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Viseract May 2016
My anger is like a demonic possession
I have no control over this powerful obsession
How often I compare myself to fire, when sometimes I am ice... and vice versa
Grey May 2016
You look me in the eyes and spit,
          And I kick dust on the wet spot on the ground.
This is how we are, a conversation; you never cared to call me something like my name.
           I never cared to see you in any way but under my boot with blood on your teeth.
               There is no moon above us, even when the sun’s gone to hide at the nearest bar.
This is not a war that can be won with pickets and strikes.
The only way to end the battle
                                                Is that someone has to die.
        A standoff only ends when one is left standing, it’s the rules,
but you never did care for rules, and breaking is easier than bending.
               You never apologize and I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth.
            The sun’s gone to hide at the local bar and it drinks whiskey shots like water.
It has seen us fight.
            The moon doesn’t want to come out, stays tucked safe in its bed.
It has heard stories.
                         Only the stars act as referee, calling out which one of us died better.
            It’s all an act, a ******* contest, and you sure are good at wetting the ground.
                 I’m better at covering up where the bloodstains were,
                         stain chicken feathers red as the sunset, Please, I ask you,
Let him win one last time.

                               The hourglass broke, the sand mixing with the red clay,
And you claim to know that his time is up.
                 I claim to know that you’re a lying ******* who takes what isn’t his.
                        And you claim that I’m just a child,
                                           but children don’t know why their knuckles are
bleeding
                                           and children don’t get why their jaws hurt
                                           and children only bleed when summer is restless
                                           and children never pull real guns anyway.
          You brought a knife to a gunfight,
                 a gun to face the firing squad, a one child firing squad,
                    knees stuck together with blood and chicken feathers.

Please, you ask me,
Let me win one last time.

                     And I learn that breaking is easier than bending;
And I learn how my name sounds on your lips.
SAM May 2016
I look at her, waiting for her to say something.
her voice is a sound I crave, loving it when she screams.
I loved her tongue, which used to belong to me, it tasted like
red candy apples, the ones you get at a carnival.
the cinnamon would claw at the back of my throat, but I didn't care
I couldn't get enough.
your eyes are light, almost too light, blindingly so
where mine are dark, like the other side of the moon.
and how ironic is it that the universe would have us collide?
I huff
what? she says.
I notice her eyes are starting to lose their color
pale blue fading to grey, the color of a corpse.
I speak
leaving your body covered in marks.
I didn't mean to cut you, to make you bleed, to cause you pain
but I have a bad habit of destroying things are are not mine.
now your covered in red clay, I've painted you copper.
she speaks
don't leave I say, my hand extending forward
I burn her, but didn't mean to
the monster in my heart did that, not me
she screams from the touch
I should feel remorse but how can I when her scream sounds so lovely?
I can't bring myself to explain
she turns away, but I don't want her to go
please, save me I plead
She doesn't turn to face me again but I know
her eyes are white now, purer than the color of bone.
she leaves anyway
leaving me alone with her fading presence still lingering in the room,
enough to form a memory to bind her to.
she's might be gone but in my mind, she is there
with the others,
treasures I keep close.
I place her wings in my trophy case.
Viseract May 2016
Constriction,
Restricting your airway
Throw you down the stairway
Violence made my mind break
Oh wait!

You think you can escape?
Leave me after you played your game?
The silence was a mind-****
And now you try to escape?

Why the **** are you doing this to me
Am I your ******* experiment?
Just another play-toy, just another boy
Only this time this one rises with the decision to destroy

Why'd you **** me over like this?
What I did wasn't this bad
I become obsessed, it's true
BUT NOW I ******* HATE YOU!

Yet I still want to talk, God knows why
When clearly you've made up your mind now I gotta decide
Whether or not to fade away, turn to grey
The mist through the hills on a cold and rainy day

Or stick around and get ****** over more
WHY THE ******* MAKING ME ANGRY FOR?
I demand answers, I need some ******* answers
I have too many questions and I never was a dancer!

So stop waltzing with my conscious around this God-forsaken floor
Find a better one, a cleaner one, before I'm missing you when I destroy it all
**** this stupid little game... I need to talk to her. she's ******* me off. We need to talk one. Last. Time. Before I totally lose my ****
A hot summer day, the roar of police sirens and
a lifeless body, cold blood evaporating on the pavement....
Naomi Chevalier May 2016
Beat
The sound of the heart
Beat
The steady drum that determines the time and rhythm of our life
Beat
This heart is a token of our life that we all possess
Beat
It sends life blood, shooting through arteries and streaming inside our veins
This persistent *beat
beat beat
determines whether we live or are considered dead
If we are all moved by this immensely powerful *****
That beats for life
love
hope
and what could be,
Why do we insist on treating one another less than our equal
This hearts that beats cries for what we all want acceptance and love...
If we want to initiate change we need to have a discussion
But after feeling pride that we CAN recognize that there needs to be change and doing nothing for the injustices we see
We need to decide how much of our heart are we willing to give to another
to make this change happen
We will find that we cannot give what we do not have, and in order to have, we must give away

