#indignant
One look around,
Plastered everywhere like a boomerang that never calms down,
Hypocritical words and false perfection.
Coloring the bags under their eyes
Camouflaging the stretch mark on their thighs
And the rest of us stay fixated on our insecurities.
They get paid millions of dollars
To correct their microphoned voices
And be honored for the 'hottest celebrity'
When they are just like the rest of us.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
It's the ones that get a hit, maybe two
That'll shred your soul apart
It's the poets with followers a few
Who's writing pierces the heart.
It's the poems that you can't believe aren't trending
That are worth a read and then another
It's the poems that are beautiful and rending
That should be on this site's cover.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
one: "mom"
crossing the line she had drawn in the sand
cussing me out from holding my hand
these rules and lies all she made up
her chalice of fire scorching my cup
rue the day she came to know
the silent demon hid in my soul
pushing memories out of the way
and succumb to a chasm of arid dismay
two: "rules"
forget the burning in your *****
forget the cursed mine of coins
forget the lashings from her lips
forget the sinner b'twixt my hips
eyes that sting when open too long
voice that scratches when given song
bodies that itch for cursed delights
heart that relates pleasure and fright
three: "Mary"
blessed are they that feel the burn
holy is she that ignores the yearn
but what should she get for crossing her thighs?
not honor nor respect, but labor and sighs
'sainthood becomes her,' the elders all say
'so honest! so pure! and see just how fair!'
whilst only yesterday they'd cursed the *****
remanded to outcast; covered no more.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 7:23 PM UTC
Months later and filled with redundancy
nothing will ever be quiet
We're not missed much these days
we've been gone so long now
Keep wandering on and wondering how
no one ever notices the forearm scars
Tranquil waters flow and wash away
our fervent disdain and distaste
While you leak ideas we breed ideals
and I bleed tweed sweaters
already frayed at the sleeves
threadbarren and disconnected
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC