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"befriended" poems
Just how does one define friendship? Oh, I already know what the Dictionary says. It's far more than merely one word, or two. You could apply many verbs to describe it. Few, on their own will justice due. It is more about one's emotional perception, than a mere sentence of words, though descriptive. For sure it's a feeling, a strong visceral response evoked by respect, even love of a thing above all other's. Friends come in many shapes, sizes and colors. They can be inanimate or living breathing. All inspire in us a near electrical resonance of reassurance, a sense of peace, surely comfort. Maybe it starts with the rhythmic beating of our own mothers heart, the sound and vibration of our first true friendship. A little later her breast and the nourishment it gave, became our first outer world dearest best companion. Mother's milk, served warm, sweet and tenderly, Love's personification. Yes of course Friendship can be an extension of a strong lasting bond with other people, yet even more. Our family's are our closest best friends, if we are lucky. But what of the others? I have been  befriended by books, movies, dogs and many other non human living friends, I even have a old film camera I packed completely around the world, that I count among my closest companions. A soft warm favorite wool blanket acquired down in New Zealand, also fits nicely that same description. An old bamboo fly rod that belonged to my Father, Is a friend I would not part with for any amount of dollars. And less I forget (No pun intended) our memories too are right there, with the best and oldest of our dearest, lasting friends, Conjured up at a minutes notice. And perhaps last of all, (you may have more on your list), I can not leave out the most important friendship of all, It's the friendship we have with our selves, to which I'm referring. For if that very personal friendship is not strong and on going, It's truly doubtful that we will have, or sustain for long, any others.
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Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Friendship
Just how does one define friendship? Oh, I already know what the Dictionary says. It's far more than merely one word, or two. You could apply many verbs to describe it. Few, on their own will justice due. It is more about one's emotional perception, than a mere sentence of words, though descriptive. For sure it's a feeling, a strong visceral response evoked by respect, even love of a thing above all other's. Friends come in many shapes, sizes and colors. They can be inanimate or living breathing. All inspire in us a near electrical resonance of reassurance, a sense of peace, surely comfort. Maybe it starts with the rhythmic beating of our own mothers heart, the sound and vibration of our first true friendship. A little later her breast and the nourishment it gave, became our first outer world dearest best companion. Mother's milk, served warm, sweet and tenderly, Love's personification. Yes of course Friendship can be an extension of a strong lasting bond with other people, yet even more. Our family's are our closest best friends, if we are lucky. But what of the others? I have been  befriended by books, movies, dogs and many other non human living friends, I even have a old film camera I packed completely around the world, that I count among my closest companions. A soft warm favorite wool blanket acquired down in New Zealand, also fits nicely that same description. An old bamboo fly rod that belonged to my Father, Is a friend I would not part with for any amount of dollars. And less I forget (No pun intended) our memories too are right there, with the best and oldest of our dearest, lasting friends, Conjured up at a minutes notice. And perhaps last of all, (you may have more on your list), I can not leave out the most important friendship of all, It's the friendship we have with our selves, to which I'm referring. For if that very personal friendship is not strong and on going, It's truly doubtful that we will have, or sustain for long, any others.
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39
Dandelions Hair was long and yellow like pale dandelions; Complimenting blue eyes, and white skin. I was drawn into such rare beauty, such new and unexplored mystery. New girl in town, a new taste of envy in the air. I befriended you; I wasn't so quick to judge. I studied you closely. I gained your friendship quickly. I came to know you, and the worst parts of you. You lied so beautifully; Manipulation to a fine perfection.   Still I followed you, opened my heart up and fell weak. You used me all up. Drained me out; Out of patience, out of friendship, out of love. Everybody hated you. They still hate you, and now I do too.
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Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Dandelions
Nobody marching toward us Their guns making us die. No tanks are come clanking No bombers in the sky. But our Congress and generals When oil or bases seem needed; We appear armed and threatening Peace and love talk not heeded. No country has attacked us With troops and lethal artillery. But our leaders expect us to Go open up their arteries And **** their women and children And laugh while they all die And we are expected to do this And never think to ask why. It’s almost like big companies Were sad when WW2 ended So they started attacking countries We really should have befriended. We let Russia have free reign To **** and ****** and steal Almost as if their aggression Wasn’t really true or even real. We looked around and made them, Those evil old warlike excuses, That some country threatened freedom And we pretended they weren’t ruses. We attacked Korea and Vietnam We were just supposed to observe That they were yellow people there And think they got what they deserved. We didn’t stop there, as Reagan took A duly elected leader and put him in jail. If any country did that to our country The conservatives would howl and rail. Then the Bushes tried their best to take Iraq to steal their oil and punish them And created an era of stronger hatred And anti-American outrage and mayhem. No foreign country has attacked America; So, the point bears repeating once again. We need to stop acting like bullies here And start acting like decent statesmen And women who have the bigger picture; The growth of peace in our battered world So, other countries will not take their guns And shoot our flag when it’s unfurled.
