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gracie Mar 2018
Shake me

Til the sad falls away
Til my heart breaks so cleanly
That you can staple it together
With love or
Some kind of metal
That won't melt in the scorching
Heat.

Hold me

Til my hands stop
Quivering
Til warm clouds of
Breath escape my lips
And drift up into the
Smoking atmosphere
Between our
Chests.

Shatter me

Til glass scatters across the
Concrete
Til no amount of superglue or
Soft words
Can fix the wonderful
Damage you leave
Behind.
noren Mar 19
A damaged soul
needs time to heal and get up.
But it is often mistaken for a slain soldier
that lies in the gory battlefield
and trampled upon.

It's defeated, but it doesn't die
It remembers every feet that trod on it
But finds power in the struggle to overcome
the pain of being mistaken - deep within  
It fights another battle which it can't fail to win.
Radhika Lusted Aug 2018
Someone help my soul reprieve
the damage has been done
I tried to love
But all i lost
is now what i've become
A poem i wrote when i was younger and had my first heartbreak. It literally felt like it could not escape the damage
Alanis Smith Nov 2018
If only you could see the damage you're doing to me,
The heartache that comes with each text,
The tears that flood my eyes when I hear your name,
The pain when I see your face,
I wish you could see the damage you're doing to me,
Maybe then you'll understand,
I love you,
But it isn't fair,
The damage you're doing to me. . .
Kathryn Maurine Jun 2017
The Art of Subconscious Illusion is an elusive tendency towards the averse,
             or rather,
the act of lying to oneself

        Oft times you’ll find yourself wondering how...
             …how you lost her…how you lost love…

                            how you lost yourself

         Your mind a jumble of
               spiral static,
         coils of confusion, twisting malevolently,

                             failing and falling,
                   flawed and faulty,
          feeble and fading,

you slowly begin to yearn for a second chance,
        wish that you had performed more charmingly in the blistering tragedy of feelings lost...

but there are few second chances in the misfortunes of life.
      the damage is done, and now you must live with the consequences
       of a dying will to persist in this journey,
                              the ups
                                                the downs
                                the laughter
                                                        ­ the pain
after endless days of convincing yourself you’re not to blame you finally see it for what it is...
                    You made the choice
     you made your bed, and now you must lie in it…

and as you slowly make your way towards the reclining ***** of the soft satin covers you’ll begin to see….

it was not a bed your actions relayed....
                                                                       ....it was a coffin
may Mar 2018
The feeling of butterflies in your stomach.
The feeling of losing your breath..
and stumbling to find words
feeling clumsy in every movement in their presence.

I'm my own person.
I'm not shy.
I don't get feelings.
I'm not short of words.
I don't get emotional.
I don't get feelings like this.

But feelings are like rain.
You can be in a drought and miss it like hell
..or..
you can forget what it's even like to have water.
But when it comes it floods.
You remember how beautiful the sound of rain is.
How it toys with your insides and makes you feel a roller coaster of emotions.
It makes you feel comforted and at peace
yet its dark and makes you feel alone.
It consumes your thoughts.
It has it's own intentions that you may never know,
it's mysterious and ever changing as it thuds on your rooftop so that all you can hear is its presence then within seconds disappears and when you look outside it's only evidence of existence is the puddle running down the road to disappear like it was never even there.

It is the feeling of love.
You can't control when it comes
you never know how long it will stay but ******* it it's all you can think about when it's here.

But this isn't my first storm.
While I should be dancing in the rain I never forgot the burn of the last storm.
The lightening struck and everything that was, never was the same.
Within a blink of my eye the rain was gone and I spent years trying to recover from the damage it left.
It ruined the curiosity of what each storm entails.
Instead of dancing in the rain I hide from it.
It's hard to let something overtake you when you don't know it's intentions or how long it will stay.

But you can't avoid rain forever.
It feeds and rejuvenates the world.
It gives life to the plants and makes them oh so vivid and colorful.
It washes away the past and gives light to the sun.
I just need to find the storm that always stays with me for the return of the sun.
Andrew Mar 2018
We speak the explicit language of damage
Whether it's through anguish or famine
It only takes a little while to examine
Until we learn the language well
And eventually become fluent
To create this worldwide hell
Where the warfare is incongruent

We speak this language for many reasons
We speak this language through every season
The dialect varies from country to country
But all that really matters is who's hunting
The end result is the same
For damage done before
We inflict retributive pain
To even the damage score

Damage lowers our health
Damage increases their wealth
Damage puts us on the shelf
Until we damage ourself

The damage is done
So we must run
But at some point we turn around
Planting our feet into the ground
Becoming the damage cause
Doing what we've learned
We attribute this to our flaws
Not caring who gets burned

There is a damage sandwich
Within our damaged land's width
We're caught between being imposed on
And becoming oppressors
You're either forced to keep your clothes on
Or become an undresser
Perceptions of greater and lesser
Further complicate the scenario
We receive them through our stereo
To look down on those of other barrios
All of that damage can be parried though
If we work as a team
Better yet a species
To live in a utopian dream
Instead of our feces
Bansi Adroja Aug 2018
You're a little boy trapped
stuck in a moment
buried decades ago
on a summers day
when everything changed

You're an angry man
stuck in his old ways
bar fights and cheap dates
nothing new these days
just more of the same

You're as damaged
or as mended
as you want to be
depending on the light
or who caught your eye

You're a lone wolf
with no place to call home
and no need to hold on
I want to love you until it hurts
I don't want to let you go
A Poem a Day : Fifteen
ThePoet Dec 2016
I'm running out of time
And the clock is ticking fast
But I'm trying to erase
All the damage in my past

I'm running out of time
And these minutes never last
But the darkness that I face
Is the shadow that I cast

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)
English Jam Mar 2018
[Part the First]

There's some giddy, childish sensation
The hope of a new generation

Faceless cameras war for my voice
A flashing ocean of stomps and shoves
Taken from me is my choice
Given is a false sense of love
They smile too wide to be true
Contorted and stretched, like some plastic
But they're all I have before the blue
So deep breaths, and then come dramatics

People who pass me by
Don't seem to realise
The emptiness of the sky
When they look into my eyes

They ask:
Is it lonely up in space?
Is it a cold, abandoned place?
Is it bright amongst the stars?
Do you know who you really are?

