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PrttyBrd Dec 2018


shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy

it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight

calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey


##

breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS

there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history

still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine

###

keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth

maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag

flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends


####

can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view

this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived

I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere

then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you




https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
122518
205w
Luke Gagnon Jul 2015
1                                                                ­    4
she offers me,                                             a spot of dust
she raises me                                              under the couch,
on platitudes and warm bread                I know it’s
in return for my devotion                         there

she loves me like the boats                       today, I start spring-cleaning,
she keeps out on the ocean                      (this alone
she loves me to be molded,                      should receive
not to be unfolded                                     more recognition than it will)
                                                           ­           I pull out the couch
she bore me bones                                     the vacuum doesn’t quite
the lacrimal bone                                       reach the dust lying
the breastbone                                            on unused carpet,
all the cervical vertebrae                          the head
I use them to simulate                              keeps hitting the wall
her expectations                                        unproductive
­
                                                                ­     I put the furniture back
2                                                           ­        in place
I have names,                                             no one will see the lack
I wear them like badges                           of progress
inspired by something not quite
earned yet                                                   5
         ­                                                            while­ lucid dreaming
I assigned                                                   conste­llations were on
each name                                                  my skin
a compartment                                          and freckles in
of me                                                           the night sky
If I name them maybe
they will become                                       pollution drowned out
real, not just necessary                             two thirds
                                                          ­           even if most imploded
                                                        ­             before they were seen

3                                                          ­         6
with enough necessity                             were it not for shadows
anyone can tell a lie                                  I would surely learn to
                                                              ­       hate the light
you can read this vertically or horizontally
Tallulah Dec 2014
“There’s a museum of *** around the corner”
“A what?”
“A museum of ***.”

A lady hums a melody on the bus to Queens, I lean in and listen to her quietly, but don’t say a word.

Crowds choke avenues as protestors call out the police. The police surround them. The irony of being protected by the same force that destroys is not lost.

Rain puddles on the black cement, I notice how soft the yellow water is in contrast with the harsh taxis.

A stray glove sits lonely on the subway stairs, useless without its other half.

“This entire factory used to be covered in graffiti, the city keeps painting over the art”

A snotty waiter recommends watery wine that costs an arm and a leg, he snorts when I don’t tip.

At a flea market a lady assures me this moonstone will “cleanse me,” I lost it rushing off to midtown.

The lights twinkle like flecks of gold against black stone and I realize night is never night here.

My guy tells me he doesn’t like me in the city, I tell him I’ve never liked myself anyways.
Amitav Radiance Jul 2014
The eccentricities of nature
Leaving us at its mercy
Sun and rain are taking turns
To play with us, caught unaware
Mood swings of nature
Blatantly leaving us perplexed
Sometimes raging with fury
Or its calming nature acts as a balm
Another moment tornadoes
Ripping across the hearts of habitats
Leaving us bare and unsheltered
Earthquakes depriving the ground beneath
Leaving us with open chasms of darkness
Erupting volcanoes, burning away
Glowing rivers of lava, taking its own course
Not showing any mercy, drowning dreams
Icy cold glaciers melting away the past
To drown away the future of our existence
And the vast seas encroaching shorelines
So many vignettes of nature
We can only be mere spectators
To the eccentricities of nature
K Balachandran Apr 2014
1.Her sudden wink
links me

2.White foamy
moon light
overflows

3.Hard bud
blooms;
soft petals.

4.Spider
sky diver,
lands softly.

5.Dark slithering road,
perilous ride.

— The End —