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ryn Aug 2014
Tell me why it seems like the walls are closing in
Tell me why my hopes they're stretched far and thin
Tell me why my dreams still struggle in this fight
Tell me why every time I draw air but it feels so tight.

Tell me why in this turmoil my heart does wallow
Tell me why lifes' lessons by the heapfuls I choke to swallow
Tell me why I'm somewhat free but then again I am not
Tell me why I really do have but I haven't really got.

Tell me why I try to sleep many a restless night
Tell me why I am so afraid of many a fearful fright
Tell me why I still feel the way I have felt before
Tell me why I ask many questions which leaves me broken and sore.

Tell me why so much emotions run amok within me
Tell me why I look yet I do not really see
Tell me why despondence is back; it's here to haunt
Tell me why such uncertainties always beckons to taunt.

Tell me why I want more but I am quite contented
Tell me why I have to accept the path I've very much resented
Tell me why I already know but I still keep on asking
Tell me why it seems like the reasons are in every way lacking.

Tell me why I feel so happy but in fact I am so sad
Tell me why it all seems unfair but I have to be glad
Tell me why I found love in the most unfortunate circumstance
Tell me why to a mournful tune I am stuck in dance.

Tell me why my heart feels engorged but I can't release it all
Tell me why I am so scared but I would still want to fall
Tell me why I feel you close when you're farther than far
Tell me why it seems incredulous that we share the same star.

Tell me why I long to give you more when I can't this instant
Tell me why I can feel better but I seem so resistant
Tell me why sometimes I look up and curse at my luck
Tell me why I refuse to focus on courage that I really should pluck.

Tell me why I lay in bed dreaming of a place far away
Tell me why I find myself moping more and more each day
Tell me why I chose to be naive and in fate I do give trust
Tell me why time and time again it just gets ground to dust.

Tell me why I feel so beaten and weak when I should be strong
Tell me why I am so familiar in a place I don't belong
Tell me why I have to live with a mask on my face
Tell me why I feel like a marionette strung up by lace.

Tell me why I dug deep when these words make me cry
Tell me why the tears still trickle when my eyes are dry
Tell me why I share this when I know you would feel bad
Tell me why I would even spout the words that make you sad.

Tell me why these painful wounds I didn't choose to lick
Tell me why I didn't let them heal but instead I would pick
Tell me why I feel as though I am quite addicted
Tell me why it seems like I enjoy the dark I've inflicted.

Tell me why sometimes I question, the things you see in me
Tell me why you've said it many times but I don't really see
Tell me why I haven't drifted far when I should've a while ago
The reason is you; because you have chosen to love me.
Amy Leigh Dec 2015
How can anyone
be sure? It's ages now and
I still feel so lost.

© A. Leigh
A M Ryder Oct 2018
They say three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead

Secrets could be simple, if they weren't the type worth being spread

You can bury secrets, I'm sure you're shocked to hear it's true.

But dont dream you'll finish digging, until they first have buried you.
KHY Jan 22
Unraveling the mystery in her spine
Knots all throughout time
I break it in;
I cave my mark,
I show her how I like to start
I kept reaching further
Further down and deeper
Into my soul
Scratching
For bits of gold
Scratching from inside
Hacking off small pieces of life
Excavate cravingly
Hungry for a piece of myself that meant something
A piece that was worth something
So I could exchange it for forbidden pleasures
Scratch and scrape everyday
Wounding and eating like a pig, any day
Rainy or foggy
Blue or yellow
I scratched and degraded
Until nothing remained
but a shadow
An empty husk
that was once I
Remains
Remnants of myself
Amanda May 5
It was a miracle you chose me and a blessing I took for granted too often.
Maybe I knew I didn't deserve such an angel so I pushed you away in hopes you'd fly to better things.

If you find happiness someplace far from me I beg you to stay there.
Because with my own shattered pieces I hurt those I love and the more that I care the deeper I cut.

Then I awake alone and their blood is on my hands.
Trying to remember how I got covered in so much shame colored brownish-red but I fail to understand.

When I see you lying lifeless there fighting for one more breath I catch my own and shed a tear for the body dying.
You turn your stare away from death to face me instead as your eyes are immediately flooded with fear.

It's not til that moment I realize what I have done to the only person who meant more to me than anything or anyone.
I swear I just wanted to keep you safe and I thought you were safer away from me but somehow you got too close again without me realizing.

Practically under my skin but before I could see I ripped you to shreds unaware of who I was destroying in my haste.
But what scraps were left there I immediately recognized though your features were all out of place.

Now there is not enough of you to put your parts back together and we both know you cant live half a human forever.
I hate myself for digging a grave too busy to notice you return to me in my desperate state.

Gripping a ***** shovel I lost my balance tipping us both over and we turn and twist midair.
I warned you but too late you learn and now not just myself but both of us are far too gone to save.
Even when I am sad my puns make me smile
How can I see you yet never go Blind
As Tradition and Heart seek to acclaim?
I carry no Surveys; But keep in mind
A Friend such as you has naught to explain
Sweet and Sour Words not; Joy discovers Joy
And Celebration does reward the Humble
Your Grin is shy by your arms; As a Toy
Compare a Fattened Bee to a Bumble
Trust is falling in love with Pockets. True,
Digging deep you reach Wisdom by the Card
I suggest you shuffle; Then Five Trinkets
Spell out the Sum of who you really are:
Simple. ***. Serene. Trustsworthy. Beauty.
All locked in your Chest to open when ready.
#hrushby
Kaleigh Vaughn May 2013
Your eyes smile so sweetly
Especially when your teeth are gently digging into my flesh -your evening delicacy
There's something about your love that I fancy
Your eager hands, maybe..
And the way you make me feel so **** ****
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2015
(I love) Dignity

tearing words apart,
a part
of  a joy I cannot
explain or share exactly


knew a man once,
forty two years gone,
died too soon enough,
soon enough,
he and I will be
the same age

this man
a duck out of water,
a stranger in an adopted land,
trouble-stooped, a hard life, well lived,
never bent,
dignified in every step

I cannot remember him
ever kissing me, tousling my hair,
holding my hand, loving me in
a manner I wanted beyond  desperately

yet here I am, 5:22 am
weeping tears recalling him
in glimpses long ago seen,
adding them all up to get a
single sum

Dignity.

tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot/explain,
share precisely


dig
in
to
my
chambered memory storage units,
unlocking those rusted locks with freshly oiled
tears
and loving the dignity he exampled

to the son he could not kiss, hand hold,
but taught him the one lesson, digging deep
to respect life and stand apart,
stand with dignity.

all else will follow

the son kissed his children plenty,
in a vain attempt to make up his missed
homework

now the grandfather,
now the grandfather
is still kissing
his last hope, his newest babes,
rolling on the floor,
so silly kissing belly buttons,
smelling their skin repeatedly,

in a manner most
undignified

still weeping
the son,
he tries to sort it out

and forgives and does not forget
the man that taught dignity
in everything,
even, especially,
in slow dying,

forty two years is a long time to wait
to weep.

it takes two hands in the dark
repeatedly
to collect all the waiting patiently
wetness and the
accompanied sniffles,
so undignified,
the son smiles at himself
declaring unabashedly,
digging out from himself
a poem, a self-reflection
on time tarnished reflections
clear enough to make him
sob,
believing

I love dignity.
for my father...
liv Mar 6
as she sits
her thoughts exploding
one
after
another
some + others -
she thinks:
maybe if I dig deeper people won't question, "are you ok?"
i bleed poetry Aug 2018
I am my own garden
Wildflowers grow on me

But he came along,
He didn't dig holes but graves
Then you came along,
You didn't plant a single kind but plenty

