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Megan Jones Sep 2015
“Put pressure on it, it needs more pressure”
Holding your wounds shut
That senseless force is what took you away
Pressure- to be... whilst not desiring to be
You saw the clouds moving in greyscale
I saw the hills below scattered in shades of green,
Cavernous, shadowed, cryptic, familiar-

We were advised to go as the crow flies
I cried to a nameless God that your crow’s feet
Were from insurmountable happiness, not the pressures endured
I’ve forgotten much since the storm some-178 weeks ago
Though my body remembers yours over and over again
My skin has yours imprinted, correlated
Forged into one point on the axis between here and there
You the X, I the Y

The Earth crept between the crevices, curling
Through the distance between the Right radius and ulna
Elbows breaking knuckles, blood remains to be spilt
Blood doesn’t connect, if anything it merely separates

Scarecrows don’t help much when the crops won’t grow this year
Ants crawled out of the barrel of a shotgun
Observing the process of cleaning bones after tragedy

Follow the moss to find your way North with no direction-
Sometimes on the other side it’s not greener,
It’s more terrifying than ever before
Terrain untouched, unspoiled, sacred-

Climb up the trees with me, find your quiet
We won’t carve our names but we’ll find our niche
You’ll have quills and I’ll have armor
Not even the thought of stolen arrows,
Lost time through distance,
Or perhaps a slew of chemical imbalances
Can reach us up here
I chose to glue your pieces back together with mud and straw
Taken from the fallen, the loved and now distant memories

You may be an abandoned military base offshore
What was once used by many-
Witnesses life again, life of a different kind
The vegetation will ease its way into the cracks
Constructed when the foundation began to decay
It has a beauty of its own, one of self-sustainment
An everlasting beauty that connects itself
To the surrounding extravagance, often times ignored,
Death isn’t the only way to be forged into nature, remembered

Fear doesn’t always win, nor death do us part so soon
I hope your skin and bones remember before the end
Carter Ginter Aug 2016
How are you still here?
Are you locked in a maze of my memories?
Trying franticly to escape and
screaming your way into consciousness

New pills but the same tunes
It’s been so long and yet some days

It feels like I’m still trapped

In the personal hell you constructed for me

You owned not only the key
Nor the concrete windowless walls
Nor the velvet-thick darkness surrounding me
as I begged for you to let your light in again
but you owned me too

You didn’t even need chains to keep me there
My heavy heart held me down more than any metal could
I can’t even say I escaped
Because you

let me go

Twice

Both times reopening the deadbolts to call me back
And obediently I came crawling in

And then you shoved me out again
This time without warning

The light burned my eyes and my skin
My hands bled as I scratched at the door
Tears choking all the words back to my stomach
And when I couldn’t feel anything anymore
I grabbed a knife

and carved a map into my skin
Desperately waiting for you to call me back again
But you didn’t

And I’d like to say that I’m ok now
That you no longer torture me
But I’m not.
And you still do.

Of course she helps
I swear someone sent an Angel
And I’m not worthy of her
But she still loves me
And I’m terrified that one day
my demons will tear through her wings
just like you tore through my heart
And though she helps mend it again

It will never be whole again

Because you stole a piece for your own sick collection.
is to raise a wall
back to its preexistence
to halt a
read-between-the-lines
brand of resonance;
a wall to protect
those constructed surfaces
from even being scratched.
Now, you feel
              an
                  empty sting

when your access to a
digital counterpart,
a modern-day version
of a person's cognition,
is denied.
It's as if their posts are
the only way left
where you could
actually
hear the things
that couldn't be spoken of;
where you could
feel the
immeasurable heartbeats
that could never be
projected;
  and all of these
      illusions
          make you wish
              you talked more
                  in real life.
Little Bit Mar 2017
trapped inside
the invisible cage
that confines me

coated in sweet vanilla
that satisfies their taste
plastered with beautiful images
that bring them comfort

but constructed with irons of
uncertainty
fear
shame
not what I really am

underneath it all
behind the wall
I'm still here
with the real

but I'm slowly losing
my might
to continue fighting
this fight

but all she wrote was
"be your true self"
nothing else
my first piece of advice
in this life she gave me
my only birthright

so something
must be done

find the key
tear down the wall
set your true self
free

(and be loud
make mama proud)
written 2/17/17
Susanna Aug 2018
These "poems" I write are only meant for me
I keep them away from prying eyes,
Where no one can see.

