I'll never **** with her,
she's more lethal..
than a James bond villain…
Her legs have more power
than a Fukushima releasing
her poison between
I'm a rod and she's
the water containing my
but she evaporated,
that what I release is like a virus.
Contaminating the womb
of creative contagion...
You'll float in the abortion of my
chock hold of words...
You'll never be born, still born words,
I'll burn you in a shallow grave.
And you'll realise that I'm never to be ****** with.
My words were like a machete of gunfire cutting
you up before you even knew pain.
I'm a nationwide hunt, and you'll be buried
in my words,
shallow rhymes, given a urinated burial...
I'm relieved your here and not in my view.
In Mother's womb
We were swaddled in soft rosy layers
But let us not squander time
For once we hear the closing clock chime
We will find ourselves against all prayers
Asleep next to Mother's tomb
when i was younger
i never understood the saying
'ignorance is bliss.'
how can one not want to know more about the world?
now that i've matured,
now that i've experienced the horrors of this world,
the fear has entrapped me.
disgusted, i fled.
i fled to my safe place
but when i reached,
i found it to be tainted.
no longer did it bring me comfort.
my mind has become paranoid.
every single movement
every single moment
has brought me to my edge.
i now understand.
i just wish to be naïve again
to forget the terrors,
to live in my cocoon,
i sometimes wish i'd stayed inside
my mother's womb,
never to come out.
I used to be attracted to affection,
now I'm obsessed with the way your lips stutter
over certain words, like "fragile: do not open" is stuck
somewhere between your throat
and your teeth.
My heart is a fire extinguisher
"Break Glass In Case of Emergency"
but there have been enough 24 hour crisis lines
to keep us all alive
the only thing about it is
the number of times I've wanted to jump out onto the pavement,
the "too-close-for-comforts" started in the womb,
I was slow-milking my mother's blood,
every fist that flew too close,
every string she threaded through a bead
I guess I turned out alright,
if "alright" is a unit of measurement.
But our scales are all tailored
to fit our needs anyway.
One drop of Dragon's breath
Stirs sleeper from dreamtime,
She wakes from the womb of creation
Where shadows dance into form
And reflections live in the past
Bound from silken fibers,
This ancient changeling,
Slowly creeps from cocoon.
Perching on branch
Impulses of flight and
A longing for air and nector
Breathe life into capillaries
And Rivulets newly knit.
Unfurling shape in patient sunlight,
Wings born of a great sleep
Reach into the light,
Waiting for droplets of life
To pulse in her being
Unveiling an opportunity
Where does her life begin and end?
She lives like a drop of water in a cloud.
Changing form from river to ocean
Evaporating to rise and fall
As snowflake on frozen pond
Where does beginning begin?
She perches on tree of life
As sap flows life into her veins
Like a tree she waits.
Once in darkness
Now life as Milkweed angel.
Butterflies are a beautiful mystery to me. My latest understanding is when they go through metamorphosis, they literally turn into liquid to reform.This has me in awe!
Swinging rhythmically; bloated and unsteady,
He nudges at the doorway of his desire,
And descends into darkness,
Carrying his heavy load of lust.
Beyond the bottleneck,
From where warmth and light beckon,
He hears the trill of girlish laughter,
The sound of sanctuary at play.
Pausing briefly; head cocked to one side,
He sighs with resignation,
Deposits his craving clumsily,
And withdraws deflated and defeated.
‘She is a wild, tangled forest with temples and treasures concealed within.’
- John Mark Green
He put his head in his mother's lap,
closed his eyes, and was lost.
He felt a velvety, comforting
restfulness, beginning to spread
behind his eyelids, and over his body.
He evaporated, and was in the womb,
once again. In that musical womb,
where he was, before the duality of identity.
His mother's hand caressing his hair,
felt to him, like something he had experienced
when the ocean breeze touched him, but more intimate.
He lost his name then, and was lost to everyone.
Only his mother knew, where he was in those moments...
© Manan sheel.
it's not your baby
in the womb i carry
i need your forgiveness
we made no commitments
you do not claim me as yours
but i need your forgiveness
this is what i dream of
on an unsuspecting night
the child of my husband
in the womb in my body
and my mouth forming the words
i have never touched your skin
and i do not think you ever loved me
but betrayal comes in shades
and i feel ashamed to let myself
be without your company
there is a sense of destruction
buried inside my veins
from the absence of you
there are things greater than love
which bind us together and i fear
it makes my ground shake when i catch
a ray of color which matches your eyes
flushed in the green of the grass
or the blue of the sky
i don't know when it happened, but it did
you found a little home for yourself
within the confines of my mind and
i miss when you were around
it hurts to see you and i don't want to feel you
because the distance and the rain
the deep guilt and the pain
the fact that you feel nothing
you will feel nothing
my love for you finds itself
manifesting in instances extra-ordinary
my ache for you is buried within knowing that there is another inside the womb of me
and can't get rid of the voice saying;
this isn't how it was supposed to be.
a bird ***** its wings in Rio and there is a tsunami in Tokyo.
there is a tsunami in Tokyo and your father takes your mother to bed, calls her beautiful, does not raise his voice at her, does not leave her alone in a ***** motel room. she unpacks her suitcases and never leaves Missouri.
you do not form in her womb and she stops screaming.
a tsunami occurs in Tokyo and you do not exist and there is a break in the violence of our bodies. you disintegrate before me and I melt back into the earth where I belong and you never stopped loving me.
we unbecome the casualty of our own flaws.
we were never here. we were never gone.
a bird becomes road **** in Rio and you crawl into the womb of your mother, you are the 7th of 7 and the cause of your mother's stress. there is no tsunami in Tokyo and your mother packs her suitcase and leaves for Texas, she unhappily marries your father and stays with him to the bitter end.
there is no tsunami in Tokyo and your mother dies of lung cancer, your father leaves you in may, does not kiss you goodbye, does not look back at you, you pack your stuff and he sends you away.
the birds in Rio do not sing, Tokyo bay does not roar to life.
you are here. you cannot leave.
i got the inspiration from another poem although i do not know who it's by or what its called. if you know comment down below