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Tyler Dolch Feb 2012
Is it corruption that makes me blind or am I blind because I do not wish to see corruption

How can you represent me, when you all want, is to have more money than fish in the sea,
Corruption constricts you, but im as free as can be
Blue collar citizen  who works as hard as they can , white collar worker trying to turn that color tan.
No hate in my heart, just disappointed you see, leaders of my land could give a **** about me.
What ever happened to doing what was right and not for the green,
representing me is not being on tv and simply wanting to be seen.
You don’t representing anything , but corruption and greed. People working hard, they have real mouths to feed.
Now Im not saying we shouldn’t help the world and all the others in need, but what happens when we become the ones who have begun to bleed.
People in the streets . Citizens of our land. Speak up . Rise up. Do whatever that you can.
Dark is to corrupt as light is to right. Do what you can and protect your right to fight.
But the words that I say, isn’t about the fists or the bullets we could spray.
Use your mind, use your words , free flowing like the birds.
Never miss an opportunity to say yes at becoming great, reach out, grab it, this could be your fate! But don’t miss a chance and make that fate late.
Never be an option , always be the choice. Drive out the dark , and always raise your voice.
Together as one we rise to become something that’s bigger than our minds can imagine.
Or we could be remembered as beautiful mess that never was
How this **** fable instructs
And mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrap
Set in the proverbs stitched on samplers
Approving chased girls who get them to a tree
And put on bark's nun-black

Habit which deflects
All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the ****** shape
In a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers,
Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first Daphne
Switched her incomparable back

For a bay-tree hide, respect's
Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip
Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs
Won her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and watery
Bed of a reed. Look:

Pine-needle armor protects
Pitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop
Their leafy crowns, their fame soars,
Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy:
For which of those would speak

For a fashion that constricts
White bodies in a wooden girdle, root to top
Unfaced, unformed, the ******-flowers
Shrouded to suckle darkness? Only they
Who keep cool and holy make

A sanctum to attract
Green virgins, consecrating limb and lip
To chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers,
They descant on the serene and seraphic beauty
Of virgins for virginity's sake.'

Be certain some such pact's
Been struck to keep all glory in the grip
Of ugly spinsters and barren sirs
As you etch on the inner window of your eye
This ****** on her rack:

She, ripe and unplucked, 's
Lain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripe
Now, dour-faced, her fingers
Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly
Askew, she'll ache and wake

Though doomsday bud. Neglect's
Given her lips that lemon-tasting droop:
Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours.
Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomy
Till irony's bough break.
How long must you stay a Snail in your House
And thinking this Starter bellows out Air
Chance yourself a Door and try to get out
Then see such Fields breed Good Germs everywhere
This only true if Bland Pasta constricts
Yet flipping a Mirror for Crystal View
Mind the Artist. He's just facially fit
But chip the bones a Soft Marrow does spew
Never by Saint's Good Deed I took to Theft
To force your own Arrows and fumigate
A Candid Word which I thought was a Pest
And strained such Friendship to confusticate.
Let's start again. And adjust the Vinyl
Put the Record on-hold; And I Mingle.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
susan May 2015
i'm humbled being here
and i'm not sure why

i'm visiting
so i'm allowed
   right?

   so many
the stones seem to go on forever
and i dare not step on one
   no
that would be disrespectful
   inconsiderate
so i walk around
  sometimes hop
if it's last minute

and i find him

here
   alone
  a grey stone
     a military stone
a proud army man
but how proud can you be
   after the fact
i clean it up
   the stone
brush off the dirt, dried leaves
   so i can look

   and i look

reading his name
my heart skips a beat
    my throat constricts
my stomach hurts

i miss him
       my dad
i surely, truly
unapologetically
   miss him

but it doesn't really matter, does it
he's not coming back
   he's gone

  and i'm left here
to figure things out by myself

and it hurts.
Amber Bowen May 2015
Crying can happen so gently...
But oh god does it hurt
When you're curled up crying so hard
You think you might scream,
But your throat constricts
And all that you could ever muster
Is an unintentional mangled squeak of raw emotion.
Finally breaking.
Harsh Aug 2015
Tim O'Brien had the right idea
about carrying people and ideas;
we all have experiences that live within us
like a stain on our grey matter.

