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Christian Ek Jul 2015
The power I get from your personality.
You're a lion, a natural born leader.
King of the jungle, in this barren valley you give me hope.
Hope in a savior, in a presence so uniquely rare and strong.
I want to be like you, I want your charisma.
You make everyone seem so simple.
Far above average, your capable of emancipating glory.
A righteous and kind soul.
Your energy spreads through the beastly sinners and compels their spirit to change into something beautiful.
For my best friend
She
When the darkness compels me
She is the light that unveils me
Patient and kind
She is mine
Oh so forgiving
It’s somewhat chilling
She loves me
When no one is willing
Heart so pure
That I am sure
Taking my breath away
Each and everyday
She knows me
More than I can say
Made just for me
She is where I want to be
She is me
Lizzy Sep 2016
Why can't I write anymore?
I finally have something to say.
For the first time in months
I have something inside me
Begging to get out.
I have a weight
That compels me to speak
That needs to be communicated.

But my writing is all ****.
It's all the same now.
I can't think of
Anything new to say
Even though I feel the need
To put a pen to paper
And let the thing
That's been giving me headaches
Every night
Have its turn to speak.

What is it you want to say?
Demon?
Monster? Ghost?
Whatever you are,
You're taking up too much space.
So say what you need to
And leave me again.

Are you trying to tell me
That you're lonely?
That you're tired?
That you're bored?

What the ****
Do you want me to do?
I'm just as powerless as you.
KSC Nov 2018
Love,
Like a fire needs 3 things to survive,
Heat,
A source that is responsible for igniting a spark,
It is that feeling of anxiousness you experience when you meet up with a lover,
Or the feeling you get after the first time you make love to someone you ache for,
That feeling that compels you to leave presents on their doorstep,
Fuel,
A combustible material,
Passion,
A feeling that is so strong at first,
Slowly the logs burn,
Until all you see is the embers,
When the fire is the most vulnerable,
Wood is needed to keep the fire going,
Work is needed to keep the passion alive,
Oxygen,
The breath of life that you get when you fall in love,
When you can't survive without it,
The thought of them leaving turns your world upside down,
You cry,
Scream,
When the oxygen is gone,
You can't breathe,
If you love someone,
Make them build a fire.
Oni Olusegun Nov 2017
Slender as a needle
Bright as hunter's headlamp
Okpeke next door makes
My heart skip a beat

Like yellow rose lures the bee
The sound of her voice compels me
The market square gong beckons
Who dare ignore the king?

When the moonlight play is over
I will remember not to ever forget--
All that glitters is not gold
I might have done something I'm not supposed to do
Michael Marchese Apr 2018
In the solace of self
I reside alone time
Not a person I trust
Anymore than my mind
For it knows who I am
It determines the truth
It compels me to peace
Of an alternate root
When I open its doors
With philosophy spores
And cogito of ego
And glistening shores
Beyond lavender meadows
And bottomless pits
Of eternity crumbling like coins
Into bits
marianne Aug 14
She pins her hair back
twenty-three and resolute, baby on her hip
and says goodbye forever
Her eyes catch on a single point, somewhere
in the hazy distance and she sets to it
makes a life
gets **** done

There’s no time to consider,
to touch the centre of the windstorm that compels her
it only winds her tighter
and because there’s laundry to do, and she likes things
neat and tidy
she carves herself up into glistening pieces
and leaves them there—
in the hot Paraguayan sun
in the endless cold Prairie snow
when her children disappear with terrible secrets
She skillfully wraps each fluttering fragment
and gives it away, no longer her concern
God will take care of it
lucky *******
and I am left with none,
or one

I’ve only ever had a part of her
the one that read the rules and promised
clean clothes, a roof, full stomach—
her threadbare heart
elsewhere

Maybe she’s tired, like I am now—
my own list in hand
To feel is the most demanding
of tasks
The animals that came before you
What right have we to claim their territory
The souls that walked this land for centuries
Can you hear them dancing in eternity
Are we brave enough to steal fire
From each other instead of the gods
Do we know the repercussions
Of all this karmic plundering
Are we ****** or determined
Are we ***** or just thirty
Why must we always be inspired
To find our lovers
On the other side of town
Your animus is a clown
And my anima likes to drown me
She stands along the banks of reason
And compels me towards her nakedly
Crawling on tired knees until I’m bleeding
Only then does she promise me
Her guidance and her safety
Pockets of peonies
Replete with felonious undertones
This music sings through space
We upstage our own angels
Who have fallen into place 
To the depths of their fate 
They make a soft landing
Held by time's grace
They repel the light's bending
While biliousness bulges
And consternation compels you
Is it corpuscular or crepuscular
Neglect that commands you
To make your escape
Do you select denial
As a worthwhile opponent
From the depths of my being
To the depths of the ocean
The sea floor is waiting
For you to touch
Her unfathomable bottom
Its never easy to escape your prejudices
For the shadow is ever lurking
Beyond your uncertainties
We are all floating
On top of a volcano
If it never erupts
We’ll not know the difference
But if it does
There’s not a chance in a thousand
That we’d survive long enough
To heed even one of these warnings
Onoma May 28
sitting on a lazy chair,

bones locked in place.