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Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
THE BIG LIE OF WAR
Nobody marching toward us Their guns making us die. No tanks are come clanking No bombers in the sky. But our Congress and generals When oil or bases seem needed; We appear armed and threatening Peace and love talk not heeded. No country has attacked us With troops and lethal artillery. But our leaders expect us to Go open up their arteries And **** their women and children And laugh while they all die And we are expected to do this And never think to ask why. It’s almost like big companies Were sad when WW2 ended So they started attacking countries We really should have befriended. We let Russia have free reign To **** and ****** and steal Almost as if their aggression Wasn’t really true or even real. We looked around and made them, Those evil old warlike excuses, That some country threatened freedom And we pretended they weren’t ruses. We attacked Korea and Vietnam We were just supposed to observe That they were yellow people there And think they got what they deserved. We didn’t stop there, as Reagan took A duly elected leader and put him in jail. If any country did that to our country The conservatives would howl and rail. Then the Bushes tried their best to take Iraq to steal their oil and punish them And created an era of stronger hatred And anti-American outrage and mayhem. No foreign country has attacked America; So, the point bears repeating once again. We need to stop acting like bullies here And start acting like decent statesmen And women who have the bigger picture; The growth of peace in our battered world So, other countries will not take their guns And shoot our flag when it’s unfurled.
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48
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish. Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak. She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in. * * * Sensitivity is deemed feeble. Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet? * * * That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave? No. Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet. They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else. * * * People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it. In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair. When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her. In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses. * * * Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet. Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear. * * * In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons. After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open. She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today. The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways. * * * She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings. The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense. However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
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Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
The True Strength of Weakness
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish. Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak. She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in. * * * Sensitivity is deemed feeble. Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet? * * * That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave? No. Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet. They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else. * * * People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it. In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair. When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her. In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses. * * * Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet. Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear. * * * In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons. After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open. She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today. The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways. * * * She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings. The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense. However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
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28
Flashback to as far back as the mind goes, Masculinity is mighty and feminism is flawed, Man is right and woman is wrong, Boy is strong and girl is weak, I’m a gentleman as long as I’m on top, She can’t speak unless spoken to, No place for women at the pulpit, Men can’t learn from lesser beings. Flashback to four years old, The first time he was told, Homosexuals will burn eternally, Because they’re ******* He said God doesn’t love them, They’re an abomination to creation. Flashback to age twelve, Welcome to the USA, Export the Mexicans, Eliminate the rag heads, Burn the gays. Flashback to seventh grade, She left him for her, The hate talk convinced him, All gays were wrong always. Flashback to freshmen year, It was Halloween, Debate class in the morning, She was dressed as a nerd, But obviously that so wasn’t her, Because she was Iranian, He asked where her turban was, Said her outfit wasn’t complete without it. Flashback to the close-minded, conservatively, homeschooled child, Racism was as familiar as his father’s laugh, Sexism known like the scent of his mother’s casseroles, Ignorance was his bestfriend, And hate pumped through his veins. I don’t know if right wing racist remarks are forgivable, But the one he was bred to despise showed nothing but forgiveness. The Iranian girl shed tears, Which caused him to shed his foggy lens, For the first time, he saw his own sins, A joke rooted in hate hurt an innocent girl, An innocent tear hurt an ignorant boy, I am an ignorant boy, I felt her pain, I stabbed myself with shame, She befriended me, She forgave. Flawed people produced twisted identification, She isn’t the Iranian girl, Just a person. Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light, Christian, Atheist, Muslim, Left wing or right, Straight, gay, man, woman, Irrelevant. Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light, Christian, Atheist, Muslim, Left wing or right, Straight, gay, man, woman, Human.