Because why should one receive "likes"
For the metaphors constructed by their minds
In an losing battle to get a grip on reality?

These collections of words
These regurgitations of the imagination
Hardly even belong to me.

If I am not my mind,
Then who am I?
Or is that question irrelevant?

Words in themselves do not belong to anyone
But the order in which one happens to put them together
Is somehow different?

My attempts to understand anything are futile.
So for now, I will say
That these "poems" I write are only meant for me
That I will I keep them away from prying eyes,
For no one to see.

I refuse to be judged,
Valued,
By something as absurd as these peculiar markings,
Lost in this peculiar system.

I refuse to care about whether people like what I have to say. Yet for some reason, I do it anyway.
Mia Wallace Sep 2017
I'm weathered and weary from shapes of greed
Their colors mislead me
I am naive
But I know eyes that taste
Without seeing
Now you know me, don't you?
But you are just waiting.

I am tired of this misinterpreted concept
I am tired of our tangled body's, this act between two that is only about you.
I'm tired of not being able to dance freely in fear of needy hands and sharp teeth
Pressuring possessiveness
Climb into your soul and off of my body
See that I am a creature of interrupted freedom
I will not answer to your hollow eyes
Your misconstrued ideas of love constructed by a society that forgot to feel
That forgot to see
That forgot that you are you and I am me

I will not answer to your hollow eyes
You are not welcome here.
Carter Ginter Dec 2017
The city of fog
Just outside a city of smog
I don't want to be here
Not after an afternoon in the sun
The cool breeze and
Clean air from big trees
I could finally breathe again
No pressure
No anxiety
No haunting memories
Just myself and the universe
Running across the snow covered rocks
I could easily slip at any moment
But I felt no fear
I felt nothing but free
Yet here I am again
Trapped in an industrial city
Surrounded by death and capitalism
Sure there's some parks
Some controlled spaces of nature
But it's not the same
It's maintained and constructed intentionally
It is not free
It cannot thrive and grow without scrutiny
Take me back to the hills and trees
The rock formations unfazed by human contact
You can feel the energy within it
Even the broken trees lining the ground have life
But not here
It's all dead
Nothing is natural
We think it's beautiful because it's shaped that way
But real nature is beautiful
Simply because it exists as it is
It embodies it's own existence
And nothing compares to that
Naomi Feb 2019
Dear Valentine's Day,

I hate you.

You hallmark-created
Socially-constructed
Marketing-schemed
Holiday.

You say "flowers will make any girl smile"
I say "flowers die just as quickly as falling out of love does"

You say "a big teddy bear will help her sleep at night"
I say "his side of the bed is cold now"

You say "everyone loves indulging in chocolate"
I say "he fed me lies that tasted oh-so sweet"

You say "write her a heartfelt love poem"
I say "reading back on those words only makes me weep"

Who are you to say what love should be?
Dr Peter Lim Sep 2018
Here I'm rejected
there I'll be condemned
I'll not be excepted
anyhow--slammed

in my face, subjected
to every form of malice-- crammed
among those suspected
of betrayal--- contempt

raises its venomous#  head and I'm hated
for the views I hold--  hemmed
by envious forces-- everywhere hunted
I am an innocent victim--******

and left to ideas I've constructed
my own pain to consume---stamped
TRAITOR* -- my only hope is to be vindicated
by future generations which would have my thoughts revamped!
# sorry, I spelt wrongly last time
* italicised
Robert C Ellis Jun 2019
The dirt beneath between my toes is so much We
It's the yearning to exist, to coal fire galaxies,  
The breathing.  The universe creaking in bones,
the stars such infinity between the roam
of Life finding itself Insane, the
Descartes lines running deep behind her smile, the planes
Of Pythagorean theory entreating us to brain tissue seeing
molecules as plastics we seize rather than
depths of sea that constructed my veins
How
       can
             God
                     not
                          believe
in this pain in my chest, He
sooooo Time obsessed.
Ally Van Amstel Jul 2018
Your eyes
are time capsules in my mind.
The memory of you there,
fingers lingering through my hair.
Begging me
to lock my lips with yours.
I posed from a distance,
sipping on my infidelity.
How it made its way
lasciviously
across your body
so meticulously,
intentionally
imploring you to want me.
You asked,
but I didn't know what to say
so I just kissed you.
I still see you sometimes
in the peripherals of my mind,
though the contours of your face
are beginning to blur as they do
with any beautiful stranger.
I can't tell whether the image of us
is a painting or a picture:
something I've carefully constructed
or a moment merely manifested.
But I do know
that it was the blue in your eyes
and the white in my lie
that had me stay til dawn.
LonelyPoet Mar 2017
You find yourself thinking in color. It permeates through every inch of what you know. Thoughts get processed in them and translated by it. Although I favor the one that shines most bright, I barely claim it. I lack of it. In fact, I come to deny it, to exclude it, rather than make it my own.

Lets think through color. Nelson lives in the reflective imposition of it. She strips it down and eats it whole. She hugs its core and stares right at it. She owns it, unlike the string of light I keep refusing.

He, she, they, constructed this. We, you, them, distort it, reshape it, bend it up, and cut it down.

It is the only lineage that connects us all. Dickinson saw the strength of the grass like your mom did and with the vision you do. But, color gets lost in translation. They used Doves to instill fear and swordsmen saw Paper as a sign of truce.

It hurts as well. Obsidian carries pain within. Marks on his back from a remote past, a past that is still dragged to the present. Obscure in its presence. Regarded as biologically distinct. Yet, we now know better, or pretend to.

Blends. Blends in, it merges, fuses, makes new. Transforms. Distorts. She made me see the core once, and it bleeds.

Not the primary but the others, from distant lands on a new canvas, filling in the outlined sketch.
There is no need to agree with me
I see your love being used sparingly, as it is
We already share the same tree of life
And fuel is only as bright as the ultimate, really
We come from hundreds of angels wrestling
Welcoming the shared commodity of love
Back into our shattered skylines and economies
Consternation was constructed from dust
So we encrusted rubies and revolved on our butts
I trusted you to crush me correctly
Instead you became funny
And money fell from your fingertips
Now we bring humor to the dying
In lingering dreams of the aristocracy
Among the other moondancers
We alone fancy a rush of nothingness
When less than a decade ago
We could still find lookouts for our shadows
I resume the music as fumes drip vaporous
And campaigns to elect our democratic fathers
Are merely shambles of something
That once enraged us but now just ramble on forever
Until we can't wait to end all this target practice
But we are still mere artifacts of human hammering
Instantly building our secret languages
Where we will speak nothing but tired gibberish
To a enlightened community of solipsistic symbolists
JS CARIE Nov 2018
Home and contentment are synonymous
The desire to reach,
while innate or evident
quiet or curious
keeps a continuum over discrepant cultures, the world over
An opulence of love and warmth
Having one ingredient can make fertile the other
One without the match, make an ordinary or secondary batch
Making one rich with joy, their other can be broke and remote
seeking satisfaction

Home is not a location
or bricks of residence
But a written word in deep established sentiment
An atmosphere cloaked in the unfalter
The taking of arms to conclude their hold
developed in elements of the affectionate
No disaster, constructed or natural
could alter

As I am now,
locked in the shadow of shades lost
surrendering independent power in a momentary yield,
On hands and knees, bloodshot and in need of a shield...
In need of my one...
the imperative relevance of feeling her
That selfish influential significance that creates safe harbor at journeys end
Generated by the glow of resolve
in the home of her arms contentment
Big Virge Dec 2018
I miss the ... " Simple Things " ... !!!  
Like my ex-girlfriends' kiss ...  
The touch of her ... " Lips " ...  
and her ... " Shapely **** " ... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

But .....  
I DON'T Miss ... THIS ... !!!!!  
  
Emotional Tricks ...  
just to give me a ... KICK ... !!!  
  
Well .....  
She's Now ... " Kicked The Habit " ...  
of ... " Licking My **** " ... !!!  
  
She's had enough of ... MY WAYS ...  
and things that ... I say ...  
  
But .....  
" Check " ... this insight ...  
  
I could say what I liked ...  
if I licked her **** ... RIGHT ... !!!!!  
  
Okay ... THAT'S ENOUGH ... !!!!!!!!  
of that ... ****** type stuff ...  
  
I Also ... Miss Things ...  
WITHOUT ... such a ... " Sting " ...  
  
Like being ... " Just Three " ...  
Running Wild ... like a tree ...  
or ... watching the fights ...  
of ... " Muhammad Ali " ... !!!  
  
cos' ...  
He had ... " A Sting " ...  
that ... "Fit In" ... poetry ...  
  
