Jay Mar 19
This uncle was so un-cool to his little niece
every night comes with an endless movement of push- up's on her delicate skin
Her legs torn apart in his own apartment
As he advance to take advantage of her little age..
Ssshhhhhh! BE SILENT
Uncle didn't stop until he broke her HYMEN..
This questions and many more was his key to the vault between her legs..
It just there month pass and her stomach is already raising to the challenge
Her womb bore the evident of his Crime..
Don't panic... He said..
I know a doctor that can take lives
just an injection and a few pills
you be alright..
Buh sadly this were the last pills she ever took...
I can't hold a conversation with them
They spit each word with their own hurt
They come to me hurling my own agony
They are wicked and cruel
I will not shed a tear yet
The clock will strike midnight
I might shed a tear
I might just let my agony turn into anger
Cruel and wicked are their intentions
I bite my own tongue and keep quiet
If I become numb to my emotions
What will I become
When midnight comes
I'll be numb
-- this is a way for me to vent my emotions a few days ago I will not edit or change anything it's what I was thinking and going through in that moment
written on:14/03/18
She is the wellspring of
Life and death –
A soft voice, and
A loud roar

Commanding and
Lusting and

Guard her.

She often says,
“The spirit is good,
The flesh is evil –
Do what you will”

Or, she says,
“Ah, but grace,
Upon grace,
Covers iniquities”

Sick and sinister…

She releases her toxic venom –
It courses through the veins –
Bleeds out, and
Infects everything:

Every thought,
Every word,
Every action
Every death

Death is her beginning and end.

She is filthy;
She is proud;
She is selfish –
Deceitful above all things

Many say, “Follow her,”
And, “She is pure”
I say, “Put her to death!”
And, “She is desperately wicked!”

Who can understand her?

But now,
With her
I love and see

Not because she is
But because she is

O Lord, keep her close to you.
Wicked Mar 1
The notebook beneath my hands
holds all my secrets
My fears and my hopes
My dreams and my nightmares
My pride and my shame

The pen between my fingers
bleeds ink onto the pages
My thoughts flow through it
My emotions flood through it
My feelings shoot through it

The pages enclosed in it
are tattooed with the years
My childhood marked on them
My youth etched on them
My adolescence carved on them

This notebook is filled
with things that make me
My history
My present
My life
Wicked Mar 2016
People are like snowflakes
At first they seem to be the same
A look closer reveals
No two are the same
In the end they were small
Just blips in oblivion
But every one is just as beautiful as the last

Their words are inky imprints in time
Like footprints in the snow they leave trails
To places beyond ourselves
Their words can be loud
Their words can be quite
They can be heard by two or millions
But each is just as powerful as the last
a wand of disappearances
operate in our very
who is the conductor
of its vanishing

where once our fellow
poets did pleasantly
now the wicked wand
has eradicated their

numerous blank spaces
symbolize the conductor's
employing a wand which
has emptied the

black the hour
black the day
a black instrument
whisking them all too
suddenly away
a wand so dark
of intent
wanting to wane
our writers tent

the subtracting conductor
will be planning future
so be mindful of its
wand's unsolicited
Up until three days ago, poet Rye Sing was actively contributing and commenting on the Hello Poetry site.  I find it most strange that he/she has just disappeared into thin air.
kelia Feb 16
you are so lovely in your wicked ways
you are heavy
i can feel it, so can the room

everyone is waiting for that pause
the one you find yourself existing in

you are so lovely in your wicked ways
finding the quirks
the imbalanced romanticism in their dialect

'yeah, i’m a southern boy'
the kind you swore you’d stay away from

you spent too many nights with knights at rogue water
underage but over your limit

oh boy, that patagonia
slinging country song quarters into the jukebox

take me home!

you are so lovely, even in your wicked ways

do you like country music?
he turns left for the freeway
do you know how to drive stick shift?

you are so lovely, even in your wicked ways
i didn’t fold her laundry
she left my XXL t-shirts without wrinkles
pink, without wrinkles

you are so lovely in your wicked ways
he mixes a couple of drinks for you
reaches to grab your hand from across the bar
seared by the tea-light candle

i waltzed out of that bar like i had him
he is small and beautiful with a temper
i could love him all while hating him

i’m just a gal whose nose bled
after falling into his bed (more than once)
more than once
smc Feb 13
tiny jewels

the ones
w     e
in peru

and she laughs like
fairies dance around her

she knows
what she did
to what was once
Amanda Feb 2
You play your wicked games with me,
Why do you treat my heart like a toy?
It's beginning to feel like my
Pain is something you enjoy.
Short but meaningful. Criticism is always welcomed here.
Gergana Jan 3
Looking through my messages.
Shit, I used to have friends once.
What happened? What changed?
I happened, I changed.

Not as sweet as I used to be,
Not as stupid as I used to be.

So weird, so twisted,
who would like to be your friend?

No one was there,
no one wanted to be there
to help me with my pain,
to wipe my tears away.

No one cared for the wicked creature,
for the broken girl on the floor,
crying herself to death,
drowning with her own tears.

It's ok now, I'm alright.
There's nothing to worry about.
I'm just gonna smile, like I always do
and you're just gonna pretend you believe, like you always do.
Just like we always do.
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