I carry with me every insult hurled at me,
caught by my web of sensitivity;
I lift them onto my shoulders,
my back creaking as I trudge on.

My insecurities are shackles at my ankles,
the chains tangling themselves and chafing my legs;
my knees knock and pop and shake,
my back creaks and groans.

The ghosts and spirits of the self-departed
dance their ethereal ballet about my soul
and howl their eerie opera through the night,
begging for forgiveness and understanding.

The heaviness of the future rests
inside the caverns of my cranium,
latching on to my thoughts
and chipping at my hopes.

Past loves plague our emotions
and rest in the deepest corners of our hearts,
reminding us of who we once were
and asking us what could have been.

A cloud of sadness condenses in my body,
little drops of dejection slide down my lungs.
My chest constricts and grows heavy
and pointlessly hopes to see the sun.

Everyone together carries the weight of the world,
but I'm not sure what is heavier:
the mass of the planet,
or the things its people carry.
Inspired by Tim O'Brien's book entitled "The Things They Carried" and  http://everybookisaquotation.tumblr.com/post/107062246764/tell-me-atlas-what-is-heavier-the-world-or
Lucky Queue Nov 2012
"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'
Self-loathing, in all of its malignancy, whispers
"You're worthless,  just like him!"
my chest constricts, my ribs prison to a heart
that refuses to pound its percussive rhythm

The summer's dying!
the summer's dying!  
and I, I am a rose
shedding my bloom in protest
the winter's passing, my only hope

Songs of exodus soon fill the air as crows ascend
painting the horizon black like an empty womb
"They always go" I whisper "They always go"
their melody haunting to those of us bound to earth

"we must go now!" "we must go now!"
bright eyes gleam, as each one sings
"we must go now!" "we must go now!"
promising freedom to those with wings

Bending low and curling inward, I lay
as my petals fall down around me
fluttering about like broken wings
migrant hearts, like theirs need open skies

so I found my freedom in the letting go
fisharedrowning Dec 2013
i should have known
from the moment i saw you
and the time when you left
to my present diseased state now

should have saw the signs
and noticed the symptoms:
my chest constricts
whenever you're around
my lungs swiftly assaulted
leaving me gasping
as if i just swallowed
an entire ocean of saltwater

like asthma, you took my breath away
at first, it led me to a good place
akin to a whirlwind floral maze
now that you're gone
i thought i would recover
but then, as with asthma,
there is no cure for me
i realized with a shudder

the painful tattoos
were burnt into my heart
and there they will
remain forever
Rose Jul 2018
my heart pounds
my butterflies rocket to the sky
my hormones are heightened
my throat constricts
how is it that i feel everything at once
delight.
contentment.
infatuation.
it feels surreal,
and it's all because of him.
the epitome of human art
i'm intrigued by every aspect,
every idiosyncrasy,
every flaw.
i want to be consumed by every part of him, to the brim.
i want to inhale the peace and serenity he brings,
i want to swallow his touch,
and never regurgitate,
i want to believe in the hope he's awakened in me.
i want, i want, i want.
but i fear.
fear the potential heartbreak,
the loss of excitement if he disappears,
i fear the depth of my emotions,
the abyss of "love" i always lurk on the edges of so idly
is it worth it?
to put all this power in his hands.
and in return,
shower him with the love my heart swells, threatening to burst, with,
and for once.
just once,
feel it back.
-v.la
Chelsea Chapman Mar 2013
24
You dominate every second of my day and every dream in the night. My heart constricts and expands, constricts and expands, quicker and quicker to the sight of your face behind my eyes.

And there, you blossom.

Your eyes are not eyes; they speak words unspoken. They are frosted glass windows transparent only to me.

Your cheeks are not cheeks; they glow and paint warmth through my limbs, my organs, my lips, until we are luminous.

Your arms are not arms; they are illustrations of your depth and through them you could be no one else.

Your brain is not a brain; it is a galaxy of passion, enchantment, optimism and adventure. I am engulfed by you.