"Float like a butterfly,  
sting like a bee !"  
  
Doesn't sound quite as good ...  
from a brother .... like me .... !!!!!  
  
I'm repeating ... " His Words " ...  
cos' his words ... Inject Me ...  
with poetry built from ...  
  
..... " Philosophy " .....  
  
My Philosophy's ... THIS ...  
  
" Something " ... that you miss ...  
Reflects what you ... LIKE ...  
  
That's Why You ... MISS IT ... !!!  
  
I Don't Miss ... The ******* ... !!!!  
Who ... Try to Enlist ...  
  
The use of ... " Their **** " ...  
to take ... Advantage ... !!!! ...  
  
I MISS ... " MY MUM " ... !!!  
  
cos'  She was ... THE ONE ...  
Who REALLY ... took time ...  
To Give Love to ... Her Son ... !!!!  
  
While daddy just ... RUN ... !!!  
When Mummy Took Sick ...  
cos' ... He couldn't handle ...  
That ... " Situation " ....  
  
But .....  
Even through that ...  
  
I do still ... Miss My Dad ...  
when I think of the times ...  
  He'd laugh with ... " His Lad " ...  
  
But When I think back ...  
and look at us ... NOW ...  
  
The place we're now at ...  
brings back the ... Harsh Fact ... !!!!!  
that right now ... I don't even ...  
..... Speak to My Dad ..... !!!!!  
  
I Miss ... " The Old Days " ...  
when I was ... a kid ...  
  
When fighting was something ...  
Kids did with ... Their FIST ...  
  
It's NOT ... !!!!!  
" Fighting " ... I miss ... !!!  
  
But the ...  
" Ideal " ... of this ...  
  
Kids ...  
SHOULDN'T ... Now die ...  
on streets ... cos' of Fights ... !!!!!  
  
But ...  
That's what I see ...  
in the eyes of ... Young Guys ...  
  
They're ... " Ready to **** " ...  
and .... " Ready to Die " ....  
  
Just for .... A Piece ....  
of ... " POISON-FILLED PIE " ... !!?!!  
  
Listen Up ... CLOSE ...  
  Can you hear the ... WAR CRY ... ?!?  
  
If you hear what i'm saying ... ?  
ANSWER ME ... THIS ... !?! ...  
  
Which government man ... ?  
sends his children to fight ... ?!?  
  
Whatever your answer ...  
They've got ... " Their Supply " ...  
of .... DESPERATE YOUTH .... !!!!!!!  
  
COMPELLED ... to comply ... !!!  
  
I Miss ... The days ...  
with ... No Cameras in view ...  
  
When ...  
" Big Brother " ... Couldn't just ...  
.... " TELEVISE YOU " ... !!!  
  
When ...  Evidence gathered ...  
Had ... " Physical Proof " ... !!!  
  
and Could Not be ... " Constructed " ...  
by ... " I.T. " ... Type Tools ...  
  
cos' Everything viewed ...  
Through ... " Technological Tools " ...  
could be .... " Falsified " .... ?!? ....  
  
and ...
May Not be ... TRUE ... ?!?  
  
Just think about ......  
TV Outtakes ... You Laugh Through ... !!!  
  
21 TAKES ..... !!!  
to convey ... A mere line ... !!?!!  
  
But ... when the show's aired ...  
Seems like the ... First Time ... !!!!!  
  The director said ...  
  
"Cut, we're done now, that's fine !"  
  
THIS ... it would seem ... ?  
is ... " Our Future " ... DEFINED ...  
  
Mistakes are part of ...  
.... ALL OF US .... !!!  
Look THROUGH ...  
New ... " Fake Designs " ...  
  
NEVER FORGET ... !!!!!  
Your Own ... " Pastimes " ...  
  
You Don't Know What You'll ... Find ... ?  
in the .... " Annals of Your Mind " ....  
  
We Keep ... " Looking Forward " ...  
but rarely ..... " Look Back " .....  
  
I Try to ... " Look Back " ...  
cos' it ... Keeps me ... ON TRACK ... !!!  
  
and .....  
Keeps me ... " Equipped " ...  
to deal with ... " My Issues " ...  
Through ... " Poetic Scripts " ...  
  
So PLEASE ...  
Don't ......................... dismiss ...  
  
