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Justin G Mar 2018
Deep into the darkness I dwell
Diligently waiting for a day
I am well

Within this shell
I hope to be heard
Like heaven and hell

Hear her voice
As it trembles
Let thy ears listen

Ignore the silence
That suffocates me
The noise is what
Imprisons me.
Waynepatrick Aug 2018
What is mankind's purpose on this terrestrial globe,
my mind is apt to probe,
Are we playthings of fate?
Being helpless in that state,
Is life a grocery list?
Ticking the checklist as you grow old and weary,
Seek diligently the meaning in your life,
Then be lost in perpetual contemplation of infinite bliss,
Careful not to  miss.
ryn Sep 2014
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind

Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels

In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface

Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light

Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain

What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?

Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions

Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
See "Light Train"
See "Collision Course"
ryn Sep 2014
What's my worth?
Am I worth a second glance?
Till present, from birth
Am I deserving of chance?

What's my value?
Am I worth time spent?
What did I do?
Did I squander the life lent?

What are my virtues?
Do they even shine through?
Do I put them to good use?
Or useless like a pair less shoe?

What defines me?
Is it the words that write?
Or work I do diligently?
Could it be my punches in a fight?

What have I done?
Take your time to think
Did I do it with a loaded gun?
Must've done something; must've missed the link

What am I good for?
Important work or menial labour
Could have I done more?
Achieved alone or together

Do I think differently?
Indulge in fairytale notions
Is it sheer folly?
To believe in magic potions

Am I just silly?
Do I dream too much?
Accept reality
Am I capable of such?

Do I shirk what I carry?
Should I have said no?
Did I delay and tarry?
Have I nothing to show?

Am I wrong to feel?
Is it foolish to want?
When it all is real
Now bearing the brunt

Do I wear you weary?
With my endless stupor
Why can't I bury?
Before we expire

Why do I wallow?
Wading through eye puddles
Should I just burrow?
Deep into these riddles

Why do I falter?
Why can't I heal and rise?
Why do I break and shatter?
How do I stop my eyes?

What is this dense forest?
Must everything be obscure?
Can I not be honest?
Can I not be insecure?

Could I be any more random?
Asking as they come to mind
Have I compromised my decorum?
Have I been blind?

Should I delve even deeper?
May I go on and ask?
Am I worthy of an answer?
Or should I just don my mask?

Gargantuan was my crime
Thick was its girth
Absolution this time?
Of it am I worth?
LearnfromBOBD Apr 15
Her body looks touchy in the light,
I urge to play with her all night.
Yes, she says and I hold her softly’
I take a deep breathe, to confirm if she’s ready.

She didn’t mind, and i proposed for a birthday gift, she can’t say yet.

I run one hand up her neck
touching her makes me wanna peck

For I love kissing.  

Across her body, my right hand goes,
I have been practicing, believe me, it shows.

Another deep breath, the tension reduce
staying focus, every moment dues
Boldly toast her to the room'
She gently stand up, no offends and we move.

Getting to the room
I gently push her to the wall
I make her feel the groove
My vibes and my moves
Triggers her to do

With my two hands,
I grab her head while kissing her
She close her eyes and
French we go.
So deep and no, i need to go’
she pull me back.

The sounds and feelings grow more immense
The movements, become more intense

My heart stops as I see the door open
Her mom walks in and says;

Your guitar is too loud,
please turn it down.
And she reply’ ok mom.

Well, I’m a bad boy trying to be relevant.

She forwardly push me to the bed
Stylishly she unzip my jean and holds my ****
While she **** the head
She fingers herself and makes me lick.
At the long run, I inserted my sim.

She took her face off as she feels the hit
She screams and still pulling me in,

While I diligently *** her with styles
She wonder, who am I

Four rounds we go
Hard and slow
She feels light and dope
She’s smiles and says that’s your birthday *** BOB
ryn Aug 2014
There are many different masks that adorn my wall
Always at the ready for such time they would be needed
Each one of them summoned to answer a specific call
Each one of them used so that the truth can't be uncovered

With time and wear these masks grow all the more necessary
They protect me from situations that render me vulnerable
Kept contained all the emotions that I wish to bury
Kept in check all of my thoughts so I stay capable

I've had these masks for as long as I can remember
Afraid if they have begun to redefine the true me
They assume their roles seamlessly as if it's second nature
Their roles they would assume without fail, ever so diligently

But as much as they would protect from my own naivety
They also would protect others from the words that I wield
These poison-laden words fueled by my poor misguided sanity
Could easily stab and wound if not for the masks that shield

Often wondered these masks if I've ever taken them off
And function as is without hiding behind bolted doors
Would I be able to walk the line without temptation to scoff
Will I be compassionate yet honest; without causing new-found sores

Such a tough questions to which the answers I know not
Despite having pondered till my head grew sore and weary
Something I should have done before delving in deep thought
Is to now remove the mask that my face does carry
ryn Sep 2014
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight

Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants

Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due

Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind

Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry

What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?

Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth

Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels

Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by

Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
See "Doom Train"
See "Collision Course"
did you buy all of this on credit
and can you do without
going to ceremonies for awhile
look what higher learning
and empty rituals have given you
a distrust for humanity
and all that's truly valuable
are you a nihilist or a solipsist
what a life to be so twisted
like an elliptical esophagus
so strange the way we spell things
what would we do without
spellcheck or a dictionary these days
is a thesaurus a dinosaur or a literary device
the swelling went down
right in time for your dialectical revival
while didactic strange attractors are strangely repellent
selective attackers leave your marriages despondent
disparaged orthodontists leave fluids on your face
still you wipe your chin with sandpaper
and leave greasy finger stains in their place
fluoride is a bargain complete with its own argument
and quite often batteries are not included
but that doesn’t mean you’ll never use them
for what's a *** toy to do
if its lacking its adjacent latex compartments
or if you're really just not in the mood
i guess this human body will have to do
grooving to the music is all about our choosing to
becoming outdated or faded like a tax evader
these equations are meaningless
when you are fermented with libations
if you drink more amber liquid would you be negated
relevant for a moment and then
just as quickly discarded as a piece of paper
the receipts we diligently saved
are just as well used to light your fireplaces
Emeka Mokeme Jul 2018
Nothing is more important
than your sanity and your safety.
Achieving that is your choice and
your topmost priority.
You can say no not now,
or no not yet but don't forget you
will be burned if you don't give your
best to diligently work hard to achieve
it daily for the cosmic law fulfills.
What can be more important than
your well-being and happiness.
Do the right things for today and
tomorrow will be alright just for you.
Have you ever thought about helping
someone else in your own little way
to achieve their goals or excel in
their chosen projects.
Always remember that when you do help
with the abilities and resources available,
you are also be investing in yourself,
it's like an insurance,
a protective way that will guarantee
your place in the scheme of things.
Everyone is as unique and irreplaceable as the stars.
When your life is full of incessant activities,
you will not have time to check time.
You are filled with vim, vigour and vitality,
put it to work and be the best you can be.
And the universe will be kind to you
by giving you the right dividends to equate
the effort you put in place.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Chelsea Lee Oct 2018
I've decided to give up the stars.

I will surrender my wonder.
I will close my eyes
and breath, and rest, and sleep.
I will let each inhale expand my lungs in all directions, rippling outward on the breeze on prarie grass at midnight.
I will sink into the fresh earth with each exhale.
I will not dream,
but settle into the Delta here.  
I will be healed here.

I will give up my stars to be enveloped by the dark sky and the deep, warm, soil...
Alive with a hundred thousand universes.
Millions of eager microbes treating wounds too small to detect but make my tired mind ache still.
Like stress fractures in ocular musculature,
Worn out from all this time searching for beauty as diligently as for danger.

To show my stars there is awe in existing, less being looked upon.
Brian Yule Mar 14
When they look back on me

Let them all swear

He always stole diligently

Oft-times unawares

& If he plucked on your heartstrings

Another man's chords

He only piggybacked to reach higher
Lucas Feb 16
blue meets white where
concentrate meets

one great Jamaican holiday
is red on blue,
4th dimension over
bright, square lights.

stainless steal ceiling fan
shaking lazily and
diligently, emitting dim wattage
without cover or C/Bers'.

this maintains,
this building full of plastic gumball girls
still 16
and nowhere close to pretend/play modesty;
totalitarianistically charged
with undulations of knowledge
both carnal and worldly.

blue meets white
and severs fear-bonding
as we breathe constellations.

respect the muscle
and payment.
please, don't fret.
Being a Medical Technologist,
You have many different roles,
You wear the hat of a Scientist in testing the specimen,
An Investigator in detecting antibodies in the Blood Bank department,
A compassionate human being with a soft heart,
An Engineer in troubleshooting problems with the laboratory instruments,
An Educator in training new Med Techs and passing your skills on to them,
A life-long Student, being tested on previous knowledge and receiving continuing education,
A Firefighter, putting fires out and solving challenging problems at work,
A Weatherman, trying to make it to work on time, while fighting Michigan’s ever-changing weather
An Inventory Associate, tracking supplies coming in and diligently storing them in their rightful places
A Counselor in collaborating with other professional’s, consoling them, and addressing questions and concerns,
And a Spiritual human by starting every day with a prayer for things to run smoothly at work!

