#skinned
I'm a shell
My soul has left
Empty as can be
Space that's left
Is not me
I'm useless
As a highway
Without cars
I might as well
Be on Mars
I'm gone
But still alive
Like stars persist
Until the light is gone
My body insists
I'm a circumference
The boundary surrounds
Dry carcass bone
I care not
Just lost-and-found
I won't return
To my body of ruin
Burial plans made
Threaded into a patchwork quilt
Upstaged and waylaid
I'm now safe outside
Myself
I see you looking in
She is gone from her
Forever now thick and thin
I'm tired of sycophants
Complicit in democracy's destuction
By their hands, skinned alive
I left my body today
In order to survive
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 1:20 PM UTC
Success!
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
We need our children to keep us humble
between toast and marmalade;
there is no time for a ticker-tape parade
before bed, no award, no bright statuette
to be delivered for mending skinned knees,
no wild bursts of approval for shoveling snow.
A kiss is the only approval they show;
to leave us—the first great success they achieve.
I wrote this poem after fixing my son Jeremy some toast and getting a kiss in return. Keywords/Tags: children, success, parents, toast, jam, marmalade, skinned, knees, kiss, approval
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 6:01 AM UTC
I would've torn myself
limb from limb
to appease your hunger
but you still would't have wanted me.
I would've broken my bones
to build you a throne
but you still wouldn't have wanted me.
I would've wrung myself dry of blood
to quench your thirst
but you wouldn't have wanted me.
I would've skinned myself
to stitch you clothes
but you still would't have wanted me.
I would've burned myself
to keep you warm
but you would still leave.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
When your the only dark skinned person in your house.
Its hard for others to see that its okay.
That its beautiful as well.
Its weird how people attach beauty to color.
Light skinned this, lighter skin that.
They make it the must be.
Not that it isn't beautiful.
But we have got to look at darker different.
Dark can be beautiful.
Darker even more beautiful.
I've seen beauty in all colors.
Like in all shapes.
You walk down the street over the weekend.
You fall in love with Africa.
All you will see is beautiful women.
Different heights, different shapes...
Handsome men...they come in all sizes and shades.
Its like a painting.
The kind you could look at forever.
And never tire from.
When I was a child.
I always said I wanted to get away.
But mum always said that one day I'll fall in love with here.
Now I know,now I've felt the pride.
And happiness that comes with here.
I look into the mirror each day.
And feel proud and happy.
Growing up my mother said thank-you.
With a smile.
Every time they said I looked like her.
Now I see why in the mirror.
I'd be proud if my daughter looked like me.
Me and my black skin.
My beautiful black skin.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
Skinned ghosts and spilled ink
In a sack of flesh
My very own.
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
It's funny that once ink is skinned
it's pretty difficult to take it out.
It becomes hypodermic and almost eternal.
Could it be the same case
for the those who hurt you
carve a part of their memory
deep deep inside your bones
and make a wreck of you?
I don't know,
all that I know is that I want to destroy
everything that reminds me of those.
-- Eleanor
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
Maybe she was looking for somebody to warm
her up all the time and God, when it got
too dark outdoors you cried kerosene and set
fire to yourself just to provide her safety and security.
And maybe it's true that everything
comes in a paradoxical form and that's
why even though you were born from
a warm womb, your soul was so icy cold
she burnt her fingertips just touching it
and probably mistook it for the heat she
had always been longing for. I know that it's ironic,
I know that your dreams lay somewhere
beside her perfect body and shiny hair
but your reality is four suicide
attempts and cutting your wrists open
over some permanent tattoo where
her love was supposed to be skinned.
-- Eleanor
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
Support and structure, were at one point ideal, but now as days fly by the ******** is all real, I'm a solo soldier, with a very lonely soul, my mind has exploded, and every second I suffer the toll, I'm in it alone, like it's been since birth, hard to hold a value to self, when you have never felt self worth, as I walk and witness, I witness and walk, the more that I witness, the less that I talk.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
What am I to do
Oh my fair skinned sister?
You are family to me
Yet I fear I may be forced
To bring the news
That I'll not be returning
I fear that if I do return
It will be on my shield
Not with it
As the Spartans used to say
Here I stand as Leonidas
Foolhardy and bold
I watch as I crumble
As my phalanx fold
So what am I to say
Oh my fair skinned sister?
How long will you mourn my absence?
Before you forget
And carry on?
What am I to think
Oh my dark haired sister?
What am I to feel?
You have been my guide
What am I to be
Oh my bright eyed comrade
My cheerful compatriot
My dearest friend?
Sing to me
Oh my fair skinned sister
Some sacred sonnet to save me
Play for me
Oh my fair skinned sister
Some long and lingering lyric
Some sweet melodic line
Some hypnotic harmony
To save me from my mind
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC