Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hannah Beasley Feb 2018
It was my first time meeting A’s grandmother-
I brought her flowers
Laid out on A’s den floor I begun writing this poem
While A watches anime-
English subbed
We are supposed to be studying-
we did for a while but
E has been on the same page for half an hour
As C sits atop a table-
making bird noises from above
We move to the dining room
because A’s grandmother made noodles and egg rolls
E is ******* up his noodles like a vacuum
I don't blame him- they taste like Jesus
C sneezes so loud it makes everyone jump
I look around the table, thinking of the past year
And all the friends i've made
Love, Platonic love, is beautiful
- After Sabrina Benaim
Cole Cummings Oct 2017
Its 4 A.M. and I'm listening to another obscure indie band I think you'd like.
The Album in question is appropriately named:
People Who Can Eat People Are The Luckiest People in The World.
Apparently, we all have bad people inside us.
Rapists, Nazis, Politicians, all crowded inside our tiny hearts.
No more room for compassion.
I guess we eat our issues and stuff them there,
Like some sort of factory.
Maybe that's how evil is created.
Stories for another time i guess?
Its 5 A.M. and I still miss you.
The Next Album on my playlist is titled Hospice.
I suppose that's a way to say how i feel.
So close to giving up, just comfortably dying.
He keeps saying that he's sorry.
I'm not sure what for.
I'll send you another Playlist later today.
Maybe you will hear my screams in between the upbeat guitar
and crashing of drums that is my tired body and soul.
Maybe you can tell me what i don't understand.
Do the Impossible.
Fix me.
Its 6 A.M. and the music has shifted to Button Poetry broadcasts
Neil Hilborn and Reagan Meyers clash against Sabrina Benaim
all of them saying the same thing without speaking the same words.
"Broken does not mean useless"
"Depression is not a means to an end"
"You cant fix some things with paper and pens"
They all scream their emotions into an open mic, the feedback cries with resounding applause, hollow but sweet.
It's 7 A.M. and i'm still here.
Still silently screaming.
I pray that my words reach your deaf ears.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
so that's what...
slayer,
the corrs...
      daft punk...
   garmarna...
           sabrina
benaim...
   or...
i just hate
being
thought
of as a child...
infantile...
while
in your
seriousness
of adulthood
you hid
in your shadow
a *******
priest...
and you
said:
yummy...
while...
**** me...
what isn't
to like?
i snogged
a girl
during a tool
gig
in glasgow
in 2006...
i now listen
to you lied
by the same
band...
i want
to care...
but...
i will never
have
enough will
to possess a
need to...
have to;
god isn't
something
related
to something
my protestsant
christian self
might want...
it is, all that...
that is,
and at the same time,
all that i would
never wish upon either
me, or my own worst
enemy...
but...  
    it is what it is...
    you want
to remain intact,
beginning
with the baptism
of cutting
the Achilles heel
tendon
to hear some
****** attempt
to run?
                     words...
plain...
         all i ever wanted
was to...
******* guide
the steering-wheel
of a ******* bus...
  remorse?
  yeah...
i wish that too...
light-bulb moment...
what?!
      remorse?
     a psychologist's take
on... 40: and...
      not allowing
oneself a mea culpa?
yeah...
how, does, that, feel?!
dunno...
what's the difference
between
a heart as a sponge
and a heart as a stone?

— The End —