Hussein Dekmak

幽玄 Aug 2018
A woman
more than her womanly parts
more than her ****** self
more than her character that you perceive
fullest is she when washed over with emotion
a mother
she strives to be
always arriving
Alone in her barracks driven to atrophy
Barricaded from within for a feeble life outside
an endearing way for the moment
Not to suffer
as she already endured her half
leaving ends untied
Now onto something plush
imagining that which never was
or perhaps something a bit more rough
a silent break
or a
break of silence
to continue on
this way
a source of love
you bring life in
to an outer world
that turns you away
into yourself
you keep all pain
from eyes that are Yours
you show no weakness
those hands seen nothing
but austerity
uncleanliness was where you found yourself
growing up
aspersed by those
whom opposed your struggling
your beyond those tattered memories
that kept you below
your more than I could ever ask for
the very leap that gave sprung to
my confidence
to the gentle
‘water’ in me
in you
the ‘air poetry’ we read
to live
day in to day out
always are you there
whenever you’re unneeded anymore
I won’t give it a second thought to return the favor
to show you life as you have with us
diligently pacing for you with humility
mother you will no longer have to carry
this weight no more
for it is already
imported onto my back
to ease your trail
further along the unknown
i’m without worry
live life again as
For my Mother. And every other Mother out there, your Child(ren) love(s) you...

too often do I take many things for granted.
Jun Lit Jan 25
(In Memory of Miss Araceli M. Katigbak, TMA’s Miss Grammar)

You taught us
to talk and write head up high
in a tongue to foster,
that is not our mother
The scroll of rules
and the roster of exceptions
you’ve mastered
and you made us master,
patiently you nurtured
the timid buds
diligently you challenged us
daily, and your voice
still reverberates –
Correct practice makes perfect!
Beyond subject-predicate agreements
Your treasured grammar lessons
taught the young at heart,
the malleable minds:
Every man or every woman is
Men or women are,
regardless or irrespective
of beginnings,
required to know:
1. There are rules to be followed.
- and we expanded this to our lives,
and not just our paragraphs and sentences
2. There are exceptions to be considered.
- and you indirectly taught us,
to recognize differences
and that difficulties of the English language
are just like people’s frailties
and our friends’ idiosyncracies
3. Mastering grammar is good
but honesty is the best!

And thus, your lessons most precious
are far above your prim and proper dress and shoes
and your gospels of correct usage, syntax and other linguistic gems
delivered good citizenship and how-to-be-a-good-friend items.
The Good English we learned are words to live by
You’ve given us treasures no money can buy.
TMA - refers to The Mabini Academy, in Lipa City, the school that the author that the author attended during his high school years and from where he graduated in 1977.
Waynepatrick Jan 2
On a starry night as I was taking leave from the toils of the day, there came a knock on my door. My thoughts submitted to guessing who this late visitor could be. I found it impossible to hold my peace. Curiosity goaded me so much that I couldn’t miss to answer the door. Uncanny it was for such a thing to occur. The creaking floor bore semblance to the cry of unknown night creatures. Diligently I twisted the ****, relieving it of its duties and on opening the door  the sight that fell on my eyes left me shocked. Sweat trickled from my brow as I betook to welcoming this guest. Before me in my dim and clouded vision there stood a woman in a robe with a stature that did not surpass mine. She swam in a luster of beauty and her sight was pleasing to eye. Her manner of gait was magnificent and her hair coalesced into a bun that was neatly done. Her shapely ******* flushed me with desire. Such serenity left me perturbed. Her composure could make someone confuse me as the guest. I took it in her eyes that she wasn’t from this place. “Who could you be miss?” “Is there a way I could help you?” implored I. But she remained silent as if she was incapable of speech. Her eloquence in the silence did leave me uncomfortable. And for this cause I did repeat my question then she finally opened her mouth to speak. “Be so kind as to give me something to eat.” “For I am weak and bread the size of the palm would do." How sure can I be that you’re not a thief, thought I, but did not dare say. But she bore innocence on her face and looked stablished in the ways of the good. If all she wanted was food then I could spare some for her needs. I myself was a laborer and had used all of my proceedings for this. I hadn’t the slightest of clues of what her intentions were, only heavens could decipher if she had ostensible purposes. My weakness was empathy to the point I appeared naïve, but call to mind that this wasn’t true. To her request I did attend and gave her a loaf with a glass of milk. After mouthing the loaf, she appeared to sink into introspection as if she had suddenly thought of something. Her eyes fixed on my ceiling and her countenance devoid of all feeling. Then she connected with her senses and gulped the milk. Finally she turned to me and went ahead to explain how she couldn’t repay my favor. Recompense I did not expect but before I could speak she had the following to say. “My body is all I have to give and my heat can sustain you on this cold night and make you delight. Her words I marveled at and was quite confused. Her halls looked frequented by many men for her beauty was undisputed and her allurements were seducing… (to be continued)
Poetyouknowit Nov 2018
Into his heart she wished to peer
To glimpse a shade of his crippling fear.

