will ever be okay.

But they never are,
And never will be, with such deep battle scars.

So when the clouds fill the sky,
And the stakes are high.

Yells and sirens fill the air,
With hope, love, and despair.

They make a mistake,
And like glass, they break.
Like Broken Glass...

The last part.
Ritz Jun 17
[I gave you every opportunity. I spared no expense. A place to live, clothes, food, dollars, pennies, and cents. I gave you something, you could never have, I gave you a second chance.]

No, you were so busy giving “justice” to all,
That you didn’t even give us a second glance when we called.

Making it hard to think and believe.
Waiting for you to lie and deceive.

[Who do you think I am?]

A system more criminal than justice.
A system that can’t be trusted.

[What are you trying to say?]

You neglected to see our problems and sent us to the iron forge when we were like broken glass.
Glass that was once gold, that had now turned into brass.

An unknown alloy, that you had assayed, and instead of strengthening our vulnerabilities, you planted a wedge and swung away.

The only thing left were sharpened knives that go right through the bone, you left us in the wild, all alone.

All because of this system. This very concept of justice.
The thing that broke us again, the one that we trusted.

We were made of untold stories and unsaid words
All you had to do was listen to our songbirds.

We’re then taken from unstable homes,
Sent to meet the state with fear in our bones.

[I tried to heal your old scars,
I gave you a home -so many- without bars.]

Emotionally and cognitively we’re damaged,
Moving from home to home like baggage.

Every day, our lives were set ablaze,
Making us rack up more placements than birthdays.

Those temporary homes led to one,
More permanent than we’ve ever known.

[We spend more money on investigations,
Then keeping together families and their relations.]

But this time it wasn’t bullets that tore apart our lives,
It was papers, that cut through it like knives.

[So it’s no surprise that they strike back, in dispassionate anger, they crack.]

Robbed of stability and equal education.
We’re then turned out onto the streets, without a destination

[Offending a society,
That broke them entirely.]

At a disproportionate risk of being incarcerated.
Feeling desolate, lonely, and hated.

And so, like stars, we rest in endless voids,
We exist, destructive, yet innocent like meteoroids.

Falling from the sky.
And once it lands, our light will die.


Abuse, threats, humiliation, and deprivation,
Have burdened us with PTSD and a lack of medication.

[We moved forward, from those mental institutions,
Away from the barbarity of its persecution.]

Yet we’re criminalized because of our mental illness,
Thought as over-prescribed psychotropic sickness.

[But then why do we sentence thousands of young people,
Of which 70% have mental problems, that are lethal?]

We’re under-served with what we need to heal,
Isolated, we end up trying to fight the things we feel.

[Is our incarceration,
A reminiscent of that situation?]

Our hearts made of glass, minds made of stone.
We’re robbed of the responsibility we’ve never even known.

[We send them to a place with a culture of violence,
Where mental health issues are locked in silence.]

[Alas, doing nothing and unmoving we sit.
There’s blood on our hands, from the crimes we commit.]

Because our mind is the lock,
Made of chains as hard as rocks.

But those restraints, you cannot see.
Our mind may be the lock, but it is also the key,

The very thing that won’t let us be,
Is the one meant to set us free?

From a place filled with debris,
A place we never meant to see?

A place where we’re denied a sense of privacy,
Its “security” only gives us anxiety.

[Considering everything you’ve done,
How do I know that you won’t try to run?]

It may make sense, in your defense.
But it shouldn’t be at our mind’s expense.

We shouldn’t suffer at the hands of our defendants,
Thrown in solitary confinement, for twisted independence.

Handcuffed and shackled
We’re treated like rotten apples.

Thrown away for 20 hours at a time,
Exceeding the need for restraints for a single crime.

We’re inmates isolated and impaired,
Being baked to death, or lips turning blue in despair.

If you listen real closely,
There’s banging to protest being killed slowly.

Living in a “school for crime”,
The “tricks of the trade”, an unwanted pastime.

[Seventy-seven a day is our track record,
68% of them, a number we can’t afford]

Incarcerated for low-level crimes, is a violation.
Yet, we’re buddies with “shot-callers”, and their association.

For no reason,
We’re convicted of treason.

