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Miss Saitwal Jun 2018
They bruise their pupils with the sharp roses.
They built an empire with fur and sequins.
And lived with poise and jealousy.
Burnt and alive, torn yet together.
The prudent of all, dangerous of all minds.

Survive, said the father
Believe, said the Jesus
cait-cait Oct 2018
the devil’s eyes are blue ,
from when they made him up in heaven ,

but he keeps his girls like toys,
strewn,
             broken
and like dolls, they lay in piles.

you know,
ive always kept my mouth closed ,
and my sharp teeth dulled,
for i have been forced to wear a smile
to cover up each bruise .

so how come,
when
he looks at her like a dog ,
you all just let him bite?

do you think he ever kissed his wife’s wounds?

because
you know, we know that you men all kiss his,
right?
it is time to be angry. It is time for women to bite and kick and scream and make everyone sorry for ever thinking that any of this was okay. I’m sorry Doctor Ford.
Mari Jul 17
It takes a week to heal the bruises.
It takes an eternity
to heal the bruise in my heart.
dissociation a curse
dissociation my enemy
enemy barges in
enemy takes control
control is crippling
control must go
go seek advise
go to friends
friends may ignore
friends may listen
listen to god
listen to nothing
nothing is something
nothing is numbing
numbing craves alcohol
numbing craves drugs
drugs are prescribed  
drugs will fix
fix my brain
fix cracked mirrors
mirrors taunt me
mirrors tell lies
lies i tell
lies cover bruise
bruise my hand
bruise my brother
brother is silent
brother please forgive
forgive me father
forgive me mother
father please help
father is futile
futile defines me
futile invites suicide
suicide with pills
suicide i survived
survived from coma
survived in hospital
hospital is helpful
hospital gives answers
answers for family
answers to problems
problems with doctors
problems with diagnosis
diagnosis is discovered
diagnosis is depersonalization
depersonalization creates poet
depresonalization becomes mad

mad
poet
Thanks L.D. Goodwin for introducing me to the Blitz poem!

  The "official" rules are as follows (taken from Robert Lee Brewer of Writer's Digest):

•Line 1 should be one short phrase or image (like “build a boat”)
•Line 2 should be another short phrase or image using the same first word as the first word in Line 1 (something like “build a house”)
•Lines 3 and 4 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 2 as their first words (so Line 3 might be “house for sale” and Line 4 might be “house for rent”)
•Lines 5 and 6 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 4 as their first words, and so on until you’ve made it through 48 lines
•Line 49 should be the last word of Line 48
•Line 50 should be the last word of Line 47
•The title of the poem should be three words long and follow this format: (first word of Line 3)(preposition or conjunction) (first word of line 47)
•There should be no punctuation
Where neurons readjust straps over Memory
My flesh shivers, breathes
Time boils planets for the
Soul I scrape hitting pavement,
Reshaping rock knocked off the knees
Ionizing clots cauterizing Dream
When gravity lies flat, beneath the sheets;
She,
Breathing nearby, our selves clinging
to Earth, to the perch,
Before Hurt pulls us by our Fingertips
Noor Mar 7
Breathe in, breathe out
I close my eyes and picture us
If God can look down on us, what would He say?

I am a ghost ship, lost at sea
I dream about your lips,
I have set my anchor.

Come closer, pull me in
Do you ever think of me?
Or am I just skin, flesh, and lust?

I touch you with my fingertips
And I make three thousand small wishes,
Each for every freckle, every lie.

You laugh like stars,
And I cry like the ocean,
Will I ever be loved?

Breathe in, breathe out
Add one more, to my bruises
My ship can no longer sink.
Tanay Sengupta Oct 2018
Shattered frames of ashes and dust
Remnants of our deeds,
Like the fruitful tree in August
Unaware of its seeds.
Claiming to be intellectuals
Ravaging on the weak,
Tied down by our own rituals
And the words we do not speak.

Divided by our views
Fake is what we feed,
Battered and bruised
We watch as we bleed.








Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved.
Hello there, it feels good to write something after a long time. Hope you like it. Cheers!
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
Imagine that
I could write a salve,
compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal,
even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh,
just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our
fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far
another bruise joining the cast like a  floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability

imagine that

where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction,
borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years
from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters,
children,
return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain

imagine that

the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be

imagine that

a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in,
in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up
and the stony chest is breathing lungs free

imagine that

and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing,
knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken,
they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver
sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed

imagine that

you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical,
cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret

I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins
when

we imagine that

for this how new healthy cells  are born

quiet-now,  go, imagine-that, now
if you recognize yourself within, it is no accident!
thank u all for the love and appreciation. one writes many poems in many disguises, so it is hard to believe  that an 8 month old poem, sent to you for safekeeping, is shortly thereafter barely recalled.
and then is rebirthed, and wouldn’t change a word...
imagine that!
Nyx Aug 2018
Time heals all
That we know is true
But its also has been found
That it doesn't heal all wounds

Some may be buried deeply
Hidden within our minds
Forced upon smiling faces
While people secretly die inside

Some have been printed
Like a brand upon our skin
Stained and burnt
Stopping us from letting people in

Some are renewed
On a day to day basis
Fresh cuts and bruises
Covering hands and faces

We hurt, We cry
Feeling helpless and gone
But some feel in control
The longer the act goes on

These wounds that litter us
Forced upon or not
They don't define who we are
Its proof that we fought

We fought a battle within ourselves
It was near impossible to defeat
But look at us now
We are still standing tall on our feet

And for most the fight
It'll be forever ongoing
I can't say when it will end
Its scary not knowing

But as long as we push through
Make it to the end of each day
We will eventually find peace
And our lives will no longer be grey

If time heals all
That all we have to do is wait
Because when the time comes
That will surely be our fate

Until then
Fight.
nosipho khanyile Jul 2018
I was afraid to pick up the pen.

Afraid that my technicolours
would become a bruise in their eyes.

I thought what what intrinsic to me
would seem sadistic to them.

I was afraid
they would be oblivious to the glitches I showed them in society

I was afraid they wouldn't care..

I was wrong.
sophia Jun 2017
it wasn’t chaotic.
it was calm and serene,
like the ocean.
the soft pitter patter
of the rain on the roof,
and the cool air it brought.
it was a sip
of freshly brewed coffee,
natural with no additives,
whatsoever.
the gut feeling
of knowing where home was.
and that is how
you came into my life.


the star that shines the brightest
amongst the pitch black sky.
it’s the white cloud that outshines
all the gray and gloomy ones.
the perfect fit of the last piece
to the unfinished puzzle.
it's the warm, fuzzy feeling
of getting into bed
early on a Friday night.
and that is how it was
when I started loving you.


it’s like a deeply cut wound,
one that’s inundating
with crimson colored blood,
having a tinge of maroon.
it induces pain
with every inbreathe
and exhalation.
it manages to have
the appearance of a scar,
yet it still feels so fresh
like a bruise.
and that is how it felt
when you left.


it was filled with haze
and suffocation.
the uncontrollable fast paced beat
of your heart.
Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile,
one that is hardly understood
by majority of the world.
a bite of dark chocolate,
bitter and sweet.
and this is my survival.
stuck in the third season,
but i'll make it to the fourth
Bryan Lunsford Apr 2018
I'll never be able to love again,
Well, at least not like the way I loved you,
As this night is a little before three, but well after two,
I lie wide awake in this bed unable to sleep beside a woman that I don't want to pursue,
With my mind wondering,
How do I leave her without leaving a bruise?
And wondering,
Will I ever be able to love another woman,
Like the way I loved you?
Dominique Sep 2018
Hey, my love on a far comet,
It's a golden sun kissed 7:42
I'm eating figs, bruise purple,
Plucked from the fridge,
Dipped deep in you.

Hey, my cosmic queen of hearts,
I've been an ocean since peach cloud 8:00
Full of oysters, strange deep gardens
Growing for you,
Eager to wait.

Hey, my bourgeois madam,
It's a bit past 8:15
I'm hearing birds, chirping blue,
And holding you warm,

Within this dream.
she's far away but sunsets bring her closer.
jlf Mar 2017
me
there are things
i should burn for
but i won't
there are things
i should burn
but i don't
burn for you
i still burn for you
when i drink i still drink
but only in fiction
i try my best
to avoid looking at
pianists guitarists and singers they don't upset me
but i guess their art is too honest
for who i am
as it should be
i will never
understood anything done
for me out of love
me i
shouldn't be alive
last november i kicked
my friend in the face while
he tried to save my life
i'd forgotten about it and so
when he visited me
in hospital the next day
i asked about the bruise
above his eye
he looked at me real
funny and told
me he ran into a tree
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