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Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Twisted Identification
Flashback to as far back as the mind goes, Masculinity is mighty and feminism is flawed, Man is right and woman is wrong, Boy is strong and girl is weak, I’m a gentleman as long as I’m on top, She can’t speak unless spoken to, No place for women at the pulpit, Men can’t learn from lesser beings. Flashback to four years old, The first time he was told, Homosexuals will burn eternally, Because they’re ******* He said God doesn’t love them, They’re an abomination to creation. Flashback to age twelve, Welcome to the USA, Export the Mexicans, Eliminate the rag heads, Burn the gays. Flashback to seventh grade, She left him for her, The hate talk convinced him, All gays were wrong always. Flashback to freshmen year, It was Halloween, Debate class in the morning, She was dressed as a nerd, But obviously that so wasn’t her, Because she was Iranian, He asked where her turban was, Said her outfit wasn’t complete without it. Flashback to the close-minded, conservatively, homeschooled child, Racism was as familiar as his father’s laugh, Sexism known like the scent of his mother’s casseroles, Ignorance was his bestfriend, And hate pumped through his veins. I don’t know if right wing racist remarks are forgivable, But the one he was bred to despise showed nothing but forgiveness. The Iranian girl shed tears, Which caused him to shed his foggy lens, For the first time, he saw his own sins, A joke rooted in hate hurt an innocent girl, An innocent tear hurt an ignorant boy, I am an ignorant boy, I felt her pain, I stabbed myself with shame, She befriended me, She forgave. Flawed people produced twisted identification, She isn’t the Iranian girl, Just a person. Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light, Christian, Atheist, Muslim, Left wing or right, Straight, gay, man, woman, Irrelevant. Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light, Christian, Atheist, Muslim, Left wing or right, Straight, gay, man, woman, Human.
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61
6:30 PM 15/10/18 slam poem "What's her name?" An excited voice whispered. My benchmate asked me, Just as the new girl entered, With all her glowing ebony beauty. I thought about something, Ignored him and simply so, Continuing my reading of the drama. He prodded on like a nagging child, *"Tell me, Atul, what's her name? Who's that **** girl?"* His whisper was loud enough now, The girl heard it as she climbed, Climbed higher on the back seats and how. I glared at my benchmate, In disappointment & disgust, It was him who I had befriended. 'Him! I befriended him!! Out of them all!!!' I thought about my vulnerability in our society, But I did not react to him out of that anger. I just said, "What's in a name?" He raised his eyebrows and moaned, "Huh?" I said with mirth, "Yes! Someone like you will get her renamed!" 7:00 PM
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Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
What's In A Name
Anxious Dull, a boy is he names he would not plea eyes like baby blue- lips a crimson hue Feelings like me and you Reclusive Outsiders he'd not choose In his mansions he bore luring himself- with enchanting lore's drifting away, loosing woes A Xenos Traveling in his hallways unknown, ominous a wretched life he portrays even in his heart, he'd say- "Loneliness, such a Cliché" Forsaken Befriended, unseen though he's not a devil -for I believe tortured, battered on thee delude by his mistress' skim He Left portals out from misery gone himself eagerly then comes back, with such -A Victory for now, a statured man is he Knights & Kings upon bended knees and everything he please from a man to a boy -in a dream A Castle, now he redeems
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Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
◦ A Boy and His Castle
Loneliness My constant companion A friend I befriended from my childhood That sticks with me through thick and thin No matter where I go Who I am with It never let goes off me Loneliness A core memory I’ve relived a countless times That was responsible for the tears I’ve shed No matter how many tears How many hours of therapy It still hurts Loneliness An inevitable emotion I have stopped running away from And instead embraced Because no matter how painful it can be I always find myself in the end
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Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
Loneliness
He comes, a moon whose like the sky ne'er saw, awake or dreaming. Crowned with eternal flame no flood can lay. Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming, And ruined all my body's house of clay! When first the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended, Wine fired my ***** and my veins filled up; But when his image all min eye possessed, a voice descended: 'Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Cup!' Love's mighty arm from roof to base each dark abode is hewing, Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray. My heart, when Love's sea of a sudden burst into its viewing, Leaped headlong in, with 'Find me now who may!' As, the sun moving, clouds behind him run, All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz's Sun!
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7.9k
He Comes
It's been a day or maybe a few, That I haven't heard from you. It's not exactly depressing yet, But I know I'll cry soon, and get- Cold sweats. It's not like you'd care, You don't give a **** I'm just sort of there, To you, I'm throwing a fit. And you say I have no right to. Well what did you expect me to do- When you're telling people such hyperbole? Your mispresentations have flustered me. I've never met someone so treacherous. I trusted you and you put on a display, Which I must say was completely impetuous. Where did you come up with such nonsense? I guess I never meant anything to you, I feel like I was just a fill in for others. Others whom you actually befriended, Or maybe they're just like me. Discovering that you're really a bully. An emotionally abusive person.
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Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
An Impetuous Display
She didn't see the life left to be had, All she saw was Darling Dear dark and sad. She held so tightly Darling Dear, four years old Little did she know, Darling Dear had grown up dark and cold. Mama didn't know the strength in Darling Dear, Befriended by the shadows, she had no remaining fears. She loved Mama and Mama loved her back, But nothing was as beautiful as Darling Dear gone black. --Emily Rutledge
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Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Mama's Not-So-Little Girl
Can I skip ahead in line, please? Surely You can see .. Plans haven't been going as planned I've been roaming endlessly   I need not to say my goodbyes They've waived me that dance, You see - I tried jumping out of Earth last time But I just fell back into the seas It's like swimming in oceanic galaxies Suffocating on infinite catastrophes Just as my head reaches the surface The heavens collapse over me They say I know nothing of my tears - Nor of the world I sense or feel So they caged me deep within their ribs, You see - They claim it is safer in here .. My breaths are only fading, inside My eyes have not the strength to seek - The light on the other side of their flesh - Of their flesh in which they buried me So I have been roaming endlessly .. Wounded. Lost. Cannot breathe .. Befriended by tears. Blinded. I know not of sleep I see souls in a queue not ready to leave; They have exhales from inhales yet to be breathed But I'm just an ink-less broken feather Over papers I weep I cannot write down my sorrows But I'm sure, You can see .. I'm ready to die oh Lord! Can I skip ahead in line, please?
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Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
Oh, Lord ..
I can put away my socks, My shin guards, My cleets. Soccer is over, There aren't any more meets. It makes me so sad, That our season has ended, But I am so glad, So many I've befriended. This season has flown by, Faster than a happy dream. I've had such a wonderful time, Playing on this team.
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Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
Soccer
Owl listened to Goose's secrets Fishy could always use a smile Duckie flew into many a dream Cat lurked when the sun was high Bear always gave the best hugs Giraffe knew the summer's joys Chipmunk shared in equal annoyances Yet, Goose befriended them all Owl was wise Fishy was mellow Duckie was comforting Cat was kind Bear was understanding Giraffe was a laugh Chipmunk was encouraging And Goose loved them all Duckie, Cat, Bear and Giraffe all frequent the same little niche Fishy swims down the street from Chipmunk's tree Owl and Goose fly in similar circles And where would each be, without the other Our animal friends, Or one another
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Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
Animal Niche
In stubborn stupidity, I live on alone befriended by trees and herbs. Too lazy to learn right from wrong, I laugh at myself, ignoring others. Lifting my bony shanks, I cross the stream, a sack in my hand, blessed by spring weather. Living thus, I want for nothing, at peace with all the world. Your finger points to the moon, but the finger is blind until the moon appears. What connection has moon and finger? Are they separate objects or bound? This is a question for beginners wrapped in seas of ignorance. Yet one who looks beyond metaphor knows there is no finger; there is no moon.
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4.5k
Reply To A Friend
The way we cry, and if our cryings be heard, the way they are attended to will set the walk. The way we are treated as toddlers, the way punishment may be meted out, will further the course. Kind- nesses, magnanimity of spirit, love--all will determine not only the paths we are led down, but also the paths we shall set for ourselves and travel ourselves-- pathos, bathos, ethos--until death deals an end to our earthly peregrinations. These spoors--the lives, the lanes, the passages we shall be traveling--will tell us, and others, about who we are, and were, and if we were befriended ever by others, and by ourselves. TOD HOWARD HAWKS
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Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
AND IF OUR CRYINGS BE HEARD
As I finish the book, The guy in the corner says, Are you a feminist for real or are you the extreme feminist just like they say? Trouble, Tugging, Tension, Haven't you ever heard these words my way ? They spill out my pockets as I find a safe route to home today. I, I'm a person, I live to see my kids everyday, I drive my car with the colt in the back to make sure I reach home today. I, I'm a fire, I'm a story to be told, Yet I lock upon your entrance because for you I'm a singular sight to behold. You, You Animal, You Unchastised Beast. Struggle, Strive, Strenuous, Strength, Is the only way I fight your ***** hands off my naked body piece. I, I human, I wrong, I be the woman that calls hell upon. You, You be man, You be government, You be aid, You filthy human being, But I'm the one to blame. You, You liar, You sniveling little rat, I, I innocent, I sorry, I right, Yet I hide like a wet cat. Naked, Nauseous, Nightmare, The words I have befriended in the absence of the lord. I, I hungry, I scared, I lost, I join my hands in agony and frustration for the only consented hand upon me is that of the god. His, His mother, His sister, His friend, Be nothing to you, You tear her body with your claws, your vein's pulsing with ***** You, You drunk, You wrong, You animalistic, Yet as you slide down my skinny jeans, in tonight's bet I'm the innocent one to lose. I walk upon the sidewalk and all I hear you say, You **** You ***** You ***** from across the shore, Why don't you slide that hoody up above your shoulders and show me some breast? You look at me like I'm a chicken piece, You drool and spank as I pass by And look at me like I'm the one who suggest. You, You father, You teacher, You preacher, You barman, You taxi man, You footballer, You man. I, I wreck, I cavity, I **** I ********** I slam piece, I brothel but no church, I woman and I naked. So as I walk up home wearing those tiny shorts, You pick me up in those black tinted window cars, I scream, I yell, I beg, I plead. You shove it down my throat. You tear my humanity, You make me bleed. You, You stupid, You arrogant, You ignorant, You fool. You don't know my power for I'm the Gaya to your tomb. You miscreant, You rogue, You bleeding stinking wretch. You see that halo around me, I'm your mother, Your daughter, Your sister, Your wife, Your god. And every time you look at me with those ugly eyes, I want you to see my halo glow. As I picked up my book from the table, A feminist, A masculinist, A equality finder, A woman, A girl, I find a name to pick and say, And I look at your rustic self and I say 'You Don't Even Deserve To Know'
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Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
Feminist
As I finish the book, The guy in the corner says, Are you a feminist for real or are you the extreme feminist just like they say? Trouble, Tugging, Tension, Haven't you ever heard these words my way ? They spill out my pockets as I find a safe route to home today. I, I'm a person, I live to see my kids everyday, I drive my car with the colt in the back to make sure I reach home today. I, I'm a fire, I'm a story to be told, Yet I lock upon your entrance because for you I'm a singular sight to behold. You, You Animal, You Unchastised Beast. Struggle, Strive, Strenuous, Strength, Is the only way I fight your ***** hands off my naked body piece. I, I human, I wrong, I be the woman that calls hell upon. You, You be man, You be government, You be aid, You filthy human being, But I'm the one to blame. You, You liar, You sniveling little rat, I, I innocent, I sorry, I right, Yet I hide like a wet cat. Naked, Nauseous, Nightmare, The words I have befriended in the absence of the lord. I, I hungry, I scared, I lost, I join my hands in agony and frustration for the only consented hand upon me is that of the god. His, His mother, His sister, His friend, Be nothing to you, You tear her body with your claws, your vein's pulsing with ***** You, You drunk, You wrong, You animalistic, Yet as you slide down my skinny jeans, in tonight's bet I'm the innocent one to lose. I walk upon the sidewalk and all I hear you say, You **** You ***** You ***** from across the shore, Why don't you slide that hoody up above your shoulders and show me some breast? You look at me like I'm a chicken piece, You drool and spank as I pass by And look at me like I'm the one who suggest. You, You father, You teacher, You preacher, You barman, You taxi man, You footballer, You man. I, I wreck, I cavity, I **** I ********** I slam piece, I brothel but no church, I woman and I naked. So as I walk up home wearing those tiny shorts, You pick me up in those black tinted window cars, I scream, I yell, I beg, I plead. You shove it down my throat. You tear my humanity, You make me bleed. You, You stupid, You arrogant, You ignorant, You fool. You don't know my power for I'm the Gaya to your tomb. You miscreant, You rogue, You bleeding stinking wretch. You see that halo around me, I'm your mother, Your daughter, Your sister, Your wife, Your god. And every time you look at me with those ugly eyes, I want you to see my halo glow. As I picked up my book from the table, A feminist, A masculinist, A equality finder, A woman, A girl, I find a name to pick and say, And I look at your rustic self and I say 'You Don't Even Deserve To Know'
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118
If I was a provider of the content I like Like I wanted to be I’d never have gotten that Surgery that ****** up my mammary glands I’d gush a milky **** for all audiences Even the ones that knew me before I turned bad ***** And spoilt Even my great aunt and grandma and mom who have finally befriended me on Facebook The ***** in me covers up and cuts off these Lady parts But I heat up and cant hide The spark in my eyes when I see a girl Unafraid of her ****** Wearing lingerie on IG Feminism to me is radical or bust Is ********* your ****** ****** and Taking lots of pictures as proof Of your own ****** occurrence, Reposting if I get taken down, Moderator of my own **** self.