He said “I’m here on an armed robbery, held a loaded gun to the cashier’s head”
I would’ve pulled the trigger if it did any good, I woulda “shot him dead.”

Yet, what he didn’t say, was that it was neon green,
With water inside, sloshing, a distinct aquamarine.

But he was still sent to trial and convicted.
Sentenced to three years, due to pain he had not even afflicted.

Now, tell me where is your justice, or justification?
Why was he sent to jail, for the lack of medication?

Your theory of by which fairness is administered,
By imprisoning people excluded from society has now become sinister.

[Two out of every three,
Are in facilities, as restricted as they can be.]

What about her? Why was she convicted for “kidnapping”,
Kids from a home, in which love was lacking?

Where they were locked up in the dark,
Treated like dogs, who can’t do anything other than bark?

[But it is, and that is what we do,
Very soon, the bill will come due.]

Because we’re the slaves of this system, the hands in those bonds,
The wings in those chains, the blood in these ponds.

[(And) when they discover who they are, they’ll be free, we tell
them. They’re disembodied voices asking for pleas, but all we do is condemn.]

[You’re pointing fingers at me]

No, we tried to open a lock that had no key.
We tried to swim through a blood-red sea.

All this time we’re finding ourselves,
But didn’t know that we were lost in itself.

We had no desire to be here,
We wanted freedom, not destruction, but looking into a mirror,

The only thing we saw was fear.
But no one else did, and so, we were invisible, waiting to disappear.

[I’m supposed to feel guilt.]

No. You were created for good.
A system that used to be well understood.

From reliable and trustworthy, you’ve changed.
To inflexible and unfeeling, your power is now unrestrained.

We’re simply suggesting if you hadn’t been so focused on the system you built and the chains on our hands.
If you had taken the weight off our shoulders, we could have taken a stand.

And if you had, we’d be marching on towards freedom, face turned towards the sun, without a single bullet in our guns.
Pt.3 is up.
Ritz Jun 17
We’re spinning in a sea,
Waves of thoughts crashing, thought’s of what we could never be.

Reaching out for someone to help us, save us,
But no one does, we drown, and our trust combusts.

Where were you then?
When we called your name again and again.

[No answer.]

Where were you when we needed your help?
Lost in a dark sea, adrift in the kelp.

The weight of the world on our shoulders.
A heavy burden that smolders,

Our skin.
The fire of our emotions raging within.

All pent up inside,
Like a flame, the hope died.

Where were you then, when money was tight?
When we were hiding in the shadows of the night?

[No answer.]

Where were you when there was heartache and violence?
Where were you then, when we were suffering in silence?

[No answer.]

When naively and childishly we hoped for mercy,
We hoped and hoped that we could be free.

As our problems grew worse and their solutions grew empty,
Our faces became more bruised, and pain became plenty.

[No answer.]

When we realized we can’t depend on this system.
When our minds turned towards foolishness rather than wisdom.

It’s the reason we are the violence,
Answer us, we can’t take this silence.
It's been awhile, I know....

Pt. 2 is up.
The first time it happened I was 5
I was lured by candy as children are
All I can remember is hands and pain
And being told to not remember
And I when I speak on it
All I can hear is familial silence
And stares that tell me to not speak up at all
When CPS came knocking on the door
I covered for him.
My mom asked me why
Why I didn’t tell her all these years
My response was simple:
I did the first time it happened
It continued still, you were drunk after all
I wasn’t the first he did it to
And I’m sure I wasn’t the last
It’s weird to tell people to not joke about ******
It’s weird to tell people my first experience was when I was five
It’s weird to tell people I remember
It’s weird to pretend I don’t

The second time it happened I was 15
With my first ever boyfriend
I was out cold, and he did as he did
I don’t remember much, but this
He’s checked my pulse and he bragged
For months I didn’t realize what happened
I could not register what it was
I told my mom, I could see she blamed me
I could see trust wane in her rise
I could tell she didn’t see it how it hurt me
I was 15 and asleep
He was 16 and awake
And somehow I blame myself
It’s weird to tell people I still love him
It’s weird to tell people I forgave
It’s weird having to tell people it wasn’t my fault
And it’s weird losing friends over it