as rain randomly falls

through a breeze like

scattered seed.

wholly intent on the green

sway it compels, i reach out

my hands to absorb the stir.

imprint the latest turning, and

run them across my face.

seeing what sees through me so much

better now, wet all over with the

shoosh of passing cars.

raising the goblet that wets the beak

of a black bird, hailed king of my ghost town.
Eryri Sep 2018
I was possessed by a demon so lazy,
He left the Priest feeling slightly hazy.
He wanted some ecclesiastical action,
But this Demon didn't give him no satisfaction.

My Priest said "you've got to stick it to him!"
So I took us both to the local gym.
I did some cardio and did some weights,
I stayed there until really very late.

Finally, when doing some cross-training,
My chest started straining,
And a voice (not mine) wailed like a Banshee,
"The power of exercise compels me!"

So that was how my Demon was exorcised;
Bloodless, sweaty Holy exercise.
Now I'm a major fitness fanatic
Thanks to forces oh so Satanic!
Sara Aug 18
I’m useless, when I have no feelings of romantic attraction I’m safe and my best self.
But once my heart feels a beat, I’m a loser to myself and I lose my charm
The charm which compels me to be free

I don’t like me, so why should they?
I project the exact opposite of what I know is good, in order to perhaps cast away.
Do I not want myself to be happy?
Is that too much of an emotion to behold?

I try relax and connect with myself again but it’s this effort of trying that initiates the polar opposite

I’m sexually aroused by people who mistreat me -or in further actuality- who I make uncomfortable, self conscious and ultimately- encourage hate.
I need to feel hatred to arouse my love

People who are good, and good with my good, who allow themselves to be transfixed and emotionally, loosely captivated, maybe terrify me.
I freak, I freak out but in a different way that doesn’t make me act on my ****** senses  
Instead I turn to self-depreciation
Sorry for being bleak, I have to get this out my head
THE NURTURE OF CULTURE

"Have you a working pulse...?"
he asks of his petunias.

They perk up at once
to Pericles.

"...she sent him away cold as a snowball..."
he whispers to his gladioli.

Once again the Pericles
does the trick.

They positively beam at him
eager for more Shakespeare.

"Oh yes...oh yes...flowers...!"
he pontificates

"...adore Shakespeare
especially Pericles and other minor plays

rather than the great Dane
or say Othello!"

I gasp hardly believing
the flower's Bardolatry.

The herbs prefer
Gilbert and Sullivan.

"Really...?"
A ha...be my guest!"

I tentatively  approach
a sprig of oregano.

It looks startled
being sung to!

"Poor wandering one
though you are sad and lonely...."
"

"No no my son...herbs
like to be spoken to...not sung!"

Ahem, I
try again.

"Poor wandering one
Though thou hast surely strayed..."

The oregano dances
in the breeze.

"Or sometimes my son
a little dash of Noël  Coward!"

"What compulsion compels them..."
I sing to the chives.

"And who the hell tells them!"
before being interrupted as before.

"No no my son
spoken not sung!"

"Why do the wrong people travel, travel travel
When the right people stay back home?"

"Excellent...excellent one
of their favourites!"

What could I say?
His voice provoked such a fecundity

that could not for a second
be doubted.

"Oh yes...oh yes when one talks
to one's garden one

must bear in mind
that flowers and herbs

prefer a little culture!"
What of those cowardly doldrums to which I relied,

Identity defining fulcrums I felt I must abide?

What of a person, compels them to oblige,

Refining fear and placing all their faith aside?

Must I be exemplary when they finally stem the tide?

Haunted by the memories of every faulty stride,

Knowing that I'll never be... perfection...
even if I tried,

As if the failure lessened me
with damage to my pride.

Despite this insanity I go forth unafraid,

Be gone needless vanity!
by which I am dismayed,

I've been granted amnesty
to the deception of your crusade

For there’s strength in my humanity
Stubbornly refusing to wither or to fade.
Sag Jan 29
It all starts to get a little heavy the longer you hold it.
I'd like to set some things down, free my hands.
Little by little.
Trivial first, then the troubles.

He wore a name tag, which just so happened to rhyme with mine, and after handing him his coffee, he asked what it was.
What compels a stranger to ask for your name?


