#agression
De tes mains impures, tu me fis prisonnière
D’un souvenir dont je brigue à me délivrer
D’un souvenir qui persévère à me hanter
M’enfonçant dans de douces affres routinières.
Je n’étais qu’enfant, tu n’étais qu’adolescent,
Je demeure enfant, tu es devenu adulte,
Tu ne peux point savoir tout ce qui en résulte,
De ces supplices atroces et oppressants.
Neuf ans plus **** j’aspire à seulement grandir
Neuf ans plus **** je n’aspire qu’à resplendir :
Ne suis-je qu’une désastreuse victimiste ?
Je t’espère couvert de remords assassins ;
Bien que j'admets mes espoirs innocents et vains,
Je préfère embrasser ma torture optimiste.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 11:59 AM UTC
Dans cette innocente chambre, je m’éteignis,
Tel la plus pure lueur. Ses doigts m’atteignis,
Firent leur accablante et perverse descente,
Détruisant ma fierté bientôt évanescente.
Nous n’étions pas seuls, mais que pouvaient-ils bien faire ?
De mon vain corps, ils ne pouvaient pas le défaire,
Leur esprit aussi peu aiguisé que le mien,
L’information n’a pas dû faire son chemin.
Les autres, ceux d’en bas, auraient bien pu comprendre,
Mais je l’aurais dû aussi, et sans me méprendre :
Exercice bien dur, pour l’enfant que j’étais.
N’ayant fort changée, personne ne s’inquiétait,
Néanmoins, comment seulement leur en vouloir ?
Personne n’a déchiffré l’abus de pouvoir.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 2:33 PM UTC
They ask me, why the teeth?
I smile and just stare back at them with amused eyes
Golden ambers, raging like fire that aren’t so weak
Their legs shift awkwardly side to side
Questioning glances pin at my little open box
Little bits of white fossils shine with rusted blood that has long dried
Sharp ridges of the alabaster’s ends have worn out completely
So much denial, error, and mistakes
So many years of biting, proving, and screaming
I’m no silly child leaving my precious treasures behind
Under soft white feathered pillows
These sharp tips were made to cut anything under great pressure with pride
And without teeth I wouldn’t be me
The older I have gotten, the more tremendous the wear
I still stare at all of you cackling from underneath the sheets
Aug 26, 2024
Aug 26, 2024 at 9:03 AM UTC
And the people who are extensions of you breathe monoxide and speak with the sound of shrewd drills. I can't help but hear your voice through their wreckage.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 1:44 AM UTC
i hate you,
i hate the way that you beat me when i come home late
i hate the way you yell at me when your wrong
i hate that you are always mad
i hate that you think you are superior to me
but i love you,
i love that you love me
i love that you gave me life
i love that you support me in everything i do
i love that you would give anything for me to be happy
but despite all of this love and hate,
i can't be your favorite daughter
i can't pretend to love you when at times i can't like you
i can't support you anymore
and most of all
i can't continue to live with your suffocating, pestering, raw, unperceptive demenor.
i'm sorry
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
they will try to tell you I tried to **** myself.
I swear, it wasn't that.
It's just that the weeds were growing through my ribs and down my back and into my lungs, and no one likes weeds.
so I tried to drink **** killer.
instead it just burnt my throat and made my skin feel like sandpaper
it ripped out my taste buds and numbed the bridge of my nose
and it didn't even get rid of the ******* weeds.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
*"Go ahead be a snitch
You'll get more than one stitch
This time, *****
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
Fireworks that spray paint
brain matter and bits of tongue
like obscenities in a bathroom stall.
Spray paint everything yellow.
Own everything. Burn everything.
**** everything. Invade it;
infect it, vivisect your name
as an iron-on patch into it's guts.
Stitch it in close to something necessary.
A little bit of everything dies.
Anything that can be possessed,
umbrella of oppressions.
Prancing.
You'd make me cry just to see if it's possible.
You'd push me off the edge to see how close I am.
You'd push me off the edge to see how fast I fall.
You'd step on my fingers to see if they bleed.
You'd stomp in my teeth to see if they crack.
You'd spit on the corpse to see if it hydrates.
Cartwheeling.
Anything abrasive, anything slightly toxic,
something disgusting to indulge in.
**** the gardens, **** the rivers and lakes;
Died in a boar's den,
died in the stomach of a volcano,
gave it three days and decided
death suits one just fine.
Pieces
of
dishes
stuck between your toes.
A rainbow in violent undertones,
the ROYGBIV of slashing motions.
Tax exempt.
Cartwheeling.
A little bit of everything dies.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC