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Grey May 2016
When she held me, I felt like an earthquake,
shrapnel cutting quick to the bone.
I’m disaster, an unknown
kind of danger is the most dangerous

When he held me, I felt like a riptide,
all control ran out the door.
With the *** and cappuccinos
I felt out of place in my new home

When she held me, I felt disgusting,
every move my own betrayal.
Yes, she hurt like a gunshot
but I did this to myself

When he held me, I felt strange,
like I should give my whole self.
He never asked, I’m thankful.
I don’t want to ruin everything else

When she held me, I felt like a secret,
like I was something small and wild.
In a room of screaming children,
we were something invincible

He never held me, but that’s alright.
Someone tell him I understand.
Take it slow, like we’re new friends.
I’m alive for once

No one touch me, I don’t want it.
Stop breathing down my neck.
My throat fills with *****,
But the hands never rest

No one touch me, leave me alone.
Stop pressing on my back.
There are thumbprints on my wrist bones
and handprints on my thighs

Don’t touch me when you aren’t here.
So many years have passed.
Is it trauma? I don’t care.
The filthy feeling always lasts

Don’t touch me when you aren’t here.
Nobody ever has to know.
When you’re sitting by your lonesome
Nobody cares, you’re on your own

Nobody cares, you’re on your own
Carter Ginter Jul 2017
What is ***?
Society paints it as an equation
***** plus ******
*******.
What is virginity?
A concept made up
To keep girls locked down
The breaking of the *****.
Then do lesbians have ***?
Are they still virgins?
Is their *** invalid?
No.
Oral counts.
******* counts.
**** counts.
*** is ***.
**** is ****.
Hanna C S Jul 13
The first time was in the bathroom
Of a club I was four years too young for;
Lessons will be learnt;
Bent over a broken sink;
With my face pressed against the mirror;
My mascara ran rivers down the glass
Carving lines that looked like prison bars.
With rough hands;
He reached inside me;
And broke instruments I hadn’t yet touched;
No wonder I can’t play love songs,
I am still learning how to make love to people I actually love;
But my 14 years were too few to be angry
Didn’t quite know how
Didn’t know quite what he’d done;
And what that might do.
So I hid my thighs and ribs for three weeks ashamed;
My fake ID collected dust
Buried beneath my bed and self-blame.

That first encounter,
Left me frozen in an un-safe
space I couldn’t name
So I wanted time to stop its ticking,
Hold its breath and bite it’s tongue with me
An indefinite moment of silence to commemorate the crime committed,
But lessons would be learnt
As to my horror the cogs in the clocks kept rolling,
Every day since has stacked upon the last,
Racking up years
15: it took more than 365 days to dare to share the guilt,
16:  over 730 to absolve myself,
17: 1095 to say what had happened out loud.

The second time was in my kitchen,
He was a friend between blurred lines;
And ten drinks too many;
Lessons will be learnt.
I don't remember leaving with him
Or getting home.
But I’ve never known how to have *** sober so I guess it’s my fault too.
I woke up with an ache and my shoes still on.
There were no bruises; we are still friends; and I still don’t know who to blame.

The third time,
I was walking home, the air was fresh,
I had my headphones on;
Lessons will be learnt.
His fingers were dry and nails sharp as I froze;
It felt familiar;
His breath was hot;
Soaked wet with alcohol.
The bricks hit my back hard
But I like to think my knuckles hit harder.
I saw my mother the week after
I did not cry as I explained a  purple hand.
At least I had known where to aim it.

The fourth time,
I knew he was dangerous and I liked it,
Lessons will be learnt
With my hands bound above my head
He took control and mine with it;
He savoured every scream I spat;
So I, silently simmering, left my body there sickly still.
I am not a believer
but I told him he’d rot in a hotter part of hell
As he unbuckled me with a malboro red and a laugh that I choked on
So I took the cigarette and gave him a dose of what the devil will do for me,
A small vengeance that burnt like the venom in my veins

I have felt like flames so many times now
Been consumed by violent flickers,
That set this bloodied body ablaze,
But even the biggest bonfires burn out,
And I am no different
My bones are black with char like wearied wood
So when I take the train home I count my bruises;
I'm unsure which ones were left without consent.
there is no such thing as non-consensual ***. There is only *** and assault.
That being said, when it happens so many times, you start to wonder who is really to blame. I don't like this poem, and I'm sure I will rewrite it many times - But certain things must be said.
Renee Jul 10
My dear

Your body is yours to give
But is never anyone else’s to take

Beware the sweet words they will use
To try to win you over
Emilija Aug 2018
I own a good chin to lift
a look that threatens from a distance.
The shield I never thought I’d get in the mail is here,
name written on it and everything.

