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when the majority claims the need
to violently fight for its minority rights
something is rotten in this nation
Apropos Charlottesville's domestic terror attack...
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2017
There's a molten ground of explosions and fire
beneath my feet, somewhere
wretched souls go to manifest their hatred.
A light in the distance is slipping
from my fingertips
and I can't reach it,
it's flying beyond my grasp
and I am going to be left alone again.
I can't find the strength within myself
to hold onto it and slowly, oh
so slowly, everything
is becoming dark and dreary.
I am afraid
because there is a corner of my heart
which still feels
and it has been washed a cold,
fractured blue
whose song is that of broken
mirrors and bleeding hands.
Why can't I love?
Why is there a battle of lost,
defeated lovers within me
which never stops raging, a battle
of fear and pain and loneliness?
Why can I shine so brightly
to the newcomers yet become dull
and lifeless to those I have seen
every side of so easily?
Why is there no guilt within my soul
yet the dark truth of death
knits itself through my brow
and seeps into my lifeless eyes
with such haunting truth?
~~ Solar System, 4/10: All that is placed in my hands seems to crumble and wither away. ~~
moziq Aug 2017
Dance in the flowers of springtime like a flower without petals.

I have never heard of such.

Never heard of a flower without petals, a lion without a roar, a tree without bark.

These things are simply unheard of like sacred souls.

They never see these things or the stitches on your heart holding you together, never heard of a heart that doesn't love.

Never heard of a tiger without stripes and the pride of them , for what would we know if not these things?

What about Maya Angelou who told us of the caged bird that sings or Langston Hughes who taught us to take our dreams, spread our wings and fly with them?

A flame without heat is not so, it is ignited like the rage flowing through our veins when yet another African American boy is faced down,
on the ground,
unarmed,
with blood of his own flowing out of him.

Never heard of is it?

Just like the streets that would scream if they could speak, so would Andy Lopez if wasn't already six feet under just for being 13.

These are the things that are not unheard of, we just never hear them.

I think maybe it is time these things be recognized and not cast aside, so that maybe their is hope for a bright future.

That we might never have to see a world where flowers have no petals and lions no roar.

But finally at peace with no war.
Just love.
I wrote this so long ago but I still love it an I hope you do to.
redberries Jul 2017
I remember
strips of swollen scars all over my body
the camera lens staring me right in the face
the ironic dreadful chuckle behind it
and I remember my tense, numb, weak, small body.

I remember
screaming at the top of my lungs
inside the small tiny space
then proceed to silent mumbling and strong words
and I remember my own sharp, long nails digging into my skin.

I remember
hours and hours of frustration
days and days of fear
weeks and weeks of hate
and I remember my guilt, anger, insanity throughout my years.

I remember
confessing and hiding
fearing and shouting
pain and nothing
and I remember my unloved, hated mind.

I remember
blacking out memories
having poor judgements
feeling worthless
and I remember everything and nothing that makes me me.
Childhood simplified.
moziq Jul 2017
Gather round boys and girls it’s story-time and I have a tale to tell. Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl did not know love, she didn’t know how to smile, she thought of laughter as a folktale and pain a reality. This girl gave life to rain forest, her irises the clouds swollen with her untold sorrows.
One day the girl who knew nothing but sadness met a boy. This boy was wonderful. This boy was the icing on the disaster and trauma truffle cake, the cherry on the suffering and shame banana split. He was the sun shining above the eye of the hurricane. To put it simply he was magic.
He introduced her to living. Showed her what it was like to fly, what it was a was like to breath above water. Then he introduced her to his fist. No longer flying but floating, she went from the sea to space trading drowning for suffocation. He trapped her in his gravity and tricked her into thinking she was weightless. Told her she wasn’t worthless as long as she had him, that she was made to be nothing without him. This boy turned her into a fraction of herself, and he was the dominator. This boy turned her face from brown, to red, to blue, to black, to purple, her body a rainbow featuring the colors of his anger. She became the canvas to his finger painting. He the master and she the puppet. He always pulled her strings to hard no matter what she said.
The girl grew tired. She didn’t have a choice she told herself, because if she did why would she choose to be a shell of the woman she once was. Her heart retreated and her smile vacated and her peace of mind took a long walk off a short pier. He destroyed her will. destroyed her spirits, destroyed hope. ***** the rain forest, he caused her to turn deserts into oceans, drizzles into storms, New York is now Atlantis. There is no happy ending to this story boys and girls. She is still in his gravity. She still suffocates. He still pulls her strings, and her smile has not returned. And I’m starting to think it never will.
an angry artist wouldn't trade his inkling
for another tattoo but an ape has witnessed
a dire death formula in parlor of lies
that skins their teeth to wetness this endless summer  
as such demise in latitude will vaporize her longing
still surmised a fatherly club with a choke hold
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