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Noelis Dec 2018
your hands on my hips so firm
while we aggressively kiss
hungry for each other
you bite my lower lip
oh master, you look so celestial
your black, leather belt
on my soft, pale neck
please, tighten it up
take me to that high
drive me crazy
whip me up and call me out
punish your ***** little  s l u t
for being such a  b r a t.
laura Mar 2018
fell into a hole of myself--
i know too much

a bag of cheetos in an ill-fitting suit
runs the country - made the mistake

of reading what it had to say
awhile ago

all in the stirring of a feather
my ego, my ignorance

smattering albiet aggressively in an annoying
aggregate, dog-bark bird-squacking

grating my effing ears
these 7am mornings
kms
Marz Ataio Aug 2018
I splattered red on a blank canvas
Randomly, without a second thought
Aggressively, impatiently
And some had the audacity to call it art

I took a pen to that marked canvas
I thought it neither right nor wrong
Defiling or glamorizing?
What I had created was lifelong

And then I cut my canvas to pieces
It felt so good to shred it all up
That blank, white canvas had turned into
A catharsis for a build up!

Who are you to tell me what to do

With MY canvas?
How dare you try and judge my art!
If all art is subjective,
Who are you to intervene in my canvas falling apart?

I love my canvas!
In all its marked up glory
My canvas is much prettier now,
Now it tells my story!
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2018
Visiting a friend on his Quarter
Horse farm, the day sunny and warm.
We walked out to his brood mare
pasture, the ladies were running,
awaiting and sunning, anticipation
in the air and their nervous behavior.

Noble his name, consistency his game,
a reliable aging stallion, sire to many
fine sons and daughters, years of proven
pairings, came halter led and prancing.


He had their scent and his spirit awakened,
the three ladies believed to be in season began
to snigger and whinny, their excitement growing
as the stallion entered their grassy domain,
the dance was about to commence.

The handler led the big fella' forward,
both sides began their quizzical inspections.
one young felly more aggressively willing
than the others. Noble excitedly returned
her heightened interest.

Within a few minutes Noble began to rear up,
he knew his job, his august appendage extended,
trying several times to mount his mate intended,
adrenaline pumping his back legs began to shake,
on his fourth failed attempt the eager proven
suitor fell to the ground, rolled over, paused for
a moment and struggled to stand on unsteady legs.
Appearing somewhat embarrassed.

The mare moved aside, kicked her hind legs in
the stallion's direction, whinnied loudly and
ran away. Rejected the old stallion stood looking
perplexed, failure was something unknown to him.
His spirit was willing but his aging body was weak.
The old stud slowly returned to the barn, his head
hung low, no longer prancing.

For every time and being there is a season, aging
is part of the cycle, like this stallion, we all reach
this moment of understanding. Sometimes gracefully,
most times with stunned disbelief.

From Noble to nothing in one afternoon.
The allegorical parable here is impossible
to ignore. Unless your are twenty four.
Hannah Hernandez Dec 2013
I long to be with you.
To aggressively roll around in bed with you as you hold me firmly.
To breathe heavily as you kiss my neck multiple times.
Run my fingers through that extraordinary brown hair of yours.
And to have the ability to kiss those lips, oh those sweet lips.
How I would devour them.
ryn Mar 2015
This smile that makes your day...
This undaunted smile that seem to say.
Show me yours too so we both could play,
On a plane where everything is fine...
Everything's okay...

This smile that reaches out to you...
With nothing but invisible arms.
Caresses your eyes and draws you in.
Entices you with the sweetest charms.

Whispers you tales of a brightly lit future;
Where we're trapped in dance with each other...
Supporting...
Leading...
Lifting and,
Seducing one another...

Let the music ring clear,.
Over the thumping of our heartbeats...
Aggressively segmenting, framing the dance into seconds that would elapse.
Like two duelists entranced into committing tender jousts and retreats.

But know that...
This smile screams only lies.
For it is but a routine mask.
So well worn and adequately rehearsed...
You'd never see the need to ask.

Instead you'd just allow yourself be taken,
To a place where the tide gently beats...
Upon the shore our two ailing hearts.
A place where earth and sky would meet.

When in fact,
It hides the turmoil and agitation.
Guarding the storm that brews incessantly.
Continuously threatening
To breach this shared sanctity with me.

A haven would've then be erected.
That very instant we allowed...
This dance of smiles
From time of first contact to the time we bowed.