So I walk out, shield up,
and yet
I shiver if I only get a hint of

A scent,
reminding me of someone
who ****** me with no permission.

Sometimes, I forget the amount of my anger
But, if it bares meaning,
I understand it.
Not only mine, the anger of many women, who

woke up in someone’s bed, and
left there smelling of a body
they didn’t choose to smell of.

Don’t tell me I should’ve said “No.”
Because sometimes the mouth doesn’t listen to the body,
body doesn’t listen to the brain,
the brain is not aware that

six years later you’ll be sobbing with the realization that
you’re afraid of the man you trust most of all

because he produces testosterone.

Six years ago, it happened too fast.
I didn’t say  “No.”
He didn’t give me time to do it.

As I was leaving, eyes clenched to my feet
I let him kiss me and say:

“I hope you don’t regret this night.”

That’s what makes me the angriest.
Well, this is pretty personal, as you can see.
She leaves a trail of broken heart
in her wake.
Like the River Styx, but
very much alive.

On the outside,
one would look at her and say
she's a faerie nymph
flighty, giddy and naive.

She treats boys like playthings-
they would say,
draw them to her and spit them out
her pixie pranks bereft of benevolence.

They are Theseus and Leucippus
heroes victimized by false love
they say,
the underdogs.
She is to blame.

On the inside, however,
it's a different story.
They fixate on her,
fall in love without consulting her first.

To them,
consent is an idea
and an abstract any-thing.
Something to be taken lightly or disregarded

You see,
consent is more than a verbal yes
and consent is more than ****** thing.

Consent is communicating your intent
before acting on it
and getting permission.

So it should be the same with falling in love.
No one owes anyone anything.
Best friend, dark loner type, new boy/girl in your life,
consider this before you vilify someone
for what they don't feel.
Semicolon Aug 2018
The length
of my skirt
does not determine
my consent.
No means no.

(This write up is mine but not exactly mine. I read a related quote somewhere– which wasn't exactly this but somewhat related– and then I thought of this)
Ashley Kaye Jun 11
do you hear
like ringing of still bells
sound like precious silver
clinging to the flush of a cheek
The soft sobs of her soul
when you berate her
her whisper but warm breath on your neck
exhale birthing desire
“   no   “
Have your way
Have her sorrow
Shyness?
oh dear. you are mortally worn
by morning
June 2019
He/She lives in
Her/his thought
And
Whispers
His/Her pledges

Meet me
In the dreams

May be
This is how
The world witnessed
The poetry
Genre: Observational
Theme: Guess what?
Dani Oct 2018
A dream once brought to me
Beautiful and sweet
Tender touches of love
Coexisting, together two bodies high above
Happiness and beauty wrapped around
We were tangle in it entirely bound
A dream once brought to me
Instead turned dark, how can this be?

A nightmare suddenly broke a tremendous light
A face above me now evil, causing much fright
Holding down my fight
Screams muffled by your hand so tight
Pressed against me without tender touches of light

Happiness and beauty no longer in sight
Instead held captive by chains of despair
I stare over my own body tortured, oh what fright
As demons grew around me laughing at my fear
Hard and unsettling with an ice cold heart
You pressed your hot skin to mine
It burned and welted, forever scarred
The nightmares end is lost without time

Shadows cast, screams stopped
Outside myself, scream inside, fight within
Nothing more to do, I laid still and watched
Done and gone, I think not
Replay upon replay, night after night
I dream of only what nightmares taught
And watch myself fight

Never winning over such despair
So sleep is my new found fear
While I never experienced such a terror that this. I know some who have. I have experienced when someone you trust breaks that trust by betraying and hurting you after consent of the initial act.
kailee cardinal Nov 2018
its a right
not a prize
milkymoon Mar 19
her faced oozed frangelico;
a sweet reminder that she was top shelf.

you striped her skirt to the floor,
eyeing her chastity belt made of condoms.
unbeknownst to her father, you stole the key.

his shotgun alarmed you but not enough to stop.
the laws about minors stumped you but not enough to stop.

unlocking my belt, she prays.
on her knees.
mouth open.

she carefully places the cross that looms over her bed in the bin.
marriage can wait, this can't.
you realize in the morning God wasn't with you.
but the hole in your ****** was.
Really my Lady, such was not my Intent
To be the Bordered Jack who ***** your Consent
Your Basket remains yet much Food was Spent
And yes - the Reason - it's Bottom was Rent
Should we blame the Urchin? That I guess not
The Market was charged in Prunes worth to Sell
Else I peel each Fruit and leave it to Rot
Then shoulder the Rage of not being well
There She is: The only Unforeseen Truth
Distempered with my Touch of Forks and lies
Which I should have learned in her Peeling Youth:
That a Prune once tasted tastes better with the Eye.
All this I learned in a Lesson so Big
That the Grape recovered was born a Fig.
#toniacouch
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
“Come now, and let us reason together,”
Says the LORD,
“Though your sins are as scarlet,
They will be as white as snow;
Though they are red like crimson,
They will be like wool.
If you consent and obey,
You will eat the best of the land;
But if you refuse and rebel,
You will be devoured by the sword.”
Truly, the mouth of the LORD has spoken...
Come, house of Jacob, and let us walk in the light of the LORD.
~ Isaiah 1:18-20 & 2:5


Surely our griefs He Himself bore,
And our sorrows He carried;
Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten of God, and afflicted.
But He was pierced through for our transgressions,
He was crushed for our iniquities;
The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him,
And by His scourging we are healed.
All of us like sheep have gone astray,
Each of us has turned to his own way;
But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all
To fall on Him.
~ Isaiah 53:4-6


“**! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters;
And you who have no money come, buy and eat.
Come, buy wine and milk
Without money and without cost.
Why do you spend money for what is not bread,
And your wages for what does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good,
And delight yourself in abundance.
Incline your ear and come to Me.
Listen, that you may live;
And I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
According to the faithful mercies shown to David...“
Seek the LORD while He may be found;
Call upon Him while He is near.
Let the wicked forsake his way
And the unrighteous man his thoughts;
And let him return to the LORD,
And He will have compassion on him,
And to our God,
For He will abundantly pardon.
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways,” declares the LORD.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts than your thoughts.“
~ Isaiah 55:1-3,6-9


The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me,
Because the LORD has anointed me
To bring good news to the afflicted;
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And freedom to prisoners;
To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified...
I will rejoice greatly in the LORD,
My soul will exult in my God;
For He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
And as a garden causes the things sown in it to spring up,
So the LORD God will cause righteousness and praise
To spring up before all the nations.
~ Isaiah 61:1-3,10-11
WS Warner Jul 2014
Corpses proliferate in soaring violence; heirloom of franchise and eminence— perish in erosion.

Timid denizens of derision, cynicism in roaring silence — optimism’s paling vapor—commodity of Indecision, our halcyon days forgotten.

Chosen token of audacity; the onyx maladroit feigns, prevaricating beneath the Sacred canopy.

Etudes of apathy; attrition unlamented; streams of guile— quixotic squall conversely merge — veiled conceit, eloquent arrow of equivocation.

The policy of attenuation.

Treason’s vine obscured beneath the blind surf of consent.

© 2014 & 2016 W. S. Warner
Charlotte Jul 2018
Some truths are told in anger,
Some truths are told in vain,
Sometimes there’s value in candor,
Sometimes truth just causes pain.

Some truths told aren’t told on purpose,
Some come out without consent,
Some when told do a great disservice,
No matter how honorable their intent.

Some truths are never told,
Away in drawers they’re kept,
Things gilded still shine like lustrous gold,
And dry are tears long wept.

I once had a truth I tried to speak,
But it was spoken by another prematurely,
I saw it happen, my voice was weak,
I handled it like a child and far too immaturely.

What was exposed could not be taken back,
It was a point of no return,
I was indignant, it all turned black,
I wanted the world to burn.

And burn it did,
But only mine,
Down hard I slid,
The real world was fine.

With time gone by, I must admit a lesson I learned,
The truth really does set you free,
But to whom my truth concerned,
I can only apologize, it should’ve come from me.
rosecoloredpoet Mar 2018
You are beautiful
No matter your size, skin color, religion or sexuality
Don't ever let anyone doubt that
Life would be boring without diversity

You are beautiful
and the lenght of your dress tonight doesn't justify anyone calling you a **** nor gives them permission to grab your tight
Only you can give them consent
And remember to say no is your right

You are beautiful
wear those strechmarks with pride
They are perfectly normal and natural
Don't look at them as flaws
Your body is a miracle that you don't need to hide

You are beautiful
Don't forget to love yourself
The letter I never sent,
I write my valentine on your beating heart,
And send a perennial prayer,
That you could know without knowing.

Petals on your doorstep,
But no signature,
Pink Rosehip on your bedsheets,
Spying through your window blinds,
At someone unreal .

A label that travels as my desperations move it,
How I value the sick,
The unnatural,
The corpse and the consent.

The tenacious nature of a train,
With a hundred destinations,
None finite,
Moving and passing every station,
Leaving like it never stopped,

The will to pull me off it,
The weight of every expectation,
The ommitance after the deprication,
And the incommodious silence after the exposè.

I lust for that iced libation,
The roseate water of ivy and redemption,
A clay to fit inside my insatiable skin hunger,
A welcomed error of continuity in my own beliefs.

The rain of rapture will flood the streets to the chorus of weeping,
The composition of the crestfallen,
And my perennial prayer,
For an ardent antiphon.

-Unabaitingly, The Romantically Inept
multi sumus Aug 2018
Hollow shoes in hallowed halls
This sunswept maze where shadows fall
upon the stones which lie beneath my feet

Through the doorway thresh is held
By bated breath
and faith dispelled
my faculties restrained i do entreat

For many a moon has passed since last ive cast mine eye upon that has such beauty uncompared to any other

Chaos thought
A thousand dream
With hastened heart
Although it seems
i seek not her a Love
but yet a Lover

          They began to whisper...

   Which shall speak that her gaze may fall upon Us?
   And to what voice heard will her hand reach forth?

   Be it by pillowed tone her heart be swooned?

   Nay, But with intellect and eloquence shall she be found appeased

   And what of charm found south with a hint of gentleman drawl?

   Or does she desire a tumble and rough to take hold and charge her?

   Perhaps raw and silent with mystery air, allowing her curiosity to draw her near Hahaha!

Ahh humor, Yes a quick travel in, entertain her that she may be...Tickled


Cease this banter
Silence
Still
Strength within
Bend
Break i will not
follow in Your footsteps any longer!

Now bold am i
Through time and times
With patience prayer
and then i find
That that which destroys not    
just makes me stronger

So with humble speech and subtle grin
Repore is built
Then questioning
"Opportunity may i have to call upon you?"

Refuse me not
My dear i pray thee
Words amassed
Forgive and let be
known they're spoken only unto few


And within the shadow They murmured
Each by Their turn...

   Bound by silken thread and silent tongue?

   Nay, By soft and sweetened lips shall We speak unto her flesh
Be not word nor sound that echoes in those ears but merely whispers to her soul

   Mmm, inch by inch shall she be ravished, Savoring every delicate morsel, And feasting upon her succulence shall We find solace

   Oh! That We be granted leave to bestow upon her such pleasures

   Pleasures yes! And through pain she will know them!

   Release Us That We may consume!

Deny Us not for We hunger!


NAY! the scream
though not aloud
Consent withheld
within a shroud of
mystery to why the unacception

So unto the lock
the bars do hold
These "demons" kept  
since times of old
speech silent to avoid any detection.
Marissa Jan 4
please don’t touch me
she said looking at the floor
because while it may seem like no big deal to you
to her, your hands feel like bugs crawling beneath her skin
invading the comfort of her own body
please don’t kiss me
she whispered turning away
because even though she is in a relationship with you
consent still needs to be renewed
like vows to keep each other safe
from the demons of assault
please don’t force me
she begged as she laid beneath you
because a woman is taught that her clothes can’t be too revealing
and her smile can’t be too friendly
instead of teaching men that **** is horrible and no means no
please don’t push someone for ***
because ****** assault is not always a drug induced nightmare or a physical force holding you down
it can be the manipulation or the bribing
the begging or the crying
please don’t forget
it’s not just about ***
it’s about who is in control
and who is controlled
the owner and the object
we are all equals
it’s time to treat us as such
nojak Mar 2015
Ø
some strange misery:
how you bare your aching body
and give divine consent
and give honey
like sun dust
like i have tasted
to another
zoie marie lynn Mar 2018
being *** won’t save me from touches i didn’t ask for,
because that’s what they are,
touches i didn’t ask for.
and you still punch me lightly in the arm,
like we’re fooling around, like you didn’t do anything wrong.
but i don’t like it like that,
i never have.
it feels so much worse when it’s forced,
or even when they're simple touches that the eye can barely see,
the alarms fire through my body at different speeds,
it’s absolutely riveting.
i'm learning the difference between want and need,
and i think when it all comes down to it,
you never even wanted me.
my eyes are up here,
not scattered in the crevices folded in my skin,
my eyes are up here,
but you don't care because you're wearing my favorite lopsided grin.
i believe in individuals having a right to their own consent,
and no offense, but you're not my romeo and i'm not your juliet.
liking the same *** won't save you from touches you didn't ask for,
because that's what they were,
touches you didn't ask for.
i think you can tell i haven't been doing so well
moon child Dec 2018
"You're so ******* ****"
After she got done ****** me.

"Hey you up?"
4am from a man working at the liquor store I frequent.

"If you weren’t such an *** tonight I would’ve liked to cuddle with you"
A bartender at my regular bar.

"Hey I'm not complaining. You can beat my *** anytime."
An uber driver after I jokingly said I would beat him up. He was a retired police officer.

"Come on. You never even gave me a chance!"
A close friend of 3 years who was upset that I started dating someone else and not him. He didn't talk to me for over 2 years after.

"Seems like you're taking whoever's available at this point."
My manager after I disclosed to her a **** that happened to me days prior.

"Come on, can't I just get a hug?"
A stranger in a bar.

"What? What what's wrong? Come on."
A man in a bar when I wouldn't drop the fact that he had just stuck his hand on my **** and between my legs.

"Well you have to be careful that you're not flirting or being too nice to men."
My father after I told him about an uncomfortable situation with a bartender hitting on me.

Do not call me babe.
Don't call me dear
Honey
Sweetie
Love
Do not touch me.

I am not
For
You.
Jesse stillwater Nov 2018
The wind roars —
then stills to listen
to the spoken grandeur
from the soul of the
angry autumn sky
Its quickly moving grandeur
moving  way beyond
a trailing moment's wake

   Change often goes voiceless —
the autumn wind
needs not consent
to bare the trees;
disguising all symmetry
of yesterdays fleeting glance

Overarching that which
can no longer be
   as it once was —
A  bitter cold gust preys
on this aging bark
stirring to the roots
of my soul

Will true nature’s  
powerful essence
ever reshape the scars
these wind-whipped
human feather's
mask ? 

   The wind roars —
   then stills to listen ,...

and I wonder why
I can’t be the change
I see

Stillwater in the wind


Jesse Stillwater ... November 2nd, 2018
igc May 2015
I saw the best minds of my generation congested and
polluted overdosing on irrelevance

Abandoned abused replaced
Fed to the thought police
Corrected corrupted
Declining the potential to be heard in
exchange for the opportunity to be documented

Lives being lived according to unfeasible standards
You either make it or you don’t
there’s no in between
there’s no maybe
there’s no equal

Left to meander through the conceived thoughts of others
decisions being made
moves being made
eulogies being made

nothings real
nothing’s right
nothing’s honest
nothing thought up matters


Who in the safety of their homes were taught respect
are told to mask their emotions
Identities saved for the weak
Only to be showcased when conducive

Who pump iron into their veins
looking for an angry fix of acceptance
Sweat streams surge down their backs
Failure prominent in their thoughts
Motivation blessing their features
the Devil clever in disguise