I let you water my plants
But as they begin to sprout
You drowned and burried them
Under the graves he made

I am my own garden and
I will start digging holes

I am my own garden and
I will start planting seeds

I am my own garden and
I will not expect anyone
to water my flowers for me
duane hall Nov 2018
Your riding on empty, your riding on fumes
Aint it about time you started paying your dues?
Hey snowflake move out of daddy's  basement
Aint it about  time you started paying your rent
It's been years since you've earned a red cent
Hey snowflake move  out and live in a tent
The cronies you adore are taking you for a ride
Aint nobody here that's digging your jive
You have no concept of wrong and right
News flash: You're just a young parasite
You have this idea  you're better than most
The sad Truth is you're nothing but toast
It's about time you owned up to it
You're nothing but a societal misfit
Hey snowflake you're on the wrong path
Hey snowflake start doing the math
Nobody seems to be safe from your wrath
Do us all a favor by taking a bath.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
When I was just a child I went searching for my world,
one of sunlit days, adventure and beauty left unfurled.
Though these days were made to be the a key to set me free
I couldn’t have foreseen the cost that all of this would be.

As I look back on these memories I hoped to have it all,
I believed that love would listen and come answering my call.
I was certain love would find me as I filled my life with song.
Now I’d turn in all these moments for just the promise to belong.

At Oktoberfest with beer halls and the sound of German songs.
The mix of beer and smells of nuts floating through the noisy throngs.
Climbing  on the Untersberg up on Alpines mystic peaks
and attending cocktail parties with Gemany’s elite.

Climbing falls in Ocho Rios with some old and new found friends,
drinking coffee, eating lobster, and enjoying without end.
Driving through the darkened backroads from a day at Negril’s beach,
in a cab with songs of love and Marley counting down the beat.  

In Cancun lagoons were vivid and alive with swarming life,
seas of sergeant majors, parrotfish, and barracuda thrive.
in the Caymans packs of stingrays had become our closest friends,
as we played among them in  a world where the beauty never ends.

The fireworks over Sydney lit the bicentennial sky
while I look upon that moment now with disbelieving eyes.
Waves from the Prince of England as he sat by princess Di
when I left the land down under, well I felt like I would die.

As I watched the sun go down over Uluru’s gold peak,
and the sun rise over Daintree as we picked our morning feast.
digging oysters off the rocks by Nelligan’s foreshores,
I was certain with my best friend that I couldn’t want for more.

Remembering the ocean as I snorkeled though it brief,
in Queensland off the shore on Australia’s barrier reef.
The beauty in Belize nearly took my breath away,
and it seemed to me that God had made this gorgeous land to play.

Camping in the South Pacific beneath the skies and palms.
In the hills of South Dakota we went panning in the calm.
With the Eiffel tower, Louvre and Twilleries rounding out another day
And the visit to the gardens of Monet just made me cry.

It’s surreal to think of all the things I’ve done throughout this life,
and the blessings that I’ve gotten seem enough to make things right.
But the simplest adventure and the one I longed for most
was a man that I could count on and would love and hold me close.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Cynthia Aug 2018
You dig a hole in the ground
You keep digging deep down
So the echo won’t slip
because your goal is to scream
Scream loud
to ease the pain inside
 
The dirt in your hands
is the sin/ the problem/ the hate/  
That you have been carrying around
Somehow you kept holding on
now freedom is what you seek

Fading memories is your dream
But what happens after you scream?
Yes, you feel a bit at peace
Yet the feeling you get makes you
bitter and sweet
You have been carrying this weight
on your feet
feeling the heat
Blood flowing through your veins

Love turned into hate & trust into fear
So after all are you really at PEACE?
Days later,
you go on with your everyday life
growing weary and cold
 
Then…
The battle with your mind begins
Because digging is no longer your escape
Your own fear has captured you in a cage
 
So you write it down on paper
Not in pencil but in pen
Because there are no mistakes
That can be erased (erasing parts in your life)
What’s done is done
And your shame cannot be wiped away
 
Once again you fight in the flesh
all you want is peace
And a resting place
Yet you seek no one but yourself.
The old is gone the new is here (2corinthians 5:17)
Have no fear for He is with you
Seek Jesus let him be your escape
The one who fulfills that empty SPACE!
She stumbled across the streets,
with low light streams.
Casting a glimpse to the rustling leaves,
fearing a soul's hail,
for 'twould free her long-harbored wail.