These feelings she claimed as just a murmur to sense
Of deep loss, unknown sadness, and loneliness.

From where he came baggage weighed him down
To where she found him toiling around.

Listing and rolling on an open sea
A broken man he was, so sure was she.

A place to pile pity, sadness, and sorrow high
To fill a hole in her own mind's eye.

A project, a task, a falcon with clipped wing;
Perfect - for a broken man can only be a summer fling.

A date written in sand to bring the curtain down
Leaves nothing to invest; nothing to lose in a waning town.

Help she will not, 'tis not her place
For when summer sets - off to another race.

What does one do when magnificent marble cracks to its core?
Take on the mantle of repair as their chivalrous chore?

For when one finds a thing more broken than they
Pious self-righteousness illuminates their way.

Always the better a thing that is broken
For it leaves that which lies beneath always unknown.

Talents and treasures in a life yet to live
Are the things that a broken man has yet to give.

For broken is mended through time and reflection
And then is when she might make a connection.

Yet a connect is impossible when hubris abounds
For painted already is a picture that confounds.

Perception turns to reality as mud turns to stone;
A broken man always is as she chooses to be shone.

Just as a broken plate, glass, or jar are easily discarded
A broken man is one who is also easily departed.

As fracture turns to crack and crack turns to decay
That which is broken knows only one of two ways.

To stay broken forever discarded as dust
Or to mend, heal, and repair the broken man must.

As the swift needle of time sews shut his ripped heart
The broken man realizes in this play he still has a part.

Realization that his role does not intertwine with her
Sets the broken man looking for what can only be a cure.

With grout, cement, and epoxy he sets to piece himself together
The broken man works diligently to fill in each fissure.

And as his new form takes shape he can confidently say
A broken man is not forever - only a detour off life's highway.

Lost in that summer was opportunity for more.
Voices and laughter fading with no encore.

A sadness swells in the throat behind the tongue
A song left to sing, but no song is sung.

The broken man mended whole once again,
He'll always look fondly where whence he has been.
Victor D López Dec 2018
Your husband died at 40, leaving you to raise seven children alone.
But not before your eldest, hardest working son, Juan, had
Drowned at sea in his late teens while working as a fisherman to help
You and your husband put food on the table.

You lost a daughter, too,
Toñita, also in her early teens, to illness.
Their kind, pure souls found
Their way back home much too soon.

Later in life you would lose two more sons to tragedy, Paco (Francisco),
An honest, hard working man whose purposeful penchant for shocking
Language belied a most gentle nature and a generous heart. He was electrocuted by
A faulty portable light while working around his pool.

And the apple of your eye, Sito (José), your last born and most loving son, who
Had inherited his father’s exceptional looks, social conscience, left of center
Politics, imposing presence, silver tongue, and bad, bad luck, died, falling
Under the wheels of a moving train, perhaps accidentally.

In a time of hopelessness and poverty, you would not be broken.
You rose every day hours before the dawn to sell fish at a stand.
And every afternoon you placed a huge wicker basket on your head and
Walked many, many miles to sell even more fish in other towns.

Money was tight, so you often took bartered goods in
Exchange for your fish, giving some to those most in need,
Who could trade nothing in return but their
Blessings and their gratitude.

You walked back home, late at night, through darkness or
Moonlit roads, carrying vegetables, eggs, and perhaps a
Rabbit or chicken in a large wicker basket on your strong head,
Walking straight, on varicose-veined legs, driven on by a sense of purpose.

During the worst famine during and after the Civil War, the chimney of your
Rented home overlooking the Port of Fontan, spewed forth black smoke every day.
Your hearth fire burned to to feed not just your children, but also your less
Fortunate neighbors, nourishing their bodies and their need for hope.

You were criticized by some when the worst had passed, after the war.
“Why work so hard, Remedios, and allow your young children to go to work
At too young an age? You sacrifice them and yourself for stupid pride when