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Lilith Meredith Apr 2013
I loved you, yes.

Once

You soothed me cool cool water on a burn
You rocked me gently napping in your arms
     resting in a sunlit motel room.

I grew to love your company
The simple existence of a warm body in the same room
To desire your lazily listening ear
I learned to lust for shapes that did not my body fill
To moan for groan for
Forced tessellations roughly holding down my hips
     in demeaningly false passion.

I loved you once
But was quickly weighted left hand bending
     toward the dirt under the ceiling of your bed chamber
          “My love do not leave me you
          cannot leave me you will
          never leave me you will learn
          to love me hunchbacked lonely.
          My love my sweet my dear.

          My pet.                                       “

I drowned in the heat of your sweat
Filling my lungs bursting with salt
Filling my organs with your clammy salt
Curing my love bitter shriveling dried my heart
     preserved for future consumption no longer
     pumping warm blood bleeding aching no longer
     throbbing stinging longing soaked in blood
     no longer beating .buhduhn.buhduhn.buhduhn.
     living bleeding my heart no longer pouring
     sweet blood from her mouth into thirsty veins.
A cured lump of jerky fell from my breast
     onto the floor and I looked on indifferent as the dog
     took it in his mouth.

I loved you once
I sobbed childish little girl confused in your absence
Upon your return arms vines twisting clinging
     to your steady torso
Flowering my gently parting lips eager to pour forth
     my nectar into your life to sweeten
     your life
I only wanted to be sweet for you.
You unearthed me chopping roots clinging
     desperately to cool moist earth
You unearthed me peeling tendrils from your walls
     wrapping me in a ball and tenderly bringing
     me inside through the side door
You unearthed me dropping me in a too small ***
Pruning pruning roughly trimming flowers falling
     to the floor I only wanted to be sweet for you
     now daily thirsting in your window nectar
     no longer flows now daily drying my leaves
     soft plush foliage bursting green browns
     falls crisp to the table I only wanted to
     be sweet for you now daily dying browning
     petals fall from my cheeks to the table and
     I wilt as the cat takes them in her mouth.

You loved me once.
blosssomingvanie Jul 2013
Behind this pretty face,
I have shed countless tears,
I have seen worse days than I could ever Imagine,
Done the forbidden,
held my head low in my despicable shame!
treated my body demeaningly,
Sat in my shadows seeking solace.
Hiding my face in fear of my own self,
Afraid of what the world would say,
the fingers that would be pointed,
I have seen darker days!
Pushing my body beyond its limits and its worth,
being heartless and ruthless not caring at all!

Behind this pretty face!
I have lived in my own shadow afraid of looking at my own reflection,
because i'm afraid of what I would see in the mirror
Desperation feeding my soul unaware of how much harm I was causing to myself,
I became a hazard to myself.
ALL Behind this pretty face!
Mitchell Mar 2011
Breaking molds begging to be kept solid
Pushes my person to throw temper tantrums
High and mighty with not a lick of forgiveness
Weak in the mind on a Wednesday
Drunk in a funk on a Friday
Horizons that I thought were mine
Were never mine to begin with
They are the oceans beneath my feet
Chipping white dust of bones that bleed hallow marrow
A black sky is the only way a bird can learn how to fly
In a mystery a man dies, my father, your father, no bother
For emotion used to hit ******* my clear glass window
Now I know longer see the point in the matter
The demons are deep but not as deep as the absence of me
I am lost in the high frothiness of societies **** and its labels
Away I will not go but here I will stay
Don't ask me demeaningly to praise this and applaud that
They are, in shadows, apart of something
The praiser hates, a secret shining soon to be dead agate
Fortune fancies the one's that know how to show it off
A monster lays inside jewels, in gold, in seemingly high ego
Devil ten horns has learned how to live and be reborn
A mastery of tricks, apparitions and magic
That not even the human eye or mind is able to see
Currents spell themselves out in shrouded clouds
Misty mist
Magic that is black, blue, green, yellow and red
The color of your mother's magic ink pens
A click of water from the outside gutter
The faint dying voice of a once thought of angelic grandmother
Take the shadow away from life, shine light
For there's never enough time
I'll be making meals
As I squeal
Pinching pennies, passing time, pouring wine
Sarah Camacho Jun 2013
there are not four walls.
there are no gates,
nor hedges,
nor bricks.
yet, i find myself
undeniably and demeaningly so
    trapped.

this state of drowsiness
is not something
i awoke to,
but rather something
i slipped into
to get comfortable whilst awaiting
     death.

i wake and
i fall as anyone else might, but
i do not inhale the gusts of warmth,
nor cringe at the bitter drops
     of sky against my tongue.

an empty shell is all
i can imagine myself to be.
these curiosities and
these expectancies
were once mine, but drifted away.
their trail is buried in the ashes
     of an old dream.

i'd like more than anything to
feel your gentle pulse against mine, but
i determine this heart unworthy,
since each beat has become a part
    of this fated hell.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
a lot of -ism is biased within an etymological framework; coupled soon, how darwinism can never attain a suffix of logic, as can biology never become bioism; contemplating the impulses of boa constrictors seems more pleasing to both ear and eye to understand, as it always would have seemed to appear: it being said - without guilt, conscience or self, but that rotten "economic" model, of communism.

logic begins with: the origin of words,
and how they morph -
as said:
an -ology is always lesser than
an -ism:
etymology overcomes darwinism,
sorry, you don't have to handle
theology, or the -ism of theos -
words speak words -
forms speak: square becomes
a square, and the rest is: a lost affair,
asking eric clapton to turn into
jeff buckley, while papa's not there:
with that being papa *tim
...
      actually much of logic is
etymological...
          the origins of words sometimes
became histories...
    to say the least:
the name athena became the city athens,
while romulus and remus became rome,
st. petersburg came from
   sakt peter - sanctified peter -
  edinburgh, came from illicit edith -
of malcolm, half removed from
macbeth's choosing -
             are we so thus, so thus far
removed, from our weakened travesty
of making: encouraging history?!
    tell the germans of the icelandic orcas,
and how they hunt them,
and how the seas turn crimson akin
to biblical fables...
tell them, that there is a higher ground
to begin afresh, akin: to a new beginning...
that they might refresh their toiling
in scandi song, in scandinavian folk,
to allow this resurrection is almost
a travesty among my kin folk...
   but, one, worth minding, having an
execution;
darwinism already stated its primordial
origin, the form of ape,
    but with every -ism, there's an
-ology,
             terminological for starters,
etymology for making the ends meet...
i'm afraid that the suffix question
seeks not authentic pardon of presented
artefacts...
       since the origin of form,
in that platonic simplicity is laid
intact, unmoveable via an  atheistic orthodoxy,
we have to move our ways toward
an ingrained, deeper, beckoning...
let our history encounter an
etymological zeitgeist -
to source first meanings,
to source them as is much desired,
having finalised our: first & thereby only,
                           beginnings.
      so, given our beginnings being
a samson's un-moveable pillar of all things
know, for the temple to stand intact,
   can we at least perform a secondary
historical feat, of attending to etymological
explanations?
   and at least desire, a curbing
on anarchic slanging, curling language from
scholastic affirmation of kept culture
and practice,
       to assure the minor offence of
allowing the linguistic intactness -
   and that infamous serenity of ensuring
progress, by abiding to the sort of
cultural non-appropriation that
youth resides in?
  for i dare say, and dare believe in
enough to fear:
    should the integrity of language be
kept, as today it is "kept", i.e. un-kept,
it will become no medium worth
of eloquence,
namely, demeaningly: only a canvas,
of irritating bombast.

p.s.
i can salvage the germans from their **** past,
a song of paganism,
a song of the cultural "idiot",
a song prior to the current "foundation",
a song in memorandum -
      a meditation on the crow -
a meditation on the matter of snow -
a meditation on the grey skies of winter -
a meditation on beer & song -
to find the german of today,
is to strip the german of yesterday,
the yesterday of 2nd world war
foundation,
   and the tomorrow? looks
like reviving the romanticism that
came as the 19th century "post-scriptum":
the thought of the kid
who was to inform barbarossa
to wake up once in grave,
when a swarm of crows shattered
the silence of his graven passivity.

— The End —