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The amateur poet Jan 2013
I've decided to start the year anew and try to figure out my problems.
Complaining at this moment in time has become redundant. For the only problem I feel is one I have created for myself. Not being able to let go, move on, I am carrying a flaw because I have become attached to. My last known friend who I can truly open up to. I am deeply conflicted with my own thoughts and don’t know where to start to fix this problem, that I have again created for myself.
To start off, I abuse him. Emotional of course, and not intentionally, but abuse none the less. Perhaps I'm subconsciously pushing him away because it’s better for him in the long run. The deeply ingrained flaws in my diverse personality are openly seen when reacting with his nature. When this has occurred with others I’ve simply distanced myself from them, allowing for my weaknesses not to be exposed… but he genuinely cares. As in basic human nature I am drawn to others that care. The romantic way no (not any more at least), for even if I wanted to love him I could not; having all guards down for another requires trust, trust only family can gain. As having only one person worthy of understanding me, well trying to at least, all the burdens are laid on him. It’s such a cruel fate but I could not help myself… before the worst of me came to light I attempted to bring some source of happiness into his life. This was a success thankfully, a beautiful and smiling ray of sunshine. Unfortunately I have come to hate this new relationship, leading to even more confliction. He deserves to be happy, but I crave his guidance and compassion. This almost primitive feeling of replacement and resentment arises, although I have already accepted him as brother, I don’t understand. Furthermore she’s the pretty girl my mind will never allow me to be. I can’t comprehend her thoughts, how can she be so happy, shallow, blind, loveable… how can she be so simple. Perhaps this is a portion of the problem, part of me longs to be more alike to her while the other resent her simplicity. Who knows, surely not I. What annoys me further is my lack of ability to explain. Trying to word all of this to him in a manner where he sees my true meaning…close to impossible. Such confliction of the mind, I see both sides and debate myself over what’s right, impossible to describe unless it is experienced. Individually I love them both, but together… I'm envious of their blind love. To experience to walk into another trap, too young to find it for real; that middle ground where options are few. Going over these things my own self-loathing increases, multiple opinions allow for one to distance herself from her own actions and analyze actions…locate the source of the problems. But here there are too many all pointing back at the ‘victim’. To cry for help when one is creating her own problems… such weakness. Do I set the one closest to understanding me free? Or continue on ignoring the cries… accepting they are a creation of my own mind. Such conflictions.
Arsalan Kouser Jun 2014

Who art thou?
Who am I?
Who are you?



Are My Thoughts.
Of a conflicted mind.
Fuji Bear Jun 2014
Humans are by nature
unappeasable  no matter their behavior.
As a conformist
We threaten outsiders,
Yet long to be our own person.
And individuality is no better,
We long for acceptance of
The group we once called home.
That is the nature of humans,
We viscously treat
those that are not like us.
Its no wonder so few are happy
with such constant inner confliction.
Because the human mind is
a kingdom ruled by two fears,
Fear of the unknown,
And Fear of rejection.
My pain is not a poem,
my poetry isn't poetic.
It's cryptic and a message,
cutting up and breaking
branches. Comprehensive;
my poems are suicidal, files of
medications and prescriptions
are seemingly all my mind
can write. Jumping to conclusions
and indenting my addictions,
inflicting this confliction, convictions
I don't mention. Those rhymes that
I have wrote; it was the drowning as I broke,
a broken draft of notes, that sing:
 "you'll never learn to float,"
Acid, or is it water?  
I'm hoping for the latter,
well I guess it never mattered,
years doubled and I'm sadder.
When does it get better?  
When do I get better?  
I guess it never will, and I'm
home but I'm not here,
I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I'm stuck,
and all my heart
can pump is tears-
All feedback is appreciated and welcome!
Johnny Agape Apr 2013
It's in your eyes
The magnet that pulls me in
Draws me closer to the breath
The pulse
The need
Fuels and pushes

God your hands
Rough and strong
Gripping so tight
Chafe shivers along my skin

I dream you
Up against me
Bringing me back
And I dream you again
Not mine, but my friend who did this meant to allow this to permeate my words and thoughts today. One of the best friends I've ever had:)
Kenji Nov 2018
It fathoms inside of me, the person I was, the person who I became, and the person I am becoming.
The epitome enforces loss of control, loss of desire, and loss of my true self.
Naturally, conflicting, always switching these dominant sides of me.
I lose it, in all focus of who I am, I deceive.
Unknowingly, playing different characters to clarify my true self, when it's all just lies, a game, a mental mind ****.
I deceive.
Questions I ask myself everyday hoping the answer will just flow, it doesn't, I just switch.
A confliction of pain, loss, hurt, betrayal, emotion, sin.
I lose myself.
I never stay.
I never stay.
But they don't too.
Alone, lonely...
Waiting to be loved truly of the emotion and depth I desire.
Born to love deeply, and to be loved intimately, spiritually.
I suffer in my own self.
I torture myself to these standards of perfection I don't even have.
I **** myself everyday, knowing that it's eternal, it will never end.
Not worthy of the love that I deserve.
In a cycle that scars my unhealing pain.
I cry, I cry everyday.
No one to talk to, no one who wants to be there, no one who truly understands what it's like to be me, and nobody who wants to.
Yet, loving so deeply is a curse, sacrificing your own soul for others but ******* yourself over in the end.
It's never gonna end.
So I die, losing myself between all my personalities.
Character deformations and a mind of a computer system that is constantly processing and rearranging, my thoughts never shut out.
Deranged, I scream and ache in pain.
I hide, because living a lie for so long has turned me into something I'm not.
The voices, they won't stop.
The people inside of me, they will never leave.
The thoughts I have within have consumed me, and there's no escaping it.
So, I deceive, hoping one day, it will all end.
Knowing, that life isn't a curse, but me.
The naturally deceiving nature of my soul.
Moon In Pisces
Gemini Ascendant
Black moon in Gemini
My thoughts, exposed.
KKM May 2014
We are born free people, yet there are always restrictions.
We choose if we want to break them, whether with facts or through fiction.
Whether on walls using diction,
Or any crawl through confliction.
And no amount of chains and barriers
Will restrain us, no contradiction.
We understand we’re not on ice,
That there’s always going to be friction.
As expressers, fighters, artists, world changers
It comes from an Italian word, meaning scratch.
Look at it again and a whole new world
Has hatched.
The term graffiti, referred to the inscriptions, figure drawings, and such, found on the walls of ancient graves or ruins, as in the Catacombs of Rome or at Pompeii. Use of the word has evolved to include any graphics applied to surfaces in a manner that constitutes vandalism.
75% of people think its vandalism.
Toronto spends one million a year on graffiti removal.
When artists get back in the game, they haven’t given their approval.
Why don’t you use that money to feed the thousands of poor in society?
Instead of worrying about the art that the citizens need to see.

I never got A’s in elementary school art.
Getting marked on art still sounds like you need to be smart.
But graffiti doesn’t have to mean anything,
Not every letter is a symbol.
There are complications too but it can also be simple.
Almost every kind that I saw on the streets
Took a soft place in my heart, eventually turned concrete.
Let me reel back to grade 10 when I actually took art courses
In the media arts classroom I was taught people as my sources
Banksy, JR, Sofles, Katsu, Kidult, Shepard Fairey.
After my first graffiti assignment I understood clearly
What would happen if you brought a spray paint can near me.
The reason for graffiti is a simple one,
Not always about rebelling, or having fun.
Every artist craves to paint in his or her own way.
And all of us have messages that need to be portrayed.
Like, I was here, I’m alive, let me leave my mark.
This city is mine too, and I want to give it my spark
I belong, I have a voice, and I crave to make a change
These walls are too voiceless when it comes to the speaking range
My love for social justice brings in political ties
Through graffiti one can tell what country thrives with lies
It gives any surface a story, makes it come alive.
Change the system if you strive, until justice is revived.
To try to help the oppressed,
The shapes and lines were mine,
But they’re the ones on the line,
And to sit and do nothing would be an even bigger crime.
I even changed my initials to KKB
The B is for Banksy, its everywhere you see me.
My email has a Banksy, my Twitter did too.
Graffiti is my life, though you already knew.
Humanity is lost within the walls that we made
Graffiti brought it back to me,
And like the ocean did I wade.
Inside the political aspect that structures our brains
And the society that gives us money to drain
All the false information and the things we don’t need
Gives me hope to find these messages written on the streets
Sometimes freedom of speech isn’t so free at all.
But if Facebook deletes posts, documentaries have biased calls,
There’s another way of speaking, even if we fall,
I love how it’s not typical; no tag is the same.
Its breathing life on the walls, not stuck in a frame.
It stands out.
Stands outside of a museum where you always have to pay.
To see something that may or may not catch your attention right away.
That makes your head sway,
Give you some kind of reaction, moves you to action.
Not something you have to think hard about,
There’s little analysis needed, a splash merrily seeded.
Its urgent, its in the moment, for realization.
Once the message has been received, it’s an artist’s confirmation.
I integrated graffiti as a part of my every day life, including school
Drew it in math projects, French presentations, writer’s craft essays, it was my arts night welcome sign tool.
I will carry this with me through university
And it’ll take me further in the arts industry.
When you walk by graffiti in the street, do you ever take the time to notice it? Like, really notice it? Do you ever think about the person behind the spray paint can? Writers are not only being underappreciated for their talents, but they’re being harassed, looked down on, all for no reason. Do you know any of their stories? Do you know what thoughts and feelings sprayed out of the can when the paint hit the wall? Do you ever think about the history behind the art? To breakdown the styles of graffiti, here’s a simple introduction. There are tags, the simplest forms of graffiti. A signature. There are stencils. There are stickers, also known as slaps. Wildstyles are also used, and they’re more intricate, more colourful, and harder to read. It’s a particular style of writing developed in New York City. A piece is one that takes time an effort, and requires more than three colours. A blockbuster is used to cover the most space in the least amount of time. And a heaven is a piece that’s put in a hard to reach area, like the tops of tall buildings or on freeway signs. There’s the style bubble, old school, brush, abstract, bombings, whole car, ignorant, landscape, realistic, billboard, cartoon and sharp as well.
A sense of tranquility seeps into my veins every time my marker hits the paper, full of energy, full of hope. Starting graffiti was a way to combine my passion for speaking out against oppression and my love for the arts. Even though my work is not displayed on the streets, it has the same style, and it may not have the same effect but it counts as an escape for me. It doesn’t make me a graffiti artist, and some would even argue that doing canvas work kills the purpose of graffiti but I always want my work to make an impact on people no matter which way I do it. It’s something I love to do, and anyone can take that any way they desire. There are stereotypes that I’ve had to battle, but in the end, I know my true intentions. I don’t need to make a name for myself. I don’t need to create a reputation for myself either. True, this is not real graffiti, but that’s as far as I choose to take my fascination. I do it because of the escape it provides for me, the sense of freedom, and the sense of power in my markers.
These are the little movements of writers, all of us trying to get at revolution. Art is not supposed to be limited in frames. That’s why to me, the streets are some of the biggest forms of freedom – do as much as you like, however you like, all free. The poor and rich all have to see it. No one can avoid the message. It is not only artistic expression; it’s a protest. A scream of anger and emotion aimed towards public spaces. Graffiti artists did not start the war, they just respond to defend our vision of what graffiti and society should be: free. A battle against commercialism and a way of saying ‘no’ to materialism and society’s over consumption.  To the government, you are not the only ones who own these cities. What about the rest of us that do not exist until we leave a mark of our own? This is a game of action and reaction, if you will.
Taking care of our society is our obligation. That means changing anything harmful to us with every mean possible. Graffiti seems to offend a majority of society but if we took the time to appreciate and understand, a lot of good can be done if we turned the negatives into positives. So if we aimed for change and acted on it, especially with art, we’d be much less stressed. More often, we’d just remember, to stay blessed.
an assignment for a writers class. i made a video, but this is the word version (:
Ena Alysopriono Nov 2014
Part of me
                                    Feels empty
A hollow shell
The other part
                                    Bubbles with anxiety
A tightness
                                    I can't lose

They are not mixed together

But they are also not pushing each other away

They are just coexisting

Something that shouldn't happen

That couldn't happen

So why is it happening now

Idk, I'm feeling really confused.
shamori Jan 2019
Attached for life
A reminder of tough times

Not to remind me of tougher times, but to remind me that I’m still in tough times

Can I cover up how I feel with how I feel?

Just to look down and feel ashamed of how ashamed I am?

Will you look at my skin and wonder of a story? Ask for my motivation? Or look at my skin and make up a story and wonder on my lack of motivation?

I feel good about my designs. They define me.
I hate these designs. Because they don’t define me.

With pain comes pleasure. A sign of living.
With that pleasure comes numb and a longing for living.
Michael Parish Nov 2013
Letters of love.
Show me the barrier
That seperates continents.
Will I know
The oceans sink
The love I send.
Wrap me up in glue
And seal the words
I love you in the conflict.
Lonley is the sour milk
On my desk.
The smell of socks rotting
In the wrestlin room.
Brings back the yoga from moorakas.
Make me fresh like a corpse of
Dead chum.
Fill my heart in a river from the
Red eggs I killed and gave to
Crab fishermen.
The heads are open with clear kelp teeth.
Unwind the widdower who says
To punture her lungs with a knife.
He knows the pain and conflict
When she breaths to die.
Snap a picture to tells us 100 feet
From air yeilded a 25 pound trophy.
The stranger lets us watch his knife
Open a rare white chinook.
The fire we watch was gutted and rinsed
In a metal sink.
The deeper we dig into flesh
The more we see war.
But the smell of salt water
And white bones
Feeds fresh souls.
And smokes our dreams when the red metal who
Holds hickory ambers.
The solitude is unforgiven when I
Die in dreams.  
Therfore I wake up next to
The chunks and blood red wine
As though gun shots provide reflection.
Back pack with me in empty meditations.
And understand we all must progress
Into the conflicting heart,
And see what cardiac death
Hides behind the scary last breath
Of euphenasia in my mind.
Tyler Durden Jan 2015
I'm scared I'll just end up in the pile of
"One of those"
That you always speak of.
Keely Jan 2015
I love to hate love, but I hate to love.
Jack Thompson May 2015
A love is special.
A love is unique.
But love is not.
I hope.

Forever tormented by the thought.
You took my love.
Uniqueness that can't be bought.
This feeling I had with you gone.
Forever lost and never retrieved.
My hearts passion truely deceived.

Despair swelling at my ankles.
Searching for love like before.
You punish me with shackles.
They've left me feeling cheap.

An artist without creativity.
Coloring with no feeling.
Incapable of sensitivity.
This image of replaying moments.
Plagiarism of my emotion.
A different person and yet.
My heart of thoughts - only confliction.

I want them to be special and unique.
This wall turned insurmountable.
My problem has come full circle with no solution.
Uniqueness ripped clean surgically.
You took it all perfectly.
Even these words you've taken from me.
I'm left with no choice.
You'll not have my voice!
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
Andrew Rueter Sep 2017
Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's

We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group

Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you

Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art

We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president
I would tell you all the things
we do while in my dreams
but it would only change the basis of our chemistry.

Will we remain just friends
while still sending lustful grins?
Please send me a sign, an epiphany.

I know it all too well
friends that turned lovers only to fail,
so how can I know for certain?

I guess for now we'll play this game
of dancing near enticing flames,
while we remain behind this curtain.

-Bobbie Leigh
thelemonpolice Jul 2018
I've got to be better,
I've got to do more!
You paint small paintings?
And I'll paint a wall.

I need to be better,
I need to make more,
I must be creative
Or else I'm a bore!

And all of these pressures
Swell up at my joints
And I just can't focus
To make me seem poised

And everything's blurry
As if I have choice
And everything's choking me
Even my voice

I've got to be better,
I've got to do more!
You've seen twenty countries?
Well me? Twenty four.

You got a good grade?
even a degree?
Just sit here and watch
While I tell you in glee

That I've got more houses
And I've got more cars
And I've had more boyfriends
And I've touched a shark
And I've snogged a stripper
And I've met the queen
And I've seen the things
that terrify me.

But maybe I'm lying,
and maybe it's false.
Maybe I'm ordinary,
It's just a pulse

It's all that we are
It's all that we'll be
There's truly not much
That separates me

There's nothing that's better
Than thinking your best
There's nothing that's worst than
Pretending to impress

And wasting your life
In elaborate lies
And pining for greatness
From unholy mind

It's stupid to care
And it's easy to fight.
What if all I want's hugs
At the end of the night?

And it's easy to suffer,
but I struggle to learn.
And I count all my blessings
As if they are burns

And it's scalding my mind
To recount all the goodness
Cause I just want to tear off
All the sutures

And yes this sounds crazy
I'm rambling thoughts
When have I been sane
Not for years I'd have thought

And if everyone's crazy
They hide it so well
Behind masks of confusers,
And bullies,
and well

I can't find my place
I don't really fit in
And sometimes I wish
I was my only friend

And I'd take me away
From everyone
Maybe then I'd enjoy
What you people call "fun"

And I just want to write
And I just want to scream
Cause things in my mind
Make people seem so mean

And I just want to travel
I just want to learn
But what is the point
If I end in an urn

Maybe that is the answer
There is no confliction
Your knowledge is power
We use to make fiction

So I'll tear me apart
And I'll suffer for days
And you'll draw open curtains
And I'll think that I'm saved
September Oct 2012
My spine has snapped, is tapping out acid.
Needle sewn to my vein, chained to my mind.
Pulse pumps powder, pulling me to placid.
Change into strange with the substance, I find.

Found myself like mold on cold bathroom floor—
My mind reeling with the feeling of stone.
The only desire I require is more.
Heartbeat to start a fleet of thoughts, alone.

Nation of realization—perhaps
We took and we shook the nook of pink pills
Getting bright as the night does, then relapse.
Ravaged by headaches and blue savage chills.

I try to bleed out need for evil’s seed
The red Devil—she’d force feed me her greed.
So, yes—I've used some of these lines before. But that's because this is a sonnet for an English project. However, she Googled a line from it, Hellopoetry came up, and I was wrongfully accused of plagiarism.
Khrystle Rea Apr 2013
each limb stays still
stuck to the soft sheets
not willing to move

my stomach rumbles
with no desire to eat
no longing for water
but anger of emptiness

never ending thoughts
repeat with a huge
to-do list accumulating
creating jitters displayed
by bouncing limbs

I am conflicted
unsure of my true feelings
but fully aware of
my ill health and
my wishes to get
so much done
Hunter Shields Feb 2011
I hate my conscience,
I hate my heart.
I try to make it right,
but it all just falls apart.
They always conflict
and I don't know what to do.
I just can't figure it out,
what's going on with me and you.
I'm not happy and
you aren't either.
I don't wanna hurt you,
be a woman's heart beater.
It's not you it's me,
it's not me it's you.
I'm falling down a hole
with nothing to hold onto.
Nothing's ever right,
everything's always wrong.
Are we meant to be
or were we wrong all along.
Can't sleep, can't eat,
my mind racing all day.
Wondering if I should stay
or just walk away.
Brianna Heins Jun 2012
Situations find themselves unraveling uncontrollably,
picking at scabs of superiority,
delving into wide expanded pits of insecurity.
The master of masking change
would be the ever drifting reputation,
it leaves bitter, it brings hate.

May I express how much I hate?
Nothing squirms and squiggles uncontrollably
more, than watching reputations
crumble, due to fake superiority.
What do I want, change!
What does she want? Change, but she gets insecurity.

To understand the confliction, insecurity
must paint walls of peeling purple hate.
Well, something in you will change.
You may remain stubborn, uncontrollably
defending your sudden superiority,
you’re just choosing a rotten reputation.

I wish to fly you to a new nation, I mean shes breaking your reputation.
I’d like to find the spot in your mind resided by insecurity,
I know you’re not studded with superiority.
She’s finding a reason for everyone else to hate
the way you attract uncontrollably.
Nothing about you, in you, should change,

because this digs deeper than the change
her and my relationship took, than are used to be reputation
of adoring each other uncontrollably.
of ignoring that insecurity.
of the day she learned to hate,
spindling a slippery net of superiority.

Her comfort zone of a home lays in superiority,
I’d rather cry endlessly than change
by cultivating my hate
for her, for her debilitating take on your reputation.
Transperency touches insecurity
and you are broken, falling uncontrollably.

I will continue to hate her superiority, but that won’t reflect on her reputation.
You mustn’t change your disposition, but lose the grip on insecurity
Don’t you dare hate these words, they care, they love uncontrollably.
Emanuel Martinez Nov 2010
Sometimes got to feel
A little hopeful
But end up disappointed

Got to feel a little happy
But instead end up sour

Done a lot to date
Accomplished and recognized
You'd think that be enough

Mask up troubles
Blur them out of mind
And just be proud

But if only one could settle
Without peace of mind
Nica A Sep 2017
Wish i could find the words without saying another bad word
to explain all the voices that my soul and brain have heard
some are a lie that caused me to cry
dealing with my problems, oh i sigh.
Built my walls too high, for no one can enter
that even i can’t reach in and fly in my main center
dealing with my demons, either if i am awake or dreamin’
i shouldn’t have believe them for they were very deceivin’
people think i’m flying through my life without feeling dying
they were all wrong for i have been trying

i see mirror here, mirror there, which one can i look at and stare
they’ve been my enemy lately, that i can’t love myself completely
i look at her, and it’s such a blur
i know it’s just a reflection but my mind sees all imperfection. compliments of perfection doesn’t help me find my direction.

in my eyes i see my true complexion
but i choose to believe my beauty is base on perception.
i still have to learn that i am worth
every living cell on this earth
that outside appearance doesn’t matter
but what’s inside is so much better.
nov. 29, 2016; something i wrote last year:) and i would like to share
Katie Eustace May 2010
I can't take it,
Don't want to shake it.
Give me a fast-forward button,
Or a reason not to need one.
(c) Katie Eustace 2010
Ellie Stelter Nov 2011
I don't know how to fight you.
I don't want to hurt you. I don't want
To argue, or even to be angry.

How do you do it? How do you
Take all my scars, all of them,
And rip them open like that?

But the worst part is, you bring me
To the verge of all my secrets, till
They're on the tip of my tongue
And dying, just dying, to be told.

You're my brother. And you are
So completely evil. Such lies should
Not have to live in one human being,
Not one so young as you.

You could have been like me. We
Were born with equal chances in life
But where it mattered most, you
Chose instead to take the easy way out.

You might think you're a rebel.
Because you drink. Because you smoke ****.
But it's just what everyone expects, all over again.
A broken record.

So why is it that we are so different?
It's because I grew up without a shadow
Cast over me by you, but rather in the light
That you refused to even see.

The difference is you fight against
The sense of justice in your gut,
And I fight for it.
mc ish Sep 2018
how awe inspiring
a love derived from love
a love derived from fear
everything i ever felt
has led me to this wretched "here"
pull my hair like you pull my heartstrings
im sure we'll do just fine
everything i have ever known about you
has made me want to call you "mine"
you are strong in more ways than one
a lover has not needed to commit such felonies as me
"well... that was fun"
"i cant believe how long that took you to see"
rattling keys doused in ivory peace
lovely lovely souls masked by a need to feel first at least
at last
i have longed for a day of fulfillment
yet today i am met with nothing but turmoil
this hellbound love does not feel heavensent
but this day is the day in which i refuse to recoil
i would not be the same without you
im quite bad at this huh?
Viseract Jan 2017
As I reminisce over you
I lick my dry and cracked lips
Your poison, so sweet
Sharp and pointed fingertips

Mixed and lonely
I'm caged by my own thoughts
Your scars, so perfect
Struggling I've fought

Love is just a masquerade for pain
My beauty hides a beast that has yet to be tamed
But I want you, need you, I'm so lonely
And my desires remain unnamed

My scars are raised in purple
Because I loved the pain
Ever since I met you
It hasn't been the same

Kiss the desolation,
Remove the isolation
Cleanse me of my sins
To yours, let me in

From prison to prison
Though yours seems like heaven
Take me, all of me
Better trapped then dead
Better trapped then dead
Better trapped then dead
"You can't destroy what you did not create"- inspired by Slipknot
In the past month i have been depressed, angry, ecstatic, energetic, lifeless, happy, and hopeless.I have hated myself and i have loved myself. I have done things that i never thought i would.  I regret some of them. Others confuse me with the way i want them and want their complete opposites. I am a man of complete confliction. I am scared that my confliction has cost me you. I fear I am alone. But i know i am not. I have people, some that i want in my life, others that i don't.  And i have God. A god i at times scream at, whisper to, or share a secret smile or sadness with. A god that i trust, but that i fail maybe even more than minutely.  A god who you believe is using this circumstance, this what seems like utter loss, but is really just the building of walls, the lessening of potential, the closing of doors, to make me turn to him. And i am turning, but i am still failing. I am still conflicting. I fear i will forever. And that i will never be good enough. That i will never return to the state of  being enough to be with you.  That i have given you up for my conflictions, my mistakes, lusts, wants, and compulsions.  You are  guarded. I am guarded. I can no longer lay my self before you. I cannot bring myself to.  I do not know if it is for this, or for something else that you  have your walls, walls that i never wanted, expected, or even feared could exist. I have been blindsided by this. But you are not here to help me. God is, but i remain in this limbo of thoughts and actions that dont add up.
Allen Smuckler Dec 2010
Soft and tender lips
providing lasting comfort;
complex as it is.
June 29, 2009
Walking blindly through the dark, hearing no sound. I reach out for you, grasping for your warmth. You’re nowhere to be found. I’m blind and I’m lost. Lost within the dark woods of your soul. I want your warmth, the touch of your hands. The feel of your lips against mine. Yet, I feel nothing. Nothing but the coldness of where you used to be. The coldness of alone. Alone and shivering with the anticipation of finding you once more. But, for now I wander through these woods, fighting the darkness and whatever may lurk within. I will find you, search and fight until my heart beats no more. I sit thinking of you, thinking of the morbid array of thoughts that swim through that beautifully twisted mind of yours. You appeal to me. The darkness of your soul delights me. I love the anticipation of the next sick and twisted thing that will slip through those beautiful lips of yours. The attraction to you consumes my every being. Consumes me for everything I ever have or ever will be.

I savor the flavor of a thousand delights found in one single moment when your twisted smile lights the shadow of time to the core of emotion, leaving me more complete with every instance, and a little less myself each time we part, anticipating every next moment together in madness, lunacy, and contentment.

I bask in the ambiance of your soul. I bathe in the light of your eyes. I devour each word that falls from your lips. Every moment spent together I die some inside knowing that you’ll never be mine. I’ll never be the one to feel the warmth of your lips, the tenderness in your kisses. Never feel the ecstasy in which I so desire. You shall never be mine, yet the torment of being around you draws me in ever so much more. I may never have you to call my own, so I will satisfy my own needs by looking into your eyes, by hopelessly clinging to every word. Loving someone who never will be mine will be my death. A death I so willingly accept.

So we collide and coincide on opposite plateaus of the same parallel, a product of storms never raged, battles never won, and pleasures never quenched, holding moments passed in equal satisfaction as those that may have been, as the imploding loss of unknowing melds the two into one final entity, more powerful than the feeling of gratitude for all of the powers that be for giving us the one thing no one could ever replace……the penetrating ecstasy orbiting about this world of our own creation, to revel in every moment together, and suffer every second torn apart, in time, and in mind.

We wander through the dark, hand in hand. I feel your supple lips brush my cheek. I turn to look into your eyes once more when I realize you have changed. Your soul has become dark. Your eyes have become cold. I’m afraid of you now. Afraid of your touch, of your love. I try to turn from you, to get away, but you hold on tight. Your grasp on my hand sends shivers up my spine. I need to be free of you, to get away from you to save my own soul from being lost into the new darkness which has become you.

I’m lost within the shadows cast by every inner demon, unraveling their chaotic waltz to the symphony of my pain. I turn to whisper my deepest secret, my lips trailing the ghosts of my heart’s desire upon your cheek, and realize it can never come to pass, turning before the very words can die upon breath now sustaining me in suffocation. I grasp your hand more tightly, magnifying the tremors in my own, as the fear of losing myself without you intensifies. I need to be free of you, if only to save you from the darkness now contaminating the waters of my soul, for how can you be my heart’s salvation if it means the damnation of your own soul as you descend with me into oblivion? How can I whisper when shouts of madness waver upon my tongue? How can I speak my heart and my fear when such a morbid chorus drowns out my sanest of thought, turning my emotions into a chaotic lesson in confusion and eminent danger? I see my future, far more clearly than my past, for every memory made without you is one I would give my soul to forget, knowing I would die in vain, for the memories we favor the least haunt us more vividly than the happiest of moments could ever dare imagine. The choice between fading alone in unending torment and dying with you by my side, suffering in silence as I scream absurdities upon the dying wind is simple. Living without you is my eternal hell. So easy to fall in love. So hard to stand alone.

Only always is what you told me. Only always will you be there. Only always will you care. Only always will you only have eyes for me. Only always do you lie. Only always do you cause me pain. Only always do you inflict such dire emotions in me that I can no longer bare. Only always will I die by your touch. Only always, my love.

Only always will I be so calm in my insanity. Only you will always be the one to draw the best from me. Only always will I dare to drown in nothingness compared to every thought you only always bring to mind, each time I stare into the void that lies between what’s real and only memory of things that only always never come to pass between the glass refraction, only always cutting swiftly to the bone, condemning me to hold on to words that only always go unspoken. Only always will I be broken, bleeding upon the foundations of souls forever seeking completion, only always incomplete. Only always alone. Everything I've tried to find inside a dark and weary world, I find in your eyes, within your words, within your soul. The interwoven feelings of contentment and deprivation cradle me in confliction as I hold opposing worlds within my grasp, watching as they collide in euphoric tragedy, spawning chaos amidst a field of hauntingly menacing desires, blooming like undead roses from the devastation that my life once was, empowering loss with hope and regret, and the knowledge that, even though never to be mine own, such a thing, such a feeling, does, indeed, exist within a world so heartless and corrupt. Mine to behold, but never mine to hold for more than just a picture of what life can be...perfectly imperfect, and still possible for me.

You slowly caress my soul with the diseases on your tongue. How can one fornicate such passion within the heart of a beast like me?

You stir within me the echo of desire, reverberating ironically throughout my every thought, as the deepest part of me quivers with satisfaction.

A satisfaction I so desperately yearn for. The very essence of you makes me quiver in this ironic state of bliss. Your body has become a metaphor of emphasis for me.

I remain intoxicated, imbibing wine flowing from the beauty of your soul, captivated by the fire tearing through my veins like molten glass with every beat of my tormented heart, counting every second spent dreaming in vain into its unrightful place upon the skin of eternity.

With nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, your words haunt my soul; haunt every fiber of my being. Drown me in a flood of emotion that I cannot seem to waiver. Your words flow through my body as the disease which is you spreads to my core.

The very thought of the object of my idolatry imprisons me in thin air, levitating over balance and corruption, wrestling two demons at once: that which damns me with morality, and that which delivers me with the anticipation of every mistake, crying to be born, to thrive, to be obeyed. Take my hand. Set my heart free. Burn with me in depthless passion, void of conscience, bursting at the seams with long suffered lust come to fruition, calming every shrieking moan of absolution, losing our souls as we have lost our minds, with violent denial, giving way to complete and total gratification of knowing that although we suffer so well amidst all that drags us further into hell fire, we suffer willingly in the greedy embrace of mutual condemnation.

        The words that flow from your fingertips flow through me and reverberate through my mind into my soul. My soul which you are such a dire part of. You who lifts me up when I am within inches of knocking upon Hell’s hollow doors. You are the one who comforts me when I am mere inches away from taking my last breath. I will love you until the end of time. As you contemplate if I truly care, now that my heart pulsates on this flaccid plane of existence, and that you will always be one of the many reasons my heart will continue to thump its many beats.  I reach for you, finding nothing but the coldness of where you were. This atrocity of life haunts me, ridiculing me for ever having loved you. The beast within me screams your name to no avail. I’m lost and alone without you near. Time has lost its meaning. I’m trapped in a void of nothingness. Wondering ever so much when you are going to set me free. Why won’t you set me free? Crying amongst the pain you cannot feel. Tears disintegrate into the harshness of the rain. The validity of your words go once more unspoken. Hence once again the darkness has become the only reality in which I thrive. I mustn't relive the days amongst your lies. The lies you have spit at me with such callousness. The unspoken realm of my reality has become so clear, so vivid. I must be rid of you. Must free my soul from the snare you've captured me within. Yet the fire within your eyes has compelled me once more. For why must I fall into the depths of you?

        Yet pain I do feel, for every time that I draw close, you drift further away even as your heart reaches for me. It is the rain itself that disintegrates into the harshness of the tears I shed in longing for the day when you understand that my words are pure and not some greedy guise, for the darkness wherein you dwell is but the shadow that your doubt casts upon your weary heart. If it had all been a lie, then why do the memories that so torment you ring so true, more savagely with every second that passes in which we are not drowning in each others arms? It be not untruth, but frustration that empowers my words, for the very thought of life without you is only the precursor to my living hell. The reality of all is that you are my life and you are my death, sustaining me and suffocating in equal measure, imbibing my heart with your very essence, and rending it asunder with every tear you shed in unbelief. If you must be rid of me, then do so quickly, and have pity upon my tormented soul, for I wish not for you to fall into the depths of my sorrow, but to fall with me as I fall into the undying beauty that is you.
This was an ongoing creatively descriptive collaboration between myself and a fellow writer and one of my dearest and best friends, Jonnie Shelly Steffens Back, about an angel of Darkness and an angel of Light falling in love, and the conflict of differences and misunderstandings in doubt heeding such an ironic union. My character was Darkness, and hers, Light. I acquired her permission to post this, otherwise, it would not be. It may still have more to flow, and there may very well be a play written from this at one point when we are able to work together again.
Hannah Hagemann Jun 2012
The infinity of lights made her feel infinite
Like all the light would drive out the dark in this glowing city
She was as vast as the vast city around her

New York
None of the above
Dream World

Safe enough to jump
Not really to jump
Maybe more to fly
The fear did not affect her action
In her hazy dream world city

She could fly she thought
She places her feet on the slippery unforgiving iron
Stepping Up
Looking Down
The fear was still not there

This was not a suicidal act
She wanted to jump
Not so much to jump as to fly
King of this concrete jungle

The ***** of the heart
The pulse of the hand
The breathlessness
The final step

Shes soaring now
Shes falling now



you won't break yourself if you believe you can't

There's the confliction

The child that believes she can fly
The grown girl who lays broken to die

Her body is broken like a cartoon
Like Wile E cayote after falling off some boulder
There was a whole body

There was not
or reality

Hazy dreamworld city

In this flowing capital she beams with a twisted sense of perseverance
She sustains no injuries
Like tripping on those uneven breaks of pavement

They say you're never supposed to sleep through the falls in the falling dreams
The pit of the stomach
Punched in the stomach
Falling Dreams

Yet she did
Why was the fear not there?
It was not in her sleep cycle
not on top of the skyscraper in hazy dreamworld city

She saw her broken body rise to life
Why could she sleep through the fall?
And the next sky scraper she fell from
...Not in hazy dreamworld city
...Would she walk away?

Was she jumping from the money that built that skyscraper?
Or the classic Freudian symbol, dream specialists might contend
Translation of one image onto another

So I was jumping away from men
What's new?
Spend money and time
Loose friends and crime

Jumping away from reality
Soaring now
Falling now
Falling into the flowing light of the hazy dreamworld city

As flies will always return to fluorescent light bulbs, naive

Like if she got close enough to it
She would become it
She would consume it
The light would consume her

The dark expelled to the smallest corners of this earth
flying in this hazy dreamworld city.
Dorothy Apr 2014
Ever have that I want to be alone, but I’m lonely feeling?
You know like, on a Friday night everyone is out in good company
While you’re home on the couch because that’s where you want to be
And as you stare at your no missed calls or messages on your cell phone
A flash of loneliness comes rushing throughout your body

But then again
You’re home on the couch because that’s where you wanted to be

Ambivert by nature, surround me with people so that I can run around the whole room
Conversing with every clique and crew
Then when I’m drained take them away

This is the way I’ve always been
I don’t know why, It’s something I cant really explain

I cling onto my personal space, stay away from it I don’t want you in my way
But come back and be with me I need affection and some attention
I don’t really have any friends

An emotional roller coaster that’s never ending!
You cant be outgoing and be a loner at the same time
Choose A side and stop leaving people in confusion
Its like you’re bipolar, I cant take it and so I’m leaving.

I’m older, and now it’s affecting my love life relations
When will I ever become synced with my feelings?
A complicated mass mess walking amongst the crowds with her head down
One day I’ll conquer this mental confliction

Until then to stay hidden…
I keep talking
And to be heard
I remain in the dark corners, silent

Hannah Hagemann Jun 2012
The infinity of lights made her feel infinite
Like all the light would drive out the dark in this glowing city
She was as vast as the vast city around her

New York
None of the above
Dream World

Safe enough to jump
Not really to jump
Maybe more to fly
The fear did not affect her action
In her hazy dream world city

She could fly she thought
She places her feet on the slippery unforgiving iron
Stepping Up
Looking Down
The fear was still not there

This was not a suicidal act
She wanted to jump
Not so much to jump as to fly
King of this concrete jungle

The ***** of the heart
The pulse of the hand
The breathlessness
The final step

Shes soaring now
Shes falling now



you won't break yourself if you believe you can't

There's the confliction

The child that believes she can fly
The grown girl who lays broken to die

Her body is broken like a cartoon
Like Wile E cayote after falling off some boulder
There was a whole body

There was not
or reality

Hazy dreamworld city

In this flowing capital she beams with a twisted sense of perseverance
She sustains no injuries
Like tripping on those uneven breaks of pavement

They say you're never supposed to sleep through the falls in the falling dreams
The pit of the stomach
Punched in the stomach
Falling Dreams

Yet she did
Why was the fear not there?
It was not in her sleep cycle
not on top of the skyscraper in hazy dreamworld city

She saw her broken body rise to life
Why could she sleep through the fall?
And the next sky scraper she fell from
...Not in hazy dreamworld city
...Would she walk away?

Was she jumping from the money that built that skyscraper?
Or the classic Freudian symbol, dream specialists might contend
Translation of one image onto another

So I was jumping away from men
What's new?
Spend money and time
Loose friends and crime

Jumping away from reality
Soaring now
Falling now
Falling into the flowing light of the hazy dreamworld city

As flies will always return to fluorescent light bulbs, naive

Like if she got close enough to it
She would become it
She would consume it
The light would consume her

The dark expelled to the smallest corners of this earth
flying in this hazy dreamworld city.
In silence I suffer, drowning.
Losing the fight, falling.
On the surface, calm.
To everyone else, happy.
Beneath it all, hurting.
They know I'm lying, breaking.
I want you to see I'm okay, even if I'm not.
That way things'll be better, even if they're not.
Convince myself over and over, even if I don't believe it.
Tell myself everything will work out fine, even if I don't believe it.
I'm fine, no I'm not
I'm happy, no I'm not
I'm grateful, no I'm not
I don't accept this, yes you do
I hate you for this, no you don't
I don't blame myself**, *yes you do
*I do not know anymore, only when I think about how I am okay, do I stop feeling okay. Perhaps I need to just not think about it at all*
In the beginning was the word, and the word was with god, and the word was god.  It is this word, sometimes referred to as logos, sometimes as Jesus, that has existed eternally and did become incarnate for the love and mercy within himself to be applied to us when we deserved it the very least.  
He (Jesus, the word) took on corruptible human flesh and indwelled it himself, though he is incorruptible. He laid down his riches, his kingdom, his throne, and for mankind became a slave. He willingly and knowingly allowed himself to be offered up as a tribute to defang and defame death. He did so in one of the most imaginably torturous ways to have occurred in human history. He laid himself down to be lifted up. He fought not the fate of crucifixion, for redeeming the fate of man was his mission.
Why would the ultimate goal of the pre-existing God of the universe be to redeem a creation that had defied him? Why, when betrayed, was the ultimately powerful God compelled to give up his ultimate powers to recapture our affections and our fates from what our defiance necessitates?
There are natures of God, which we, as humans, do not fully understand. We understand God to be just. We understand him to be merciful. We understand him to love. Then, we look upon the world and we see death. We see corruption. We see the suffering of innocents at the hands of the wicked. We see terrible natural disasters destroy entire nations.  There appears here to be a confliction of God and his nature(s) with the reality of the state of the world.  
According to Athanasius, these conflicts result from the fall of man. The moment man gave up his purity to corruption, by choice; the entirety of creation began to follow him into evil, into non-being.  Also according to Athanasius, these conflicts are necessary for God to remain consistent unto himself.
God found himself that day of our betrayal, with a conundrum. He was just, and he had allowed our freedom out of love, so that we may, by choice, truly love him, as opposed to , by lack of choice, robotically obey him. We abused that choice, and though he loved us dearly, we struck a bargain with death. It was a debt that would destroy us. It was God’s love that would not allow him to see us destroyed without intervention.
God had spoken and he, being truth, could not reverse his words. To do so would have been to falsify his entire nature. God also loved, and he could not allow the object of his desire to be so ruined as to have never existed. He could not allow mankind to die and remain true to his own being and nature.
And so, God, in the only way possible, paid our debt. He destroyed death by himself coming as the incorruptible to dwell within corruptible flesh. Upon the death of the body he indwelled he, being incorruptible within the body, could not pass away. And so, after three days, with death’s sting in hand, he rose. He was the only one able to become a thorn in death’s side. Thusly he demonstrated his power over death and the payment of the debt of mankind in an acceptable sacrifice.
It was for mercy, it was for justice, it was for love, and it was for grace, that he became incarnate. It was from before time, from the beginning of creation, from the birth of man at his hands, from the moment his breath filled Adam’s lungs, it was from then, that it began. In creation, it is the incarnation and the resurrection that so clearly paint a portrait of God himself, and just how he loves man.  But the incarnation is an image of the character of God, acted out towards his creation. Just as God’s creation is a portrait of himself in some way, so is his rescuing and redeeming it.
He loved us so well he would bleed. He loved us so well he would die. And still, though men ignore, or rail against him, he would love them. He does not turn away. He does not turn his back. If centuries of men turned vile could not repulse him from his love, how much less could another day? He is everlasting, unchanging in his love.
There is a thread of scarlet, weaved from the very moment we fell, up until the day we shall be redeemed in the greatest and last resurrection. This thread from death, to life, through love, is Jesus. It is the word incarnate. His incarnation is a stamp of lipstick that seals a love letter to humanity.
So why it is that he came? He came to live, to be tortured and to die, yes. But what is most important is this: He came for us. And why then did it have to be that he came in such a way? We are men, and so like us, a man was required to pay man’s debt. We owed a debt to death, and so, like we had to, he also had to die.  
So what did his coming accomplish? His coming accomplished restoration of us to a place of life. In a sense, the restoration of the image of god within us to its full manifestation has been replaced within the proper space within us: Though this manifestation will not be finally consummated until our glorification.  It accomplished all it intended, and it intended our full resurrection, in all senses of the word.  We are resurrected unto life, unto intimacy with god, unto hope for a future, unto the loss for words at his love for us. We are resurrected unto eternal paradise with the God-man who loves us most.
This is the reason for the incarnation. We need be not silent about it.
I am contradiction, confliction,
I am human.
I had me but i lost me
stared at my reflection
in my voice
misguides your misdirection
made by choice
a past without correction
this is my self infliction,
I am contradiction, confliction
i never learn my lesson.
Jacquelyn Morgan Feb 2013
Milked and Pasteurized in infancy
I come of age and choke on the breast I've suckled and wrung.
Explore an open door of opportunity to meet the man who settled the seed.
Disappointed to find only horses, cracks, and neverland keys.
Recognize a social scheme of getting in, getting off, and moving on.
No longer ignorant in bliss,
Apparent to me that daddy left and all that's there is mother mirage.

She's climbing a ladder to complicated bliss,
Pockets full of posies, pills, and thrills.
Mind full of confliction,
self-deprecating inhibition-
hypocritical actions to condone.

Bake a cake.
Make a mermaid sandwich to oblivion
Talk metaphors to your minion.
Fake a place.
Call it home.

Be the hammer in my stone, help me tumble n' bow to your throne.
Sold me sideways lies and theory
Hypothetically, it seems to me that $commission$ was gained
from blackened eyes and skinned up knees
Come to find the wrinkled hand that led me was none but my own.

Guess your conscious forgot it's name
Guess your soul forgot my name.
Careful Grace that saved a wretch like no one.
She's carefully steppin' around your toes,
She's gracefully getting tired of recreating this unreality.

You're a ******' rabbit in a hole.
Lit a match and you've lost all self-control
What breaks you makes you.
What takes you, stakes you out to come and **** you, fake you
Knock on hidden hills door to get more
Swallow the roof that disproves your critics
Keeps you loose and ******* the alphabet dry.
Swallow Cold Alphabet Soup.  I try.
Tyler Jericho Jan 2013
As they talk of ******* teachers and eating ****
I contemplate where I might cut myself
if the righteous will and chance arose
Seconds of pain and otherly horror
were all that really stood between the absence and I

But words like that do little more that stain this page
and make actual the tainted thought
that is now setting in to my lead tongue
as frost is set on grass
**** that
Written 11-??-2012
The second stanza was added 11-19-2012
Daylight 4U2C Jul 2014
I don't want to die.
I won't die.
I don't want to disappear.
I've already been there.
Just having a strong conflict inside,
because I don't want to exist here.

— The End —