And all I experience is wonder.
Corvus Sep 2016
I wrote a poem a while ago
About how all my poetry is the same now.
Because of you. And here's another dose of repetition
To gulp down my dry throat.
I guess this is how I know it's love,
And if I'm in love, my poetry has jumped ship,
Drowned in an ocean filled with tears
That I don't even remember shedding.
I don't know if my poetry is any good,
But I know that I can translate emotion into words,
And that's something to be accomplished,
If I never know how to do anything else.
See, I'm not good at loving you.
I don't know how to be who you want,
But it's too late,
My heart's already relinquished its grip on poetry
And now it constricts around your soul
Like a snake devouring its prey...but in a beautiful way(?)
I can write poetry, but I can't love you,
It'll first be the death of poetry, then the death of loving you.
Please don't do this to me, I grip pens,
I don't know how to safeguard hearts.
Here, take my last poem and leave, it's about you again.
They're all about you now.
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley

this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans

growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot

the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits

diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals

get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?

beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill


Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero

Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
derelictmemory Jan 2015
You have no idea, do you? You don't realize that every time you tell me you love me is another dig into my own grave. And every time I remember that you don't is another pinprick that never heals. I've got scars on my back from the last time you kissed me and there are bruises on my arm from when you last looked me in the eye. I miss you so much that I feel like every thought of you constricts my chest and makes it hard to breathe. All I ever wanted was to have your hand in mind and feel like for once I'd never have to be so alone every time I walk past another tree.

I remember the last time you made me smile. You were lying on my lap the day before you had to fly off and you were listening to me talk about the other people I had known from my journey then to now. I was playing with your hair and I remember thinking that there was nowhere else I'd rather be and no one else I'd rather be with.  I remember thinking that maybe I could finally set my roots and follow one path to one place, but you took that away from me.

In the same day, you put a stake through my heart when you disappeared and said nothing, no call, no whisper about leaving so I started walking back home but waited at the end of the road for an hour to see if you would follow. You didn't. Love didn't.

I was already in love with you then. And it hurt to realize you didn't really care all that much to make sure I got home safe.

We ended things. Or at least I did. You argued that even if you were in the middle of a vast ocean and I was on the mainland, our love could've traveled distances and I reminded you that there was no love here and that you were the one who told me without saying a word that you held no love for me but expected me to love you in places beyond our reaches of the galaxy.

But my hands could only stretch so far, and my heart could only take so much before the pain of being with you and without you all at once began to dance on my skin like folk songs around a bonfire.

I know my heart and I know that it believes in the worlds away and it holds so strongly it can hardly take the pain but keeps pumping anyway. But for once, the blood pumping in my veins understand that it's alright. It's alright to let go of love and it's alright to let go of you. My eyes understand it's okay to weep and that my lungs breathe better without tears choking it.

My hands will shake and be taken over by tremors but they'll know that you were never love and love would never again be you.
Amitav Radiance Dec 2014
Nothing gorgeous
About being draped
In the finery that constricts
The heart and soul
Sarah Pitman Mar 2013
Fear constricts my throat
and holds my chest right, closed.
The gaping wound of jealousy
is a pain that no one knows.
Do I choose to turn and run
or do I sit still and stay?
Will the Monster overcome me?
I cannot really say.
For people like you and I
reality makes for a painful life.
Dying to live in Fairytales.
The real world cuts like a knife.
Any works of writing posted under this name/alias are copyrighted. Infringements are punishable.
© Sarah Pitman 2013
Sammy Shale Aug 2013
Yeah, so giddy I'll confess...
Light-years past crazy baby.
Constellations of bruises,
a silver sort of stench of starburst blood drops,
sickening rainbow... purple, green, yellow... of healing.
Anyone else would be too.
But its a gift really.
What hasn't killed me's
made me stronger, right?
Strong and brave enough
to grasp the icy tail of a
rushing shooting star
and hold on, sharp and cold and clean,
ever tighter while mountains and oceans fade.
The lunatic soul locked inside the body
constricts with each breath and beat.
Until it surrenders with unbearable brightness.
Supernova in a straitjacket.
Faith A Mohr Dec 2012
I sit here in the dead of night,
In these four walls, I haunt myself.
There's hours yet 'til I'll see light,
And I am feeling...not so well.

The day was cold, with warm embrace
And I was feeling so alive.
The touch of sunlight on my face,
And joy, unbidden, in my stride.

But reality, the heartless *****,
Has ways of jerking on the heart.
Her nimble fingers squeeze and clench -
So fragile things will fall apart.

And so it was that I returned
To what I know I can't escape.
Something I could not help but learn,
And once I had, it would remain.

That I am independent, see,
And spirited beyond control.
I know there's things I cannot be,
For I have no submissive soul.

It would, perhaps, do me some good
To better watch the things I say.
I speak things that I never should,
And I regret them, day by day.

Yes, I have tried to change myself,
To coax out in me what is meek,
But every time, I'm lost in hell,
For such exertion makes me weak.

I struggle every day with this,
For who I am, shall always be.
Sometimes I cannot help but wish
Spirit was not so strong in me.

Perhaps it is not understood,
That I'm not mean in any way.
"My heart," I cry out, "it is good!"
And still people will turn away.

Yes, I confess, I do compare
Myself to those I could be like.
Demure and quiet, gentle flair -
I feel that I am not quite right.

I've been the same way all my life,
Opinionated, loud, and strong.
It's only been in recent nights
That I have felt...there's something wrong.

Why can't I reign it in, I think?
Is it so hard to settle down?
My heart constricts, my stomach sinks
At just that thought which I have found.

I know that I would not survive
If I would change in any way.
My boisterous spirit gives me life,
It's how I handle every day.

So why, then, must it be so hard
To get through life the way I am?
I'm only playing with the cards
Dealt from an unforgiving hand.

But it is every day I feel
That we do not walk side-by-side.
It's almost like I am not real,
But rather, wind, just floating by.


The sun is setting on the year,
And now, reflecting, I confess
That for the future, I've no fear
(Though I know it will hurt no less).

I'll wake tomorrow, one more day
On which the curtains will be drawn
And as the daylight fades away,
I'll hope that so, too, will my flaws.

I pray the new year brings me peace,
And ends the struggle I endure.
Not every challenge yet will cease,
But life gets better, I am sure.
Choking on emptiness
When you need someone so much
When you wish to hold them so much
But they're so far away
And your heart…
It constricts with longing and fear and love and you miss them so much
And you're not complete when they are
Absent.
Absent is awful
They are alive, they are somewhere but
They are not with you
They are present somewhere you are not
And it breaks my heart because she is absent from my life
But present in somebody else's
It's a choice they made
A priority they took
And you didn't win.
Once again you're at the back
And you're nobody's precious person
You have no one to be present for
You have no one to be absent from
You are just here
For yourself.
JW Carter Mar 2012
Sometimes I think I do too many things, and that it takes on my life,

And constricts my breathing

But in truth I am thankful for at least my stressful days are full

So many die and crow, 'if only, if only,'

Perhaps 'If only I had taken time to enjoy the small things,'

But I won't regret it because I can't regret putting too much of myself into the world,

In fact, I think my only regret would be not sharing enough of it

How could I, so blessed with life for another microsecond on this earth, be so selfish?
eatmorewords Dec 2012
Time will tick by on a watch,
attached to a skinny wrist,
the hands rotate casting small shadows over roman numerals,
silhouetted behind bonsai tress with eyes that squint tight in this end of summer light.

Phones serve no purpose until they ring,
and in hospitals life support machines beep beep electronically
as people are feed through tubes that gurgle
and words get stuck in their throats as life constricts and
in these ***** municipal corridors death stalks dressed in a stained uniform.

Men in ties crunch numbers and say, ”There is no way to say this Mrs Smith, it would just be cheaper if your husband died.”
We can turn off the switch and you can take him home in the back of your car.
You don’t have a car?
That’s ok, a bus stops just outside.”

Leaves are falling early this season turning the floor brown.
cellobello Feb 2012
I'm overwhelmed and overflowing,
I am happy but it is not enough,
My chest constricts with coloured pain,
I move forward but I'm drowning,
I curl up on myself and cower,
So unlike everyone else,
Or maybe just too much of the same,
My high notes don't have your power.