[Part the Second]

My life has faded to drunken thoughts
Reality doesn't confirm what can't be bought

The multicoloured psychedelia
Of nebula turning to rainbows
Now looks more fake than ever
And so my sanity goes
There's a beast out there, lurking
I'm not sure if it wants me
But my hope is hiding, sulking
From the abyss that can hear and see

The worst way to die is alone
Where there's no one who can help me
As my punishment destroys my home
At least, from my memory

They screech:
It's so lonely up in space
It's a cold, abandoned place
It's too bright amongst the stars
I think I'm dreaming too far

[Part the Third]

The faintest echo of laughter
Presents itself as my only answer

It's distant, like someone drowning in ecstasy
But it rings from the walls to my ears
The effect of the starry-eyed seas
Has mutated into whimpering fears
I know I'm not amongst the stars anymore
But the damage cannot be undone
So I gave myself to the floor
I could lie here, and never see the sun

Space could've never actually existed
Just a vivid fantasy of escape
But my mind has been so twisted
It must've been the cruelty of fate

They wonder:
Was it lonely up in space?
Was it a cold, abandoned place?
Will the stars ever forgive?
Do I still have a life to live?
Bansi Adroja Aug 2018
We all have our own monsters

In our homes
In our heads

Darkness we can't chase away
With bottles of *****

The kind that drag us down
Further than we've ever known

Feeling that something's missing
That fear that leaves us all alone
A Poem a Day : Twelve
I think we've found
an understanding
A common ground
Island in sea
I dont want you to feel shorted
So listen to me now
This is so important
When it comes to you and comes to me
I know there was uncertainty
But I also know how things are now
What we feel is more than what we usually allow
ourselves
And Its okay to let it come
And I could tell that you just wanted someone

So let me in you're the only one who can
I may be the only one who understands
Its okay to not have a plan
Its enough to simply be a man

I've never wanted
Something more
Don't hide the flaws
That I adore
No need to try
And fit a mold
These are more than just
Some words I've told
And I know that
You're very smart
But you embrace the brain
And hide from heart
I've hurt you, and you've hurt me back
For egos sake and what we lack
We can't take back all the mistakes
But Amy said
Its where you're at, not where you've been
And Its okay to let it come
And I could tell that you just wanted someone

So let me in you're the only one who can
I may be the only one who understands
Its okay to not have a plan
Its enough to simply be a man

I dont want to run your life
Or even be your wife
As much as I just want you to know
That I empathize
Its intimidating when something feels so good
Scared it isn't healthy or that you neglect the things you should
But you can't deny
And I would never lie

So let me in you're the only one who can
I may be the only one who understands
Its okay to not have a plan
Its enough to simply be a man

Its okay to let it come
I could tell that you just wanted someone
Its okay to let it come
I could tell that you just wanted someone
Chrissy Nov 2018
If I pour out my emotions that I've been keeping under wraps for years
it will be as a tsunami engulfing, drowning the depths of your being
as a hurricane does eating up your happiness and spitting it right back at you but in pieces that can't be moulded back together
as a volcano erupting gorging itself on the kingdom with tall walls and soldiers that you built
it will be as an uprooted tree with nowhere to go but to fall to the ground and lay disruptively there
my suppressed, condensed and packaged emotions are just as a natural disaster
you can't predict how much damage it will cause.
I can't cry so I write
He woke this morning
Another night of her dreams

He glanced into the mirror
She’s not real it seems

Society unknowingly accepts
The image presented
Unaware of the damage
Being self-inflicted

He hides her for fear of rejection
She battles for her reflection.
______

Michelle Renee Milford
Nov. 2014
I was blessed to have this poem chosen by T.E.N.T. (Transgender Education Network Texas) for the Austin, Texas 2014 Transgender Day of Remembrance ceremony at City Hall. :) :) :)
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Worship is the soul’s feasting upon that which it believes will fill it up
and we perpetually worship whatever we deem most worthy
of our attention and affection and sacrifice.
It is so firmly set in our very nature that at all times
we will be worshiping something
for the soul knows no other recourse.

There is only One worthy of such devotion
but if we aren't continually looking to and bowing down
to this One Who alone has the power to satisfy, heal and free us
we will automatically default to worshiping created things that then
have the power only to disappoint, damage and enslave us.
The feeling of finally seeing the stars  
After travelling so far.
The idea that the dream
That you thought up when you were five
Could become reality.

But truth is a danger,
Reality’s weapon.
A deadly encounter
That will tear your aspiration limb from limb.

Leave it intoxicated on a pavement,
In a state worse than the end of life itself.
Expectation will hide
At the sight of torture.

When reality strikes
The battle is already lost.
Kat Aug 2018
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
I showed my English teacher and he liked it
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