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Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
dank lady meme
there was once a lady with a heart as cold as the snow feared by both humans and demons in reality in her younger years she befriended the devil and now they are inseparable they lived together in the darkest shadows in the most sinister of forests she was his muse his protegé he was her knight her lover they were like Bonnie and Clyde partners in ****** partners in chaos he swallowed her innocence and her purity and replaced it by a beast that can't be tamed thirsty for blood and obsessed by ****** she was like a burning wildfire with only one desire to devour the weak and **** the innocents she was a warrior but without a noble purpose
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Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
mrs devil
befriended by the builders a building site next door they gave her little jobs to do although she's only four when friday came,they even gave her wages for the week foreman smiled at sophie's joy and tweaked her rosie cheek off she went, to spend her pay there was no way of stopping a working girl with hard earned cash so mummy took her shopping hello mr sweetshop man i've got cash to spend been grafting with my muckers an real job,....not pretend are you working monday? he passed her pick and mix aye! if those wankers from jewson bring the ******* bricks
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Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 4:05 PM UTC
early learner
I am watching you, every step, every breath, every word and touch. yet still I keep a sense of certitude - that you may believe you have befriended me. I am a television, a mirror, a frame in your home, I am a friend you can trust. I am a child playing swing, I am the woman you sneak around with, I am the unexpected friend you trust, Yet I am the one who snitches on you when we part. Trust me, you'll think we’ve never met. Yet when we do, oh man , you’ll know it. For in the oddest of times, well catch you, grab you,stop you still - Until you cry out, BIG BROTHER , I .. - ....Confess.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
Confessions Of A Poor Man - 1984
Hidden in the darkness, an entity of no real significance, Cloaked by despair, ruled by regret, acknowledged by few, The shrouded one lives, misunderstood, banished, forgotten, But it lives, it lives. Concealed in the shadows, a being of no hope, Masked by lies, commanded by sorrow, Befriended by none, The shrouded one lives, misconstrued, expelled, obliterated, But it lives, it lives. Obscured in the black, a presence of no ecstasy, Veiled by self-hate, ordered by fear, hated by all, The shrouded one lives, misinterpreted, rejected, meaningless, But it lives, it lives.
0
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
The Shrouded One
*Sitting in the room, Just staring at the clock. Waiting for the time to end, My desire to be free. Observing creatures called humans, Doubting their version of  reality. Nothing makes sense, No meanings. Life isn’t beautiful, It’s all in your mind. Nothing can make me understand the nature of humans. All those emotions, I can’t control them all. I’ve befriended a fallen angel. An outcast just like me. We got this life, and landed in hell. We made a deal with the devil. We traded our sanity for a comprehensible mind. The greatest memory or the saddest experience? Or maybe the stupidest decision? It’s too late now. The canvas I painted my life on Became blank. My tears washed the colour away, And the emptiness ruined the art. At least I got to see the darkest lie my delusion had to offer. My aesthetic soul, And my insane delusions.* All in one and shall be the end of me.