If I scream with this intensity,
A tight ball that will never let go,
Despite everything I once said,
Would anyone ever hear me,
A senseless, worthless hypocrite,
Who pretends she has a destiny,
That she doesn't walk that abyss,
Who's soul is just a black pit?
Klaryssa May 2016
My phone dings with familiarity of notification
I fail to reach
Failing to  identify the messenger
Thoughts all point to one thing
My chest constricts with fear as a sharp inhale shakes my body
It could be you
This knowledge, this esoteric ideology about who you really are, limits my tounge.
I can't speak
I can't explain you to anyone because the classic Marvel villian is much too kind.
Realization dawns on my face
I then exhale- slowly, taking comfort in the truth that eases my fragile heart: death prevents all forms of communication-especially druken texts after midnight.
We are drunk in our fears
We are high in our passions

We still-cangetbacktogetherright?
         wrong!
You are my best poetry
Written in longhand
Spoken all in one breathe
But death
Prevents
Sending
Text
Messages
And leaving voicemails
And coming to my house
And calling my mother
And harrassing my sister
And-well, moving on is hard when you, still want to move in.
Special thanks to Joshua Trevino
Isoindoline Oct 2012
She stares down through the open window;
sheer ragged curtains flap gently inward,
casting thin moon shadows on linoleum.

Her bare toe traces the square pattern habitually,
with the slow sensuous movement
of a crooning night melody.

She watches the dark contour of a man in the street,
barely illuminated by the dimming lamp;
watches as he turns and clicks down cracked pavement.

Her brown chest constricts, sigh persuaded forth,
and deep eyes follow his swaying walk
as hope fades.

In her hand is a reflection of the moon on metal,
curved to the shape of the barrel;
her finger strokes the trigger.

She raises her hand, pulls;
the melody reverberates on the window panes
an unforgiving song, an irreversible song.

She stares down through the open window;
sheer ragged curtains flap gently inward,
casting thin moon shadows on linoleum.
Who did she shoot?
Questions not answered, differences over dosed
Once opinion justified, suddenly all opposed
dr Jade Oct 2015
Nothing haunts us like the things we didn't do or the things we didn't say...

I wanted to write a letter to my best friend, and realized I don't really have one. You know, that someone you've known all your life, someone you share your hopes, fears, secrets, and dreams with. Someone who knows and understands the real you, and accepts you for who you are. Someone you trust with your life... Well, I don't have that, although you are the closest one I have to that.

Remember the first time we talked? You were confident and brash. I was awkward and shy... I thought (and I still do) that you're the funniest, most interesting, and most genuine person I've ever met. As the years went by, the jokes we shared became second nature to me. But I always get this feeling that there are parts of you that are kept hidden and unreachable. I'm quite sure you've thought the same of me. Other times, when I am fortunate, you let me see a different side of you, I get a glimpse of just how brilliant you are... It takes my breath away and my heart constricts painfully.

There's a doubtful, insecure, and hurting side of me that I struggle to control, for fear of appearing weak and needy. I always felt that I was never good enough, for you or for anyone else. I'm a mess of self hate and dark thoughts, and I have to battle my demons each day. I do know that you try to help me overcome the things that I deal with... I want to heal, to be compassionate, forgiving, kind, and strong in spirit. I want to be brave and fearless, to venture to know every aspect of you. I want to be able to take risks, even accept being vulnerable. If only I'd stop hiding behind secrets and things I don't say, then maybe, just maybe, we could have a deeper sense of friendship that we crave from each other.

Sometimes I want to cry. Not the silent and controlled tears, but loud and unrestrained sobbing. I want to let out all the pent up pain and grief and rage inside. I want to cry for myself and for others, for the tragic and ugly things humanity has to suffer through. I want to cry until I've let everything out, until I'm spent and empty, ready to be filled again.

Other times I turn to you. For comfort, for reassurance, for a distraction. I hope dealing with me isn't too much of a burden for you. And selfish person that I am, I don't think I've ever done the same for you. I can be oblivious and dense at times. The other half, I don't want to overstep the boundaries we've set up. I wouldn't want to set your world on fire, even if I was being burned alive. But it doesn't mean that I don't care. On the contrary, you are so important to me that I am afraid of ruining whatever this is that we have. You'd tell me if you need me, right? Please know that if you call, I'd do everything in my power to be with you and anything I can to help you.