I feel so vulnerable with my hair pulled up
Exposed..
Like people are peaking at the back of my earlobes through the blinds and I can feel the warmth setting on the nape of my neck like the sun shining through them
I want to wrap my curls around myself and hide..
Fade..



Did you hear the one about the school teacher who won the sweepstakes to be on the space shuttle Challenger, the one that exploded seventy three seconds after take off and disintegrated, littering the ocean with built up promises and reminders, palms holding faces whispering
"don't let fear hold ya back"




Every January people pray that this year, this year!, will be better than the last, and I feel good admitting that none of mine will ever be as bad as the year the girl broke my heart, my parents broke up, and my first semester of college left me broke. Rock bottom was eighteen years old and wishing they would stop coming.





I'm know you still have fantasies about the girl with eyes the color of the plants she nurtures, how maybe she was the one that got away, how you wish she still wrote to you. It's getting easier to brush off as the time grows. I guess everyone has that person, the idea of them never leaves your heart even if the opportunity has.






I have twenty one voicemails I haven't yet listened to and I'm just - not.
I know somewhere at the very bottom, your voice is waiting for me, asking questions you never really cared to hear the answers for.







I have stored memories that I have never once shared with any one because of how badly they hurt me. I try not to carry the repercussions around with me. I try not to worry my future self by sharing the past with my present myself.








I've always been a collector,
of wine corks,
grocery lists,
small cut outs from magazines,
of sparse compliments you give in passing,
I hold on to every one and still wonder if you think I'm pretty.
I'm still trying to figure out
why I don't accept them in the moment,
how to.










Words come as easily as sleep these days,
usually not at all.
I try to quiet my breath and stop the sniffles so that you don't worry about me, mostly unsuccessfully.
I am always curious as to why sometimes, you'd rather not know what troubles my mind.
Don't ask, don't tell.










I'll let you quietly love, if that's the language you know.











Do you check up on me like you do with her?
Search for my name,
hear my name
with the same ring to it.
I know I said earlier that it's getting easier to deal with the fact that you still have this looming ******* love for her but you know what, it's not.
Not at all.









Sometimes I feel like I'm seventy three seconds away from exploding, disintegrating, littering the world with my broken promises,
the reminder of my failure to survive the pressure.









But don't feel bad.
and don't ask, I won't tell.
I'll let you love silently, if that's the language you know.
I promise I'm not as emo as I sound ??????
Maybe I am ????
Ryan O'Leary Oct 2018
The nightmares have begun
but more than that, a reality
has come to support what is
my greatest fear, which is, the
conscription of an obligated
necessity that compels me to
go home, where I suspect my
past demons are preparing a
subterfuge for a repetition of
the unbearable likeness of
Bweeng, close to the Monkey's
Bridge en route to Nad which
is the Cuckoo's Nest of the area.
Down in the village, dare I go
and break my sobriety in the
Embassy for troubled minds
seeking refuge from repressive
attitudes that pervaded the land
when I left half a century ago?
I think I will, must, because I
may well need an anaesthetic to
cope, so where else. Looneys Pub!
My name is Ryan and I'm an
alcoholic, I have been clean &
sober for 18 years, but I'm going
back to Ireland after an exile of
close to 50 years. A clove of garlic
nor a crucifix can't protect me from
***** Sean's who are going to be
there waiting for me. But my sponsor
said, Feel the Pain but do it anyway.
Dawnstar Jan 26
More belongs to he who holds the stone,
Of fortune's birth, the pharaoh of our time.
When words proceed, he directs them;
When foes recede, he compels them.
Hear the labor-stricken bones of men
Wail out from death and sooted soil:
Hail the River King, our stoneworks praise him!
Hail the River King, the rushes raise him!
Nathan Traini Sep 2018
Ages of humans here they’re told
Recite them to the young and old

First comes bone and then to stone
Next in sun bronze and iron shone

These be tools and weapons drawn
To make shelter and **** the pawn

Men lack hides of Rino thick
And teeth to bite but have brains to trick

Before the time of written word
Know we not of what occurred

With our tricks we peer at last
To see why we forgot our past

Trapped in ice a record tells
Of dangerous times that us compels

To say that we were simple men
Is a lie that we must defend

For if there were ages lost
Fragile we are and easily squashed

That’s why we control the land
So she does not to us command

We do not know in full
If the land can be ruled

5x5  10,000 times
Humans walked beneath the pines

The ages of women that we know still
Are but a scribble from a quill

From that time, long forgot
In our minds a missing slot

Deeds we did were lost in tales
Now myths to us dimmed by the ales

Who were we before the fall
History now, is a scholars brawl

The ages of men are short compared
To the time before we all had erred

Now the age is that of space
Not a void but a starry race

Here we try and avoid the fall
It’s a long way down after all

— The End —