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Sara I Raad Apr 2019
Calming his temper felt like
placing my hand in boiling water
expecting it not to bur
yet,
the burning felt serene
as it was numbing the las hit
he engraved on my body


Sara I. Raad
Sara I Raad Apr 2019
You bought me two bouquets of wilted roses.
You handed them to me with that smirk on your face.
You know, the one you used to give me before you laid
your hands on me. I seen beauty in them. In fact, I had our future
in my hands.
A dozen reasons why I loved you
and a dozen reasons why we could never be.
All wrapped together by the man who abused me.
You see,
I did not throw them away.
I did not rip them apart.
Instead, I laid them to rest.
Which then
Soothed the pain from my breaking heart.

Sara I. Raad
Alek Mielnikow Apr 2019
Concrete. Concrete dirt and concrete clothing
and concrete skin and concrete air. All
grey but for the fires and the maroon
and crimson and black marks of ash.

The ghostly father doddered down the residue
in barren feet. He held his arms wide and puffed
his chest. He hoped for an embrace from God.

Atop the rubble the mother hunched over the child. She
seeped. She jiggled and jounced the body, waking her young one
for school. The body’s blood pooled under its shirt and streamed down
the mound.

The father reached the bottom and dropped to his knees. As
if in slow motion, he clasped his head and caterwauled,

“Who will wipe this blood off us?
What water is there for us to clean ourselves?”

His child’s life crossed his feet.

God had left him.



-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
I am not going to make poetry in an effort to make a change. But when the poem ends up being important I like to point it out.

This scene, despite it's poetic nature, is a scene that happens to many across this world. Regardless of whether you hate all violence or understand the need for action, the use of explosives among civilians, on all sides, must stop. The foundational damage and the emotional toll on survivors and, worst of all, the lives needlessly taken is horrible. And though casualties are a unfortunate aspect of war, there's a difference between stray bullets and laying out landmines or dropping rockets.

If you know a way to stop this, whether through charitable foundations or, preferably, directly influencing higher powers to alter their tactics, please help us all out.
Ylzm Apr 2019
A Liar says this and does that.
Cries, "Insult!" at any hint of Truth.
Uses Violence as proof, for surely
only Truth is worthier than Death.

If what you hear
and what you see
are not the same,
what do you believe?

Your Eyes or your Fears?
Chris Apr 2019
Larry walked to the store,
To buy a pack of smokes,
He's had enough, he want's no more,
He's sick of everything; so he walked.

He entered through a stain'd glass door,
asked for his brand and waited a while.
He saw reflections on the floor,
He saw his ugly crooked smile.

He paid and was ready to head home,
but suddenly, there was a sound.
The glass broke as a brick was thrown,
and blood splattered all around.

Larry got up, his head was red,
He dragged himself out of the store,
Laughing loudly as he bled,
He lit a smoke and laughed some more.

He saw the guy who threw the brick,
Was it him,... well nevermind,
He yelled : ' Oi stop there you *****!'
And started rushing from behind.

They ran a good mile and a half,
before the guy was too weak to run,
Larry smoked and let out a laugh,
And said to his victim:'now you're done!'

Now, Larry angry as he was,
didn't go straight for the ****.
He wanted to have some fun,
And he knew then that he will.

'Kneel' he screamed at the guy,
as he drew close step by step,
'Kneel or I swear you'll die!'
He shouted out this final threat.

The guy afraid beyond his mind,
kneeled and looked him in the eye,
The kick that followed made him blind,
And he only let out a sigh.

Again the blood shed on the floor,
As Larry struck the final stroke.
A man's life was here no more.
And Larry lit another smoke.
Pointless Catharsis
devine Apr 2019
tears and laughter
he throws everything at her
dreams at the face of disaster
there’s no happily ever after

an ungrateful witch
a compliment she sends herself
a foolish *****
a thing he says to himself

you can’t hear her voice
she’s too deep in the void
it’s never her choice
it’s always up to his joys

she falls
she leaves cuts
people think she’s nuts
well she wants to be happy once

he smiles
he laughes
he travels million miles
he doesn’t have to face trials

she says “i’m done”
“i’ll be gone”
“i’ll leave in dawn”

he runs
he left her.
vic Apr 2019
I spring awake at four a.m.
Inscitvely clutching my phone to check on this kid’s petition
“End the G.S.A.”
The stress eats away at my sleep schedule
As kids use one misunderstanding to take away my heart and soul
A club I have inputted so much of myself into
And funny enough “Vic” has three letters too
I can’t sleep without their 300 signatures popping up behind my eyelids
Comments being recited in the most repressed part of my insecurities
300 people who are against one of the clubs that saved me
Saved my friends
Saved so many people
But there’s no room for a gay presence in Johnson County
I spring awake at four a.m.
Visions of the kid who keeps his gun in his car spring into my head
My chest feels open already
Have already bled out every ounce of pride in me
What more harm can this kid do?
Don’t they understand that by killing my spirit
They’ve already made storage container for their bullets?
I spring awake at four a.m.
Because I do not let myself feel any other time
Must stay strong to show that I am bigger than their hatred
That I will go on
So I refuse to let myself accept that ever-consuming fear that grows in my stomach
It’s just indigestion
Just me being another overdramatic queer kid
Just everyday life that I must adjust to anyways
I haven’t let myself feel since the incident occurred
And the reactions poured in
Drowning any sense of safety I used to feel
I am choking on their unadulterated bigotry
Gasping for air amongst the abundance of hatred
And I’m not sure if I’ll ever breathe right again
I spring awake at 4 a.m.
Because I guess it’s the only time I feel safe anymore.
School is a warzone for people like me
And I can't hide in the crowd so easily
When it's 1v300
So I'm desperately trying to hide behind my poetry
I spring awake at 4 a.m.
Because I don't know if my coping is working.
did not revise this at all, just a quick poem of my thoughts before i try to get back to sleep
pôr do sol Apr 2019
Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me
starstrike Apr 2019
Only the stars can save me now
Grant me the honor of no gravity
Let me float away in space
Weightless
Away from the world

Solidarity
Singularity
Independency

Make me one with the cosmos
Space dust coalescing
Stars birthing and dying
In simple, silent majesty
And vehement violence
If it can even be called violence
without malicious intent coined by **** sapiens brains
For into the void there is nothing

Sweet, sweet nothing

No society
No expectations
No humanly constructs

It just is
Or it isn’t

What a concept
Michelle Shaffer Apr 2019
For he is now gone
Far from the place that he once belonged
With one shot
His temple fell into foreign ground
The rubble making no sound
His last memory was of red and dirt,
With feelings of only hurt
His homely roots became a mere smudge in his head
Thoughts of peace and love escaping with his final breath

Tears of a barren soul sink into a dying Earth-
Giving birth to only prickly vines and stubborn weeds
An empty womb,
A full tomb
-His parting gifts,
Haunting her with thoughts of agony and emptiness.
He lives only in picture frames
in books, and in her brain.
Those things that once were,
Haunt a good night’s sleep.

In a town shaken by shock
In a country ravaged by rage
In a world polluted with poison
Littered with the bodies of those who never age
With the minds of those stay in the same place
One’s true struggle
is trying to move on.
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