Still there are other times when I lie awake in bed in the wee hours of the morning when I wonder what it would be like to fall asleep in your arms...

I know that I'm lost and searching, and God knows when I will be at peace with myself, but I'm trying. I won't hope, because hope is a passive-aggressive son of a barnacle. Everything is amplified a thousandfold when hope is shattered and I'm left feeling alone and wretched, to pick up  the pieces. Instead I will believe, because believing will drive me further that hope ever could. It tethers me to something real, so I can wander but not get lost... That's the beauty of faith and belief, I guess. It gives me a sense of purpose, a direction. So I will hold on to my last scraps of strength with my whole being and believe. My life may be tough, but I'm tougher.

Please be patient with me, my darling.
Know that in a sea of people, my eyes will always look for yours.
ORLA Nov 2012
My knees quake violently with the urge to run so far so fast no one will even see me pass
My chest constricts so that I can feel the shape of my heart and I realize it's in two pieces
My breath hitches in my choking throat because the sobs won't fit because they are too big . . .

I've finally come to the conclusion that the human body is simply too small to hold the soul
And that's why we die.
Zane2976 Oct 2015
Everything stands frozen for an enternity, encapsuled in just a moment of time
Your notice your heart stops beating, the rhythm that has sustained you long before you were aware
Your throat constricts, suddenly unable to draw in the oxygen that feeds your body

Your next breath stagnates inside your lungs, decomposing with each missing heartbeat
Your stomach plummets towards the floor, falling further than the earths crust
Your intestines squirm inside your cavity as they disintegrate into nothingness

As your eyes begin to sting and water, overfilling until they breech the dam
Your heart finally remembers to beat, faster than ever before
And your jaw finally falls, along with the rest of your face to form a silent

"oh"
DaRk IcE Jul 2015
Along winding paths of thorns riddled with blood, a tulip grows
Vibrant petals yurning for water to sustain life
The thorns scorned, engulf in waves of powerful ties, threating growth
Battles of power subdue the brains function
Paralized is fear of movement for survival, plans complicated route
Confusion constricts with each breathe
Consciousness is fading onto another world
Final thought is eternal reality
celey Jul 2015
she doesn't talk about
how her dad left
immediately after finding out
about her existence
she doesn't talk about
how her mom ignored
the not so straight lines on her wrists
how she was never confronted
about self harming
why she's so loud
what she doesn't like
and does like
the bottle under her bed
why her curtains are always drawn
so close together
almost as tight as her throat constricts
when she's looked at
how her day's been
she doesn't talk about all that
because she's never asked.
Roberta Day Mar 2012
What is this hold upon me?
It constricts and stifles every thought that appears,
with a chloroform rag drenched in discontent
Mild perfectionism, if such a thing, and procrastination leave me
frequently wondering where the time went

The questions I ask myself repeatedly
never receive answers with credibility
A rhythm with no rhyme; a melody in offset time
A misty meaning behind glossy eyes
that I’ve tied together with endless lines
of verbose attempts to explain my mind

No feeling is palpable, no imagery fabricated
Only an idea of what could be,
of what I cannot grasp,
and what I cannot convey

So I’m left with this clouded mind
jostled by ambivalence
(this word ceases to elude me)
on a maladjusted playground,
teetering and tottering on the fine edge
of sanity in this bleak reality
Jay May 2015
Good *** is
The feeling of not being alone
The feeling of being together
The feeling of being one.

Good *** is
The feeling of total acceptance
The feeling of being understood
The feeling of finally being cared for like you always wanted to be.

Deep down, you always wanted to be.

When you have good ***,
You no longer feel alone.

But you will be, eventually.
And good *** will go bad, if abused.

So when it comes,
Let it fill your heart.
But do not fill your heart only with intimacy,
Because you will always, eventually, be alone.

And jealousy is not the way to love,
The need holds you down.
Jealousy constricts,
While love will set you free.

When you experience good ***,
You experience the greatest love you'll ever see.
Because don't be mistaken:
Good ***, is intimacy.