Her white shroud floating back like a spectre unleashed,
her feeble hands holding tight to the shovel in need;
on she went digging, with all her strength beaming,
waiting not for a second to breathe.

A ditch no less than a bottomless pit,
was what she endeavored to achieve in the late night sleep
to abandon her setback grief.
slay Oct 2018
Painted realize
Real lies
Contoured my jawline
Choked out fragmented, underchewed bites of asinine rhymes
Forcing my way back up mucked in stomach enzymes
Didnt anyone ever tell you to take your time?
Take smaller bites?
Or like women with strong personalities you bit off more than you could chew?
Drank far less tea than you once thought to brew
Did your mother ever blame herself when you couldnt finish your plate,
Or were you forced to sit there until its contents were scraped
Like the walls of my brain?
Digging my nails so deep into my hair i siphoned a drain
Relinquishing my lungs from the broth of my distain
Now that's where she really sealed my fate;
Letting you up from your dinner place before you cleaned your nightly plate
And so forth you learned what you wanted to take
Was alright with the woman who slaved hours of her day away
For the perfect texture,
Temperature,
Taste testing testamur
SO WHY NOT ME?
No man will ever know all the baby hairs ive tamed,
Couches ive rearranged,
Backs of earrings I've misplaced,
Shaved my legs,
Beat my face,
Smeared a fragrance down the nape n pinned my curls back only to let them fall with the grace you couldn't show.
Setting the dinner table, to which I was prone,
Pouring tea for two until I realized I was drinking alone.
Bus Poet Stop Sep 2017
the bus poets

we are the modern day chimney sweeps,
the ***** black faced coal miners of the city,
digging up its grit, toasted with its spit,
the gone and forgotten elevator operators,
the anonymous substitutable,
still yet glimpsed occasionally,
grunts of urbanity
provoking a surprised
whaddya know!

once like the bison and the buffalo,
we were thousands,
word workers roaming the cities,
the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds
across the land of the brave,
free in ways the
founders wanted us to be
us, the stubs and stuff,
harder working poor and lower cases

we were the bus poets,
sitting always in the back of the bus,
where the engines growls loudest,
seated in the - the most overheated
in winter time, so much so
we nearly disrobed,
and then come the summer,
we were blasted with a joking
hot reverie from the vents,
but vent, no, we did not!

no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard,
passion overheated by currents within and without,
recording and ordering the
snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers,
into poem swatches;
the goings on passing by,
the overheard histories,
glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved,
inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook,
for all eternity what the eyes
sighed and saw

books ever passed
onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket,
attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys
with our names writ indelible with the magic of
black markers

if you stumble upon a breathing scripter,
let them be, just observe,
as they, you,
these movers and bus shakers,
as they, observe you

tell your children,
you knew one in your youth,
then take them to the attic
retrieve your mother's and father's,
teach your children
how to read, how to see,
the ways of their forefathers,
the forsaken,
the bus poets.
dedication: for them, for us, for me
Xoaquín Oznian Dec 2018
[Hurts So Good by Astrid S is playing in the background]