Sometimes .... " Reminisce " ....  
and remind yourself ... DAILY ...  
  
of ......  
  
" Things That You Miss " .................
Looking back makes you reminisce on these things, from time to time.........
Carter Ginter Jan 2018
"Commitment issues"
Commitment: a designated set of time
Issues: problems

So I cannot, successfully,
Designate an "appropriate" amount of time
To a relationship
Is that right?

Keep in mind,
These women enter my life
And I tell them I don't believe in marriage
And they say "that's ok"
Until it's not.

Maybe it's a comment I made
Or maybe they forgot
But something changes over time
And I am not an object
I am not some possession
That people can lay claims to
I am a human
With ever-changing needs and desires
With thoughts and feelings
And my own perception of reality

So maybe I get anxious when people
Try to put some hold on me
You chalk it up to commitment issues
What if I just don't like feeling owned?
What if I simply refuse
To let anyone remove my autonomy?

And what's even wrong with that?
Who gets to decide what is an
"Appropriate" amount of time?
Oh, wait,
That's "forever" right?
Says who?
Why should I continue to chase this
Socially-constructed dream
Of spending my entire life with one person
If that's not what makes me happy?

Trust me, I've tried for a long time
And I could never seem to find
A singular being
Who I'd willingly spend eternity with
If that even exists
And until this point
I've been unhappy most of my life
Reflecting on my failed attempts at
Happy monogamy

I am finally happy now
Free love is beautiful
It has liberated my soul
It has liberated my love
And my sense of self
For once I feel happy most days
I am focusing on myself now
Instead of pouring everything into another
I'm growing more everyday
And learning more about who I am

But you just brush that off
Saying my polyamorous identification
Is a manifestation
Of some fear of commitment
It couldn't possibly be the real me
It couldn't possibly be the way I feel happiest
Because it's not the "normal" way to desire?
It's not the logical form of love?
Or it's just different
Or it's just new
And you rejecting it within me
Means you aren't accepting me for who I am
In this moment

If that's the case
Then I don't know who you're in love with
Because this is who I am
Whether you like it
Or disagree with it
Or not
This is who I am
And I'm so over
Trying to validate
Justify
And explain myself
Just because someone disagrees with my form of loving
You were let into my soul to sculpt it; I was a sculptor myself till you arrived, a master, yet an amateur.
I was a sculptor who wouldn't sculpt his soul, as the act seemed pointless.
Nonetheless, I sculpted something which resembled the human soul, but it was a lazy thing; plain and egotistic in its nature.
Then you came building masterpieces, and you constructed a radiant and captivating palace out of my soul.
Yet, it was of a foreign material; not of me, but of you and your soul.
You made my soul into that which can be weighed and judged by those who would not measure or assess themselves.

Don't look at me lonely sculptor, I see your resentment, but I also sense your jealousy!
You long to be me, so you meld into my eyes to see how only an amateur can!

All masters wish to be amateurs again, they crave the thrill of mistake, and so mistake blesses them with release.
All masters return to life as amateurs; all masters secretly sculpt themselves inside those they create.
All masters are born into themselves again, not by mothers, but by us.
Trying a new way of writing, still undecided on it.
Elizabeth Oyibo Jan 2019
bullets break more than just bones, they
break brains, hearts, souls, and homes, they
stay in guns claimed to be emptied and then take a soul, they
make sure certain people will never grow old, they
make warm hearts turn ice cold, they
make hearts stop beating constructed of gold,
they
empty the bodies of the bold, and
in the end, they make you feel so alone,
because they take away the ones you love the most.
Rest In Peace Anthony Ryan Taylor (1998-2018) Catwang Forever
Hannah Douglas Mar 2019
I struggle to voice my thoughts,
each consonant lost somewhere;
stuck between my lips and throat,
each intended syllable lies dormant
and waiting.

Even when I pass the threshold of speech
all that comes out is a jumble of pleasantries
constructed by my forefathers,
their forefathers
and those before them.

For now, I am bound to my pen,
the inky tears have stained my skin
and I am still standing.
The thick fog which obscures my voicebox
can't obstruct the flow in which my thoughts spill
violently onto the page.
I know that this probably isn't relatable but a lot of the time I really struggle to get my words out and for someone who is rarely ever taken seriously by those around me (I can be pretty goofy) I find it hard to express myself so things like music and poetry can be really cathartic for me.
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