It is cuddles and holding,
And passion and devotion.
It is caring, and together,
It is love, no greater emotion.
yo think about how the girl I wrote this about would feel if I told her it was so good I had to ******' write some poetry about it
ArianaRusso May 2014
Before sunset
pure Lysergic acid diethylamide
Beach
Slight coolness to the air
Places tab Upon tongues

Lips brush
One hour into journey
consciousness expanding
kaleidoscopic gaze
Peculiar colors

The waves dance in a jazz like pattern
softly he runs his fingers delicately through my scalp and constricts my hair like a snake wrapping its long smooth body around the mouse, its prey or lover

I lean closer
our lips brush, our cheeks blush
so do our surroundings they turn a ravishing tickled pink hue

gently we sink
and melt into grains of sand
gentle coition, his charming motion

idiosyncratic complexion casted on our bare frames
rich reflections of golden yellow and deep lilac

Dazed Graze

dusk to dawn
drawn to musk

Where is my mind?
was this just a mundane muse once again?
Where is my otherworldly lover?

Unknown.
Aaron Wallis Sep 2014
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which

Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane

Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all

Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive

An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away

He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must

The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease

The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Wars happen. It is *******
md-writer Jul 2016
every breath a torch of flame as i look up and see the blue above i want to fly away but no he says and holds my wrist behind me crying blurs the sky i cannot see his hand is sliding slowly slowly down i want to fly i want to fly i want to fly just let me go i cannot speak the ties of painlovefear are tighter on my lips just let me go i want to die there is no place to go to hide to flee inside me nightmares circle vultures breeding vultures breeding vultures breeding vultures and i just want to go just let me go i cannot speak

rising pain and fear i shake he stands there looking and my throat constricts no hands just eyes that's all it takes i want to go i cannot speak don't touch me

shiver quiver fear is king i lose myself the darkness hides it all i look around at nothing so i stay huddled in the corner of my mind i want to go just let me go i want to fly just let me fly

there is no place to go he stands there his hands are sliding sliding down i want to go don't touch me let me go why can't i speak i'm screaming why can't i hear myself i'm dying why won't my blood flow i'm frozen burning dying alive inside myself his hands are warm as hell

too scared to know too crushed to flee i want to fly just let me go don't touch me another face is there smiling kindly just a devil of a different breed i cannot tell he takes me in please please don't let him near i never will you're safe with me i'm just a devil of a different breed so let me in i'll take you dear and make you feel and shape you straight and keep you safe and tell you lies as i hold you tight and touch you touch you don't break free

dead i'm dead i'm dying just let me go God  i cannot anymore no feeling left i can't i can't it's woven into me to fear to lose to break i do not know the devil was so close behind me a shackle on my mind i fear i lose i weep no soaring no blue sky i cannot see the sunset and i know that feeling he is there again a standing shadow at the end of my bed kneeling over looking down i cannot feel i am not here i leave i flee i run i cannot move and smiling looking down at me against the red light i am now in hell i think i will not cannot go i scream i live i die i am not here i am not here just let me go don't touch me touch me i will **** your heart i am not human anymore you killed me let me go i will fly sometime just let me show you and the knife is twisted and i die for real he laughs i hear it as i fade no fear i'm done i'm gone i cannot say goodbye he took me stole me i will never see the light of day

i am woman
i am slave
For all my wounded sisters who cannot speak this horror aloud; may this be your voice.
Phineas Prescott Feb 2014
Wandering but trapped.
Like the coral beneath the ice.
Can't run, can't hide.
The water flows and consumes.
Traps and constricts.
Freezes.
Trapped beneath the ice
She flows like a river with no delta.
Like the wind with no trees or mountains.
Time will unfreeze they say.
But time has no watch.
Time has no clock.
That coral looks to the sky and to the clouds,
The shapes are gone as are the memories.
Slowly fading away,
Like the cirrus wisps against the blue sky,
Slowly fading away.
The vibrant blue paint on the walls seems
almost like that emblematic Technicolor
blue.  I've had the blues, but they didn't
look like these.  The house constricts--
the ceiling seems to dip towards my head
closing in on me.  I fly.  Back in Jazzy's room,
I notice, with humor, a label on the spice:
"Not intended for human consumption."
(c) KEP 2012

how many other things arent?

— The End —