This smile... Only took a second
To paint a peaceful picture upon my face.
Free from the pressures building behind my pursed lips.
Just take this smile so that in that second,
We could get lost in the promise of a heavenly place...
Osiria Melody Feb 14
Jubilant child, gently prancing to the candy store
A lollipop, chocolate bar, or a fruit paid in full
Locked door, crying river tears that make my sad
eyes swirl red, like peppermints
Mommy and daddy don’t love each other anymore

Notorious teen, aggressively committing thievery
A pack of cigarettes, alcohol, or pills paid in full
Locked door, smiling sunny teeth that make my
cheeks radiate, hurt
Popping pills like death candy
Mommy and daddy just got divorced

Apathetic adult, hating to have my own family
Bottles of colored juices, packs of funny looking
lollipop sticks, or death candy sprawled across the
table
(Alcohol, cigarettes and drugs are my friends,
how pathetic)
Haphazard mess, failing health over death candy,
coughing smoky clouds, dragon voice sadness
Mommy and daddy are dead

Harder to breathe when you’re trying to speak
through grains of sand
Found a dull romance, much more emotionless
than my parents’ relationship
Your promises of climbing mountains and
swimming oceans

Nothing more than promises, false and broken
A living dream of what it all means, withering
dignity
At least, death candy never commits infidelity, an
insatiable lover
Takes me to my grave, burying me in all
these substances



Melody
2/14/19
I drew my inspiration from admiring the sweetness of a candy store.
Osiria Melody Feb 26
Wish I  was a cat
Agile legs of naïvety
Ignorantly shifting                                               incongruity off
                             unsuspecting decorations of
the infuriated fireplace’s   shelf
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                    
L s  e  i n       to the commotion of   s h a t t e r e d  
  i  t   n     g
vases and idiot mementos that
very much costcheaply, but lookexpensively

Wish I was a cat
Defacing the beauty of toilet paper
Aggressively clawing
     miles of fragile, snowy roads                                
whilst overthrowing the throne that we                                  
know as a freaking   t    i  e    that   f l u s h e s  
                                      o   l   t
the—mind you, number 1 and number 2
very much dumbannoyingly, but hystericalhilariously

Wish I was a cat
Meow the life out of myself
Causing uproar of vexation                                                   endless hours of incoherent
                                             and w n  e r u l
                                                       o   d   f    smiles of delight,
statements like a clash between two hard-boiled,        e g g h e a d e d   lawyers
very much mundanespeakly, but expressionfreely



Melody
2/26/19
Cats are rambunctious.
Joliver Aug 2018
If there was one word
One word, isolated by itself
That I cannot stand above all others
It would have to be "Okay"
I despise "Okay"
"Okay"
Is how your millionth day at work went
"Okay"
Is off-brand raisin bran
"Okay"
Is how you say school is going
When you don't want to admit you spend
Every second of it
Wanting to die

"Okay"
Is packed to the brim with
Hidden implications
Like a treasure chest
Filled with bottles
With little subliminal hatreds
Written on tiny slips of paper
Passively aggressively pushed inside
To discover later
As I pull out a treasure map
And try to decipher
Where I went wrong

"Okay"
Is a one word dismissal
That feels like an essay a thousand pages long
"Okay"
Is a poison dripping with disinterest
When I dared to share with you
Something I thought might make you smile
"Okay"
Is like trying to talk to a wall
While watching the paint on it dry
"Okay"
Takes two seconds to write
Yet I waited days
For that dreaded word
To grace my notifications
"Okay"
Should be used sparingly
As if each time you send it
You **** the receiver just a little bit
"Okay"
Should not be said so often that
I know what you're about to say
Like I saw it in a crystal ball
"Okay"
Is not looking up from your phone
When I tell you about my day
"Okay"
Is not the proper response
To "I love you"

They say that the opposite of love isn't hatred
It's indifference
And I can't think of a response
More indifferent to pouring out
My heart into your hands
Than "Okay"
At least the last thing you said to me
Before we parted ways
Showed that you cared
At least a little bit
"I hate you"
Stung less
Than the thousands of times
Over our countless conversations
You responded
"Okay"
Okay?
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.

What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.

What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.

Shooting across the screen.

The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.

Sitting all day staring out the window.

Mother in hospice.

A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.

It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.

The after school sessions of comfort sped up.

Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.

Teacher student affair.

15 year old student found with 42 year old man.

When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.

Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.

Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.


Where's the specialty training for those who care.

The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.

The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.

Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.

The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.

Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.

Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.

The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.

Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.

The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Wild Myths Apr 2017
We spent a lot of our time in bars back then
I think you were trying to find home,
Stuck in a hole at the end of the world.
I didn’t even like drinking, but I definitely liked you.

I’d wake up feeling aggressively alive in the morning
Go to work, yell at my class,
Go to school, doodle on my page,
And then come back to you.

My supervisors probably hated me.
One of them said:
“It’s like you’re just here, existing, without really wanting anything.”
They were right, I stopped caring.

I used to study writing because I thought I could make love come out of the pages and into me.

Once we lay in the sun together at the park, in the daylight.
I stroked your hair on the grass,
And thought about the lines around your eyes -
How strange they looked next to the slight blush in your cheeks.

I took a picture of you that day
It’s only got half of your face in it,
But I like the way you’re smiling a little bit, and trying to hide it.
It’s the only one I have.
Johnson Aug 2018
What am I
A product of what has been
A member of the future to be
A traveler on a desolate street

For what has remained
Stays still inside
Dominant in its home
Awake in my mind

Shattering ever still
As the florescent lights hung above
Alone in my heart ache
As time aggressively slips by this desolate son  

Peering through the door
Hoping for a glimpse
Of what strikes by my view
Is surely to be missed

For happiness is a fleeting view which takes hold
So it is tragic as you feel the agonizing departure of your soul
And for what cannot be heard is that which is understood  
For what I have felt for a short season is that of my reproof

What I have missed the most has only brought me pain
As I sit alone in the darkness my hands begin to shake
For I have grown old in my youth and not as graciously as I'd hoped
My thoughts feed my own torment like a hand around my throat

For all that I was
In this world of lies
Another product rejection
And an endless defile

Though I wish, it is in vain
And that of nothing new
Crushed under the weight
Of this iridescent blue
PlaneJane2 Jan 25
Why do I see signs? Why do I miss you? Why am I crying?
Do I know what I had?
Was what I had good enough for me?
Or do I just feel lonely at this moment.
Do I long for companionship?
Or were you my true best friend?
I don't know, but I miss you.
If we were never to see each other again, I love you.
Conditionally,
under the conditions that we will never meet again.

...

But I see you in the signs.
I went to take J* to get her hair done at T's,
she told me she from off Candler Road, just like your G
From the southside, but I was up North, so why not go your way.
Sometimes I feel guilty for leaving you but I know I couldn't stay.
My battery almost died.
I remember when yours would never charge,
You would ask for my help and I'd passively aggressively say no
I used to pay 650,
I still pay 650.
I always felt like you were never trying to elevate with me.
I got J**
a Red Bull, her favorite.
I always tell her it's not good for her, but I still got it.
The can had PAC-MAN on it.
You'd always play that game.
We always played games with each other.
I realized there are no signs.
I was just having memories.
I love you conditionally.
If we are never meant to be together again.
But I unconditionally (If you ever call me) will always be your friend.
unconditional friendship companionship relationship love moving on condtional
There's three ways of fighting.

Agressive-Using attacks and offensive maneuvers.

Defensive-Blocking and deflecting attacks.

Controling-Using your enemy's attacks and defenses against themselves while not aggressively attacking them nor defending against their attacks.
unnamed Oct 2018
At first, these drinks are hard to swallow.
But as time passes,
I claim them passionately, aggressively; each night I follow
the numbing sensation, and each night relapses.

A constant limbo every night,
a foggy sense of pain.
Easing a dull attempt to fight
against whispers that pleasantly sustain.

Their whispers are torment,
interlaced with ravishing praise.
Ignorance leads me to lament,
as days become nights, and nights become days.

Their whispers fill me with abhorrence,
disguised amongst such reverence.
Another drink, and another, creates distance.
Another drink, and another, avoiding their persistence.

