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Zack Ripley Nov 2019
The wind whistles as it whips down the winding street
Trying to knock down people
wary of the ice and snow beneath their feet.
The sky watching over them is still.
But it's a trap. A storm is coming in for the ****
Keep dreaming
Even if it breaks your heart
For there's always going
To be a storm
A written piece
Or tranquility
Your flying high
To high to see
A story gloating
Never ending
Making sense
Doesn't have to
Matching rhythm
Why do you
A land for shadows
A land to seek
But never explore
name Oct 2018
taste the whip
ache just like a woman
but you break just like a girl
different colors made of tears
oui c'est la folie
chain reaction and mutation
it's in the air for you and me
welt rises
Antonia Caldow May 2018
I'm a wordsmith
A word that starts and smarts
The pain across your face
Like a whip

I'm a wordsmith
They bounce upon the page and skin
And seep into the cracks
Like water

I'm a wordsmith
The lines all blur to one
My voice, your ears, the future
Like a whip.
jünø May 2018
i feel the heat of the sun
beating my body
like a whip.

all over me, it cuts gashes
and wounds
that sting from the sweat
flowing into them.

i fall, unable to take any more.
but still, i am whipped
until my body is so cut and ******
that i cannot recognise myself.

the whip has changed me.
the sun is too hot.
Jessie Schwartz Feb 2018
Turn Around…by Jessie 5/06

Turn around; make your way
From the South up to the North
Freedoms there… go get it!
It’s waiting at every port
Turn around; make your way
Through the thickets and the mud
Take the hand of your fellow man
Wipe away his blood
Turn around; he’s coming
The dogs are on your heels
Keep down low; don’t make a sound
Or the master’s whip you’ll feel
Turn around; make your way
Follow the stars above
Travel by night, so you don’t get caught
If freedoms what you love
Turn around; make your way
Some of you will die
The price of freedoms costly
Cheaper to live a lie
Turn around; don’t look back
What you seek, is the other way
Suppress the fear and inclination
To hide your dreams and stay
Turn around; make the run
Time is running out
Masters getting closer
Of that there is no doubt
Turn around; freedom calls
It beckons, sweet the sound
Milk and honey on the other side
Trail north of town
Martin Narrod Dec 2016
I feed you the bacon, that the Corporal made. He could pilot a falcon to the home of the brave.
Well his hands take no sinning,
Like your eyes stricken white.
You were born and forgotten
On a Saturday night.
I count the brandings, o'er the tower's achy call,
In this land of poor mothers, you could quiet your shrill.
If you're rustling and shaking, like a need for The blues.
You better flag down the night sky, for just a Taste of the moon.
Any one can take a gargoyle, as a treat, or a sin.
Until you step aside girl, you'd better not count
On a win.

In a state of confusion, you're the governor of Pain. So let down your hair child, or throw your  thoughts towards forgettin'. I could be weary, or I could be wrong. But tomorrow I'll be farther, farther than a telephone's call.

I'll take the whip, and the hammer, just to cross
Myself supine. I could wrestle up some supper. I could retake a swift sublime. Any outfit I'm donning, it's as black as could be. For the funerals off, do not count on your grief. Do not count on your nightmares, don't rely on your dreams. If you waste your time blinking, you could find your eyes lying. The world turns more quickly, when you're heart-break is live.

I've run and I've rambled. Like a soldier I was caught sporting a grin.
I can hear the wolves Howling,
It's the music that's playing.
Once I was a coward,
Now I'm a scout for the fear.
All that was in question,
All that was too heavy to bare.
You are the coin's flip, fueled by fashion and Law. Till the death comes to part you, and the Men come to call.

While your brother claims writing, over silence and grief.
Take your eyes for a peddling, a chance to take some relief.

And while you are writing, just come for a call. Quiet your longing, some folks were never meant to come at all.
Leal Knowone Sep 2016
The whip kissed her skin like the lover of her dreams
Porcelain skin left red from the touch
A lovelier beauty no one has ever seen
So innocent, yet likes it so rough
Cold steel around her wrist, pull her back to give her neck a kiss
I will guide her, and show her the way
Wither it be with my palm or with my fist
Cat Fiske Apr 2016
Baby Bobby is free,
No more whips, from amish men,

Baby Bobby is free,
You kicked and screamed on the glue truck sweetie,

Baby Bobby is free,
A nice lady Cathleen rescued you for me,

Baby Bobby is free,
She Cleaned you up and healed your wounds,

Baby Bobby is free,
Bobby baby, why are you scared of me,

Baby Bobby is free,
Bobby baby, I'd never hurt you, I just want to love you,

Baby Bobby is free,
Bobby why do you kick and scream?

Baby Bobby is free,
Bobby I love you, what's wrong baby.

Baby Bobby is never going to be Free,
Bobby is trapped inside his fears, much like me.
My horse Bobby has PTSD no wonder I love him so much.
Julie Langlais Feb 2016
Time to think
Of what is happening
Ambushed in my own head
The worst kind
Of planned pain

I'm deflated to the floor
Fixated down
Each whip
Hammering at my back
Tasting the wood
I start to count
Adding up the licks
Like electric shocks
Forming patterns in my head
Finding logic in numbers
When she will tire?
This session's termination
Seeking a hint of hope
In her shortness of breath
Whipping the same mark in consistency
Until my skin is tarnished
An obvious sequenced rule
Once my skin becomes raw
The sting takes a turn
To a sharpening burn
numbing quiets the scald
Pain I bare
Until I hear my
Little brother's screams
Punishing my core

My heart beats out
Through my shoulder blades
Begging for my mother to hear it
Our rhythm once connected
Now detached
Unable to hear it's plea

Captured by this creature
Who lives in solitude
Her rotten soul  
Living in her own reclkless world
Where no one belongs

It's over finally
As she wanders away
Ordering us to remove our mess
A collection of carnage
And sweaty weeps
Dehydrated in my cloth of depression
Erasing the abuse
Where I retreat
To my bed
And expel cries
For my ears alone
Protesting against my weakness
Refusing to show her
How much she hurts me

© Jl 2016
Words from my teen years
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