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Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
He saw crumbs with his wife
and children.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
For the home was not full of love,
he choose to raise and nurture
fear.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
He saw wealth in chasing the
thrill of the illicit than soothing
the pain he caused with us in the
picture.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
Who now recalls that he's getting
old. You think you're a man.
You were never a man.
You were and always
will be an immature
boy.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
If anyone was my Father,
it was definitely my mother.
She did all she can to shield me.
She practically raised me.
With her, I didn't have any
memory re-written.

He may have fathered
me but he was never a father.
My mother played at both roles
But of course, she's strong because
she had her father and the
Holy Father.
They all are still here.
They will guide me.
He added another year
so I know He loves me.
I'll make my mistakes.
I may walk the wrong path
But with them at my side,
I'll always find my way back.


Truth of the matter is
Any man can be a father, but it takes a
REAL man
to step up and be
a Dad.
This poem says all about how I feel about this particular day.
To all those good men, all those awesome fathers,
I wish you all a happy Father's day! ^-^

EEEEEEEEEE!!!! 90 FRICKING FOLLOWERS!
***! Thanks so much!
I'm super grateful!
Be back soon, guys!
Lyn ***
N E Waters Nov 2015
I am an open wound in a world of bandaids
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
This heart ’twas plucked
                                 and tossed
A young boy stranded
                                 and lost
Laid in a fresh dug bed
Contemplating the blanket of dirt
Sacrificing this mortal coil
                                   to the worms
She found me there
  That coy mistress
                                    She whispered
Her voice the medicine to cleanse
Left as a reminder,
                       Stitched
Left to stories in thy head
A cycle that never ends
These gossamer sinews will not hold
To a finger that pokes
To a hand that grips
The flesh, how it rips
Left exposed
A dark nothingness
Lay thy hand on thine chest
Do you feel a beat?
It doesn’t exist
An empty field
Left for the crows
A seed was planted
How could it grow?
Water from thine eyes
And a hand to hold
In that field of brown
A little green
          Shows
Abigail Ann Jun 2018
It’s okay to have scars
It means you have lived,
You have loved,
You have tried.
Elinor May 2018
when you clawed at my skin
and tore apart my flesh like
an animal,
like your eyes had never manifested in the pores before
you tattooed my skin with a wound.
the truth is
my body is a canvas for the art of the wounds you create
and it's not the blood that scares me
it's the ***** of the needle
to sew me together
again.
I've had to sew too many times
Veronika Sivka May 2018
You pushed me away
And put your past to blame?
That is not an excuse,
For you, I’d open all of my wounds again,
Hell, I’d even take a new bruise.
Someone said he loves you and you believed each word
Your first kiss made you dance and spin around the stars

You swore you would marry him
someday..
You have done almost everything
For the man
That had a change of heart
For the man
Who changed his mind..

Young girl at 23
You have so much to learn
You have so much love to give
Know that in life
You will still have greater things
You will still have greater dreams in mind

Continue walking
Open each doors
Let life surprise you
You will soon find out who are you supposed to be

For now
Take a deep breath
Count to 10
Feel the pain
It means you are living
Cry. Take it in.
Let your heart
So innocent be scarred
To be stronger than what you have been
It will be alright
This is life
Hold on tight
And learn from each mistakes
  
                                    - Ella Salvador
(c) May 2018
cait-cait May 2018
i am holding an axe...

empty towers stand tall in snow
-
yet
still i climb ,
(each step) —

like
a toy upon a shelf
(i am freezing)/

when
you rip the stuffing out of
me
and try to sew me
shut ,

but the
wound is not healing
(it never will)

and
the walls get stained with nicotine::
(i miss when they were white)

when i come back to, i am lost -
scared
(because it is dark)
.

i
try to howl ,
gurgle instead:
and then
i start to weep-
(and my tears all freeze like little pearls) .
.

when i look for them again,
(those girls)

they have turned into
wolves
(i remember my axe)

and they look me in my eyes —
glimmering//

so
spit on me, again,
i say

i
dare you —
this time,
i am not afraid to bite.

(they do not come back for me)
.
the other title for this poem was “i look at you or maybe you look at me.” I let people on my instagram vote which one they liked better. This is about feeling alone in a battle against many different people you care about. I spent a long time working on it.
Yusof Asnan May 2018
Don't keep it in.
Open your wound.
Let it bleed.
Feel the pain.
Cry it out.
Feel all the hurt
today.
So tomorrow; you
won't.

-HIY
NURUL AMALIA May 2018
the wounds .. sometimes we have to let it
to know how long we last
and how strong we are
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