*Beat
We are all here... and we are all born with the inalienable right to be loved, and to love. It is our choices that take away the freedom of others and ourselves. We must make choices that benefit, more than just ourselves, but ones that help other people be their most capable and confident.
We need to love
L Seagull May 2016
Old man soaked in his *****
Dripping down his pants
Down the flight of stairs
His stare blurry
Past the point of no return, past his dignity
Drowned humanity
Went down with his only little
baby girl now a mother
Not any more
Slain by the hand of her children's father...
I played with them
She was kind and pretty
He was a brute
Shallow and dangerous...

I never saw them again
Kids stayed with the dad
Old man needed his space to fall apart
Police didn't play the part
I am still sick only thinking about
What life some people have to face

You're asking why the comfort doesn't
Keep away the angst?
They're still with me
Memories of all the broken people
I had a chance to meet
They never fade
That memory composed my purpose
Without it I don't exist at all
Just some childhood memories that made me chose my path in life. I am getting a bit crazed being out of work for a couple of months
ordained May 2016
these are not my hands, they are my bow and arrows
they are my weapons, my self-defense, my fortified walls
they flex and bend and push and cradle and create and destroy
i find in them the source of my power
they're the brave ones, tracing down my thoughts when my lips are too cautious to speak
they're the proud ones, delicately vain as they sketch the skeletons of beauty onto dusty piano keys
when i am empty and numb they stir a spoon in a cup of tea and wait for me to feel something
when i am shaking with a great and terrible anger they clench and unclench and clench and unclench and clench and unclench and heal
my hands are my heroes
and they are my villains
i control the volume in my palms because sometimes it gets loud and because sometimes my heartache is deafening and because sometimes i need to drown in the thumping, the crashing, the assault of my fingers on the unassuming ivory
and because sometimes i wallow in my self pity and because sometimes it feels good to be surrounded by the quiet sound of my tears on my cheeks
from my fingertips to my wrist i am a goddess, all slender bone and delicate veins snaking under taut, soft skin
i feel capable and lovable and just able, just pure, when i crack my knuckles before returning to my writing
it is easy to forget that aphrodite could cause catastrophe too, that her face (my hands) were more than just pretty and decorative
i remember each hit
each poke
each grasp
each clench
each stretch
each caress
each punch
and i love them like my children
the pain i've brought, from my right hand to my left forearm and from my left hand to someone else's right cheek and everything in between, it is with me always like the scars i've left and i could hate myself
so easily
but in the aftermath of my earthquake, i love my power
comfort is knowing that i'm a straight shot
that my bow and arrows can execute what odysseus did
comfort is knowing that i'm a *****
that i unnerve those that deserve it and dethrone the prideful queen
so i sleep peacefully even when i don't sleep
inspired by Ken Arkind!
Jacob Barnett Apr 2016
There are stories with names
That all go unheard
In a world of social conflict
Not knowing what happens seems absurd

There's a girl that lies awake
Unable to fall asleep in her own bed
Her memories like scars
That tear apart her head

This wasn't how it started
It's not always been this way
But sometimes things happen
And you're forced to have to stay

She is blind to it at first
Constantly tells herself a lie
But its hard to hide from the truth
In reality she shouldn't have to cry

The punches start as just punches
But the bruises slowly mean more
With one hit after another
She grows terrified of her own door

He's constantly on her mind
Not out of love but out of fear
She never feels truly safe
Always worried he'll be near

It's not only the hands that grab her
Or the black and blue marks that cover her skin
His words eat away at her very soul
Destroying her from within

She's forced to the floor day and night
Too exhausted to even stand
Living out of fear of asking for help
No one will ever lend a hand

It's as if she'll be trapped forever
Forced to live alone for all her life
With a man she used to love so dear
But now fills her heart with strife

She's been broken and beaten
Years of pain spill over her face
So how she decided to leave it all
Is tragic but part of her case

With no signs of help and a life of loss
She ran out of places to run
And in looking for a last ditch effort
Stumbled upon her husbands gun

Now these stories still remain unheard
But Everyone deserves to know
It shouldn't have to end this way
We all need somewhere to go
Wrote this for a friend who needed to analyse a piece of art that connected with what she was learning and talking about in class, simple in formate but I believe the message gets across.
Ron Gavalik Apr 2016
When in doubt
spit on the sidewalk
and stare the ******* down
This procedure works
on violent men
It also works
on your own
madness
Just a thought.
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