Third time it was with my boyfriend again
I wasn’t asleep I wasn’t a child
I was scared
He held me still
I said no but he didn’t know I was serious
Tears slipped out of my eyes
I froze in terror
I cried for hours afterwards
I knew what it was, he knew what it was
I blame myself.
I told him no.
No. No. No.
Now I flinch when someone touches the back of my head
I am wounded
It’s weird to tell people it happened again
It’s weird I still love him after all of it
It’s weird to forgive again
It’s weird

They were hundreds of times between
Of men touching what they weren’t supposed to
Of I’m making comments about me
Coercing me
Making me a part of their perversions
Of believing flirting is ticket for their ****** harassment
Of making me instinctively hate men.
Victim blaming
I am yet a woman
It’s weird to not be a woman
It’s weird to be a talking point
It’s weird to be silenced
It’s weird.
if you are capable of painful silence,
you are capable of painful relief.
I never take my own advice
Sarah Delaney Mar 22
He treats me like a Queen,
Still I can’t help but wonder if he will be like you too
Funny how I am afraid of what he might become yet the most comforting place I’ve ever been is his arms.
I look to him for protection yet I fear him and what he might do,
He’s never given me a reason to doubt him but most of the men from my past life haunt my thoughts, spreading lies like wildfire
I run to him, almost as if being attracted by a magnet, it’s out of my control
I cringe whenever he takes his belt off,
I know he would never hit me yet the memory of leather striking my skin like a whip,
My mother’s hands pounding on the door and her dread-filled screams,
lingers in the back of my mind like a nightmare I cannot escape from
Now that I am older it’s easier to understand she knew what he was capable of,
She had been in my position before,
She never told me as a child because I had this glorified image of him,
He was the first man that seemed like he wanted to take care of us and love us,
I viewed him as a father and even called him Dad
He had just loved his alcohol and cigars more than his love for us
I sometimes start to think about what our future children will look like,
But I stop in my tracks because that evil voice in my head asks “what if he turns out like him”?
Will it always be like this, I fear
Fayez Feb 1
People stand around
Worried sick

Wondering and waiting
For life to click

They're always the victim
Always feeling sorry

Hoping for a fight
But never emerging in glory

To be fair
I will give them the benefit of the doubt

Even though all they do
Is willow and shout

It's true that it's tough to get up
When life takes you so far down

And it's hard to get respect
When you walk with a broken crown

There are situations
That hit you when you have no plan

But my mother always said
Tough choices make the man
I remember meeting people that have given up, and I felt I was close to give up too, but my mother always said tough choices make the man.
CC Jan 6
Bombs, bombs away!
The crowned prince of Gotham has come to play.
Will you stand by his side?
Or whimper, run and hide?
With nowhere to turn to
And no one to plead to,
Habits die hard.
Though you are scarred,
With the familiar sting of bruises and cuts that still ache,
Nothing hurts more than heartache.
That is why you’ll look at his face and accept his hand,
Because no one will ever understand,
Just how much his sinister grin and laugh
Makes you feel like he’s your better half.
This is your finale, hold your breath,
And accept how he pushes you towards your death.
their love isn't exactly healthy, but she keeps going back to him... is the reason as clear as day or is it shrouded in mystery?
This isn't my body. She stripped me of that right when she touched me.
This vessel I possess is proof that maternity can cruelly switch to molestation, and how disheartening the world can become once you meet its evils.
Brutality in the act is only half of it though, the rest is trying to cope with the loss of your own skin.
Not a body, just a brain weighed down by pounds of flesh that became property to an abuser six years ago.
I rarely feel human anymore, and that's if I ever did to begin with.
I am a thing. A thing designed to make other people happy, even if my own health, mental or physical, is compromised in the process.
The process, an activity ranging from starvation to downright ****** abuse. I used to starve sometimes for this woman just so I'd be praised, just so I'd feel worthy of living.
Losing sleep, losing my ******* mind, all for her to facetiously downplay the traumas she consistently constructed.
Carefully orchestrated, a symphony of horrors frequent to my mind, my body.. She stole my own life from me.
A part of me remains within her, and that sadly,
is what hurts the most.
My mother sexually abused me when I was 12, and then when I was 16. It is those parts of my life that I hate the most.
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