0
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 5:52 AM UTC
Aesthetic Delusions
It’s been a while… It truly has been a while since I’ve written here, but yesterday I was triggered, inspired if you will; inspired to write this and let it be real. When I was a child, 2nd grade to be exact, I befriended a girl on the school bus and long story short she spent my entire 2nd grade year manipulating me into all kinds of ****** acts not only with her but with other classmates. I was told by this girl, my classmate, another child, a second grader that everything we were doing was okay, it was all okay. Why?? Because her and her sisters did this kind of thing all the time. To me as a child it made sense I guess, but she also threatened that if I ever told anyone as in ANYONE she would tell them it was all my fault all my idea. All of the staying in classrooms when no one was there, hiding and being told to do things that were beyond a child’s or even some adult’s comprehension, the hiding anywhere and everywhere and the fear of being caught it all was in my hands, and if i told I was to blame. This went on for an entire year, or so who knows I blacked it out, but I vividly remember using a journal I got as gift to document it all detailed and when I got scared my mom would find it… I ripped the pages to shreds. And I killed the memory. I went my entire life until 19 years old that I realized it was never a dream. It was real. The point of this all is during a deep discussion With my best friend, I expressed to her the moment after all these years that remembered the girls name. I told her one day my mom found a different journal I wrote in as a child, she found it a couple years ago and I was intrigued so I flipped to a random page… and on that page it was a prompt that asked my favorite and least favorite things about school. My least favorite thing about school is: J****h . There it was!!! Her name . I told my best friend her name and seeing as though after I left the school district she stayed, we recalled the girl and how I can’t see her face in my mind but she knew she had a twin sister and they left the district after 2nd or 3rd grade and they came back in middle school. However by middle school I had transferred schools. Long story short it shock my entire being that I missed this encountering this girl again . And I will never know her face or why she chose me but all I know is she was just the beginning of my trauma.
0
Nov 5, 2022
Nov 5, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
Remember Me?
It’s been a while… It truly has been a while since I’ve written here, but yesterday I was triggered, inspired if you will; inspired to write this and let it be real. When I was a child, 2nd grade to be exact, I befriended a girl on the school bus and long story short she spent my entire 2nd grade year manipulating me into all kinds of ****** acts not only with her but with other classmates. I was told by this girl, my classmate, another child, a second grader that everything we were doing was okay, it was all okay. Why?? Because her and her sisters did this kind of thing all the time. To me as a child it made sense I guess, but she also threatened that if I ever told anyone as in ANYONE she would tell them it was all my fault all my idea. All of the staying in classrooms when no one was there, hiding and being told to do things that were beyond a child’s or even some adult’s comprehension, the hiding anywhere and everywhere and the fear of being caught it all was in my hands, and if i told I was to blame. This went on for an entire year, or so who knows I blacked it out, but I vividly remember using a journal I got as gift to document it all detailed and when I got scared my mom would find it… I ripped the pages to shreds. And I killed the memory. I went my entire life until 19 years old that I realized it was never a dream. It was real. The point of this all is during a deep discussion With my best friend, I expressed to her the moment after all these years that remembered the girls name. I told her one day my mom found a different journal I wrote in as a child, she found it a couple years ago and I was intrigued so I flipped to a random page… and on that page it was a prompt that asked my favorite and least favorite things about school. My least favorite thing about school is: J****h . There it was!!! Her name . I told my best friend her name and seeing as though after I left the school district she stayed, we recalled the girl and how I can’t see her face in my mind but she knew she had a twin sister and they left the district after 2nd or 3rd grade and they came back in middle school. However by middle school I had transferred schools. Long story short it shock my entire being that I missed this encountering this girl again . And I will never know her face or why she chose me but all I know is she was just the beginning of my trauma.
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12
Jackie Robinson is exalted as the first Black man to play, but far fewer fans remember Glenn Burke, the first ballplayer openly gay. Like Jackie, he played for the Dodgers- (different coast and a different time.) Glenn came up to the Majors In the summer of 79’ Burke was strong and tall and fast And some teammates called him “ King Kong” Though he roomed with Reggie Smith on the road most nights Reggie Smith slept alone. Burke befriended Young Tommy Lasorda which was why he was traded away. Old Lasorda couldn’t deal with the rumors, Nor acknowledge his own son was gay. Glenn Burke rode the pines while in Oakland Billy Martin never gave him much chance When Burke injured his leg in Spring Training That ended his time at the dance. He drifted, his playing days over, He used, he stole and did time. An accident left him a ******* Unprotected *** ended his line. No shock was the A.I.D.s diagnosis- His sister had long known he was gay. When she took him in he was dying when all others turned him away. Sandy Alderson, with the Athletics, took pity on Burke in despair. The team paid for his A.I.D.S. medication and covered the cost of his care. Sad is the fate of the Athlete unsung, dying apart from his team. Glenn Burke showed that a gay man could play, That a Gay Athlete also can dream. Glenn Burke passed a long time ago But his story deserves to be told. He said when your suffering, dying of A.I.D.S. Even days in the summer are cold.
0
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
Out at the Plate