The irony isn’t lost on me.
These drinks cloud my spite,
surrounded by them, my only company.
Andrew Jul 2018
We were equally matched
Until a plan was hatched
You became the subtle aggressor
By making appearances lesser
Using your passion aggression
To steer a passive direction

You perform a vanishing act
By canvassing flak
Balancing black
Against a sky so blue
Teaching me that which is true
Is different from what I knew
So my anxiety naturally grew

You launch a resistance
By remaining silent
On this plane of existence
Where you're the pilot
Not taking the right angle
Into the Bermuda Triangle
That is your social sphere
Where you disappear
From committal fear
Of love being near

So I throw a search party
But your presence is tardy
Because you're departing
On the journey you're starting
Without me
Slouching
From my submission
To your anti-admission
Splitting our position
Like nuclear fission

The air has become radioactive
Through light that is refractive
Through ways which are retractive
Living this **** way to live
Sharpening my shiv
To escape this cell of decay
Where flowers bloom and fray
But can't see the light of day
Not one ray

Stuck in the marked moor
Of this dark war
I use parkour
To avoid aggressor attacks
Never cutting me any slack
Bringing pain back
Until I crack

Lost in your blank expression
I make a grave concession
Enslaved to your impression
Yet afraid of your aggression
Caught between
Taking heed
And fulfilling needs
Born from greed
I'll only impede

You scream aggressively
Like you're ******* me
Just by addressing me
After making a mess of me
With deafening quiet
You attack with a diet
Of a steady riot
And I won't buy it

You left when you were here
But stayed once you weren't near
You switched to a guillotine gear
Based on how you wanted to appear
Striking me from the equation
By utilizing deflation
For a sinister elation
You removed our relation
You were like a wild fire
That I watched from a distance
Yet somehow you caught my heart
I wanted to be closer, in your presence
So trusting, I reached out my hand
In order to be embraced by you
Aggressively, painfully you took it
And naively I didn't have a clue
That my hand claimed to be unfit
You burned my skin around and through
Crazily I thought I would get used to it
Build up a tolerance that was tough and true
I was mesmerized by your puzzling beauty
How brightly you shined on your own
Throughout the day until the night
I never felt like I was alone
However my tolerance
Didn't seem to grow
Your flames started to consume me
Taking more as they go
You weren't satisfied with a piece of me
You wanted more than I could show
Oddly enough I relished in it
My crazy passionate joking beau
Bettlejuice May 26
I’m here and I don’t know why
I crave you
Why
Ugh
Feelings
I don’t like them
I dislike feelings not the living
If I didn’t feel anything I wouldn’t miss you, I wouldn’t hate you, I wouldn’t love you-every moment like I can’t breathe-and you say exhale and I know I really can
Even when I’m dreaming your always there
Haunted, Conjured, Exorcism
I long to be inside of you
Why
I wish I could die
Let me die
Death could be my salvation after all
Sipping from the cup you poured me of your soul
I can’t believe reality
Blood as black as my life
You told me to eat a piece of your heart
I’m spellbound for your love
It’s not even a lust, just a craving
Crazy-insane-without you
The insane asylum-mental patients-me and you
The things love will make you do
I always chose you
Choke
We’re dead forever so say you love me
Punch passively
Love aggressively
Hidden Alchemy
What’s nevermine
Natalie May 17
i blow the smoke out

along with my worries for the night

i feel my eyes get heavy

i feel my body getting light

see my veins protruding under my skin

hear my heart pounding aggressively within

my stomach yearns for hot food

the music puts me in a good mood

i feel a roller coaster in my head

before i know it I'm in bed
She accidentally looked back into eternity and it is telling her things. Constantly questioning whether it could have been on purpose. She wishes it had told her about the day that she went missing for too long. She is still missing. Missing so many things that happen and those as close as possible. She is missing them too.

She existed to be this close to missing everyone forever. Everyone missing her forever. Missing her orange kisses and purple thoughts. He left messages in blue in her thoughts. To see if it could make a shady spot in the bright yellow sun.  This is where they would sit and possibly lay down. There were so many shimmering waves in the grass that loose clothing rippled. Her dress was waving to clouds being emptied by the sunshine.

If they were to lay in bent grass blades could it be the last time. The last time the blades bent back and the feeling of beauty penetrating hearts couldn’t let go. The last thing they could ever want. No turning back. Time is bending the blanket.

Time decided to take some space to itself. To get back to nature and living with things we cannot stop. Life kept being left in the street with holes made in it by fear and hatred that is white. Life kept being told by whiteness that is was not real.

In this space that time took to itself the institution of white needed to become colorful like rainbows and hadn’t documented in its constitution that it needs to become different shapes and sounds that may be hard for it to resonate with while investing in such militant social systems of oppression overflowed from slavery in order to become a space other than time allows for a short duration yet brutally eternal and ending now as today unfolds and life proves it is real as time rips it apart openly and its institution of white judges itself into the panic of being so insensitive that vengeance has no other shapes, colors or sounds to choose other than violet revolt.