"Do you feel important now?"
you asked me in a gentle whisper
as you were caressing/kissing me
I said "**** yeah I feel important."
"Good" you said
"Do you?" I asked
"This is not about me. It's about you." you said
You smiled as you touched my face
as you pressed your ****, seductive body into mine
A blossoming trail of infinite kisses followed
tears in your eyes
**** on your lips
seduction in your voice
my hands on your hips
your hands on my body
tight was your grip
tight were your lips
the deeper you pressed them
into my neck
my nails digging into your skin
I cry at the very craving of you
what have you done to me?
hurts so good
****....
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
onlylovepoetry May 2017
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace

what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart  contents?

hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic

mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips

with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?

later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity

from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat

her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;

I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally

rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,

sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,

which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies


5/29/17 i
12:43pm
absinthe Jul 2018
sat next to the man with two phones
i asked him to hold my hand
and he laughed  

sitting in his ‘96 civic
for three hours we fell asleep
till six since three

he’s one of the many men
whose substance
far from the moral field
leaves many men with little substance
and you and me victims
of victims of you and me

he’s the type who feeds fiends
and he’ll keep making a killing
off children we perceive
as grown men and women
living to **** themselves
it’s how he makes a living

don’t him you belittle
for you are no different  

i know the thought makes you livid
you wish he was lined up and shot with the likes of him
but your white lies are their white lines
and the front lines in his line of business
so you would lie alongside and
wrong right
where you were digging

as far as i’m concerned
he’s not a man without substance
and one of much substance
one of few and far between
and certainly could you defeat

because while you let savages ravage me
he held my hand for free
and never demanded their standard fee
of an arm  
and a leg
and everything in between

.
Stephen E Yocum Jun 2017
Bombs are falling in Aleppo,
the evil failed man that rules,
killing his own people,
Innocent noncombatants,
sheltering in their homes,
Crushed and buried in the
falling rubble of a dictator's
vengeful hate.

None but the volunteer
White Helmets digging
with bare hands to save
and unbury them, most
victims, irrecoverable pieces.

Occasionally, miraculously
some are spared and saved.  
Through these valiant selfless
efforts.

Oh Syria, you are bombed and burned,
while the world fiddles an obtuse tune
and turns its collective back on desperate
human cries for assistance.
How much is enough I wonder, instead of
impossible walls to build,or immigration bans,
why not intervene to stop the wholesale
slaughter of innocent people. ****** on
this scale unchecked is paramount to a silent
shameful approval and moral surrender.
In the beginning we were opposite
Started with a drop is it
I liked the way you moved and
soon felt the groove
You were digging me and I was feeling you
Fluid and smooth
Nothing left to prove
You would be the the death of me
Take away the rest of me
Almost imperceptible
You gouged your way in
Damage irreparable
Away at my layers you're wearin’
Others start to stare and
Empty I remain
You
I could not contain
Left me with no companion
I
Simply
A Grand Canyon.

-Luca Ivaldi
I still love her
Joel A Doetsch Aug 2012
When I look at you,
all of my
logic
common sense
appropriateness
seems to evaporate
as my primitive brain
takes the wheel

We won't take our clothes off
We will tear them off.
Rip them off
Ravage them
Destroy them
We will brutally punish the fabric
for getting in the way of our sins,
it will fall tattered to the floor
as we don new clothing
made of our sweat and fingers

Our lips will find one another
then they'll find our necks
then our chests
then our stomaches
then....we'll see
We'll draw maps of our bodies with our fingers
and then we'll explore them with our tongues.
Nothing is sacred
Nothing is off limits

I want to make you feel ecstacy
I want your legs wrapped around me
I want your fingernails digging into my back
Leave scars, I insist.
Our bodies will press together
cause fusion
cause confusion
I don't want to know
what is mine
and what is yours
I want to be
so hopelessly
lost in you
and you in me
that we might never find our way back
Why would we ever go back?

As the rhythm becomes more staggered
I want to be looking into your eyes
We're seeing stars and we're relishing
every single tiny little moment
every feeling
every fleeting sensation
until we collapse into
eachother's arms
too tired to move
swimming in a
river of passion

You still smell delicious.
I want you again.
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