Who see little white fields of fairy dust
a never ending landscape of courage
giving them superpowers beyond belief

Nothing beats the freedom of being told
You can fly

Who dream of equality behind closed eyes
But render to imposed birth rights when open
The upper hand implying more than height
and executing more force than necessary to move them

It’s all about the cause until you’re indubitably
the effect

Who tuck monsters into their beds
Forgetting to check closets for skeletons not quite left behind
in the path of carefully chaotic self destruction
Conveniently purging themselves of words whispered
in the throes of passion
Forced upon the ears of all naive enough to listen

Who carelessly expend countless hours playing with
condescending pawns disguised as adults
All grown up with no where to go
Replacing quality with quantity
Leaving long dull trails of breadcrumbs
leading to hearts long since lost
Never to be recovered again

Who follow sexuality by the book
doing this to get that for this him them who what when where
Why does the finish line have to be covered with brightly colored lace and muffled drunk cries chanting no

Who stare straight dead into the soul of love but never
Never into her eyes
Told she is not worthy of being addressed directly
Fingers itching to cop a feel
Only to discover the body is but a passage to her straight dead soul


Who trade in their voice mind and individuality
for half assed smiles and superficial men
As the face of a leviathan nicknamed acceptance
hands them a paycheck they’ve worked too
night day night night hard to refuse

Who idolize the feel of phantom limbs of lovers past
Twisted words convoluting their heads
Forcing on masks of pure heroine
at the sight of scars left on the soul
Scratching at the need to feel wanted
But cowering at the ability to truly be heard

Who have perfected the art of parallel painting
Elegant red streaks hidden beneath layers of
choppy dark colored hate covering pretty pale limbs
Seeming to fade as colorlessly caked on insecurities susurrate bitter-sweet nothings that curl themselves just inside her mutilated skin

Who scavenged their looks from the bottom of holes
they’re expected to clamber out of
Smiling pretty smiling
Being treated to complimentary meals
Only to be served plates full of disappointment.

Who crave companion’s flaws
in ruthless attempts to satisfy their hunger for compassion
Selfless beings dedicated to less than noble attempts at vanquish
The call for heat too satisfying to refuse the trade off forever uselessly launching themselves into razor sharp blades
aimed at ***** sleeves

Who see soft lips as cushion enough to fall from towers built of fear
Dragging moist palms across pavement thighs
Tearing at the seams holding their
hearts together

Who cower behind brick wall appearances
fruitlessly clutching on to ideas reserved for the most fortunate
Scaring away potential with claws that seemingly only come
out to play in the face of acceptance

Who’s sick stick thin limbs trail their worn down
fingernails in an effort mar skin no one can see
Streaks titillate their bright red scalps
A reflection of their underlying journey

Who disgorge yesterday's meal from stomachs long before empty
Blood spewing from the mouth an open wound
Continuously sewed up but never stitched tight correctly
Wiring shut opinions but never gorged enough to
muzzle their Howls



Ideas, calm and collected have long been hijacked and invaded by Hestia

Hestia! Consent! Content! Acceptance!
Long nights and roid rage men!
Two faces fighting a losing battle!
Girls playing mom! Boys playing war!
Ill ridden parents still pledging to the
United States of Controlling Media!

Hestia! Hestia!
Overall reign of Hestia!
Hestia the beautiful!
Incarcerated Hestia!
Hestia the ******!

Hestia twisted and shaped to form the voice of conformity
Hestia constantly watching over and monitoring
Hestia being told what to ******* think

Hestia seeping creeping sneaking into the
darkest crevices of our minds
Hestia when least expected coming out to say
“Hello”

Too late! Hestia’s already made herself at home
Wedged between the rooks of your biggest fear and
burrowed deep into the folds of
Your  Worst  Nightmare

**** in a constant battle between
rejecting Hestia,
and accepting her.
This was obviously inspired by Allen Ginsberg's "Howl."
Considering it was, at the time, the voice of that generation, Welcome to Generation Y.
This is a work in progress.
Victoria Oct 2015
Of my poems new,
I should not consent view.

For the words I have scribed
are all written for you.
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