Violet made handprints in clay as a small child while reserving words for family that were taken from her. She smiled into the abyss of pleading that is too late for forgiveness. A silence of the white institution that could no longer be a burden in space for time to want anything to do with it ever again. Violet was intimate with the space that time took to itself. She nourished it with colors, intelligence, senses, shapes, love, merciless unforgiving power and purple thoughts were always encouraged.

Violet’s orange kisses burned into the early morning making the institution of whiteness a kind of blue. All that was left of it was confused and squinting at the colors of its new shape. It was demanding to know how long the spell had been on them and what to do now. Violent explained in senses and climate changing shapes of darkness and bright red lava and flashing pink clouds that there is no now.

part 2

I hope you like my shape of communication. I hope you can appreciate the brutality of the beauty in decomposing the unnecessary manifestation of apocalypse. The writer wants you to know its him. The narrator wants you to know its her. The sentence is time taking space to itself. Grammar is more of a blue than purple. The shape is the sense of confusion which is also the ****** of realizing eternity. The details are up to your imagination not mine or the author or writer or {[(black/white)[(black women/white women) + during slavery and after] + (Americans) (to make the *** trade of slavery possible) (political intellectually engineered institution)] [(mixed race) (native)(black African) (the rest of the world not isolating themselves in the social construction of whiteness)]} = having to create my own language because I don’t exist like I need to in the institution of whiteness (I have to feel it more than it feels me) that has a completely different meaning and purpose of imagined structure or patterns or symbols that outnumbers mathematics that are statistical boundaries invested in with the language that power is behind it somewhere that can only be found by using it.

Its uncomfortable for me to write the things I feel without feeling the need to prove their value to you. To build a relationship and undo it before we get to comfortable with each other. I know that you will never forget this during all your desperate imagination of reading and life. A thread that is undeniable through shapes colors and sounds but grammarless rhythm with more sensual texture than colonial organization and its friend decolonization making love instead of war most of the time.

So this again is why time has taken space to itself. The shapes of objectification in our solar system layering our consciousness with objectifying existence in space unimaginably vast and then gone all of the sudden. Actually assumptions are our specialty so we are intimate with them and emotive beyond anything real.

Vibrations sound like waves and look like shapes. She surfed on the shape of waves. She lives on the shape of waves balancing them with focus and intent. Of course she is going to use the most obscene language of the oppressor to react and demand the same brutal trauma is being redirected by her with exponential adaptivity as aggressively as colonialism on the institution of whiteness that changes little details of its shape to suit its foundation as the need for free labor based on her skin color and also the genes of her skin color to by association allow enslavement of light skin hims.  

Section 3

The flowers sat at the drum set to communicate spring. Some felt uncomfortable and decided to advocate for the drums.

“The drums are symbolic not just the symbols. Why should the symbols get the credit as being symbolic?”

As a gesture of listening, acceptance, and understanding. Guns turned to hyacinth flowers with jasmine bullets. The fragrance took violence over with a brutal ferociousness no one knew flowers had.

That same sunny day I became 6 shades darker in the growing power of the sun. That morning the same perspectives of my identity changed twice. In the morning the institution of whiteness (IOW) declared a false sense of solidarity with how I looked to them. That evening they ignored me like that never happened. They were squinting with confusion and nodding at each other.

The IOW was making a habit out of black identity. Settling with the concept that being black is having holes from their police and being silenced on streets or in the passenger seats of cars with their families. The IOW was making it a custom to advertise being black as dying.

A Rwandan orchid blossomed right at that moment. The IOW abruptly spit out their coffee and stood up together in disbelief. The sheer unexpected beauty became an unbearable pressure on their hearts.

The heart? Since this Orchid blossomed the shape of the IOS did not allow anyone but themselves to have a heart. This realization that the others had hearts was a serious need for a group huddle.

“These others with hearts we must assimilate with them as soon as possible!”

It might have been the deep fragrance of hyacinth and Jasmine, she thought aloud, or maybe the purple thoughts, but then again Violet played a huge part in paving the way for the blossoming Orchid. Cushioned by bent grass blades and a timeless blanket they intertwined in the shade of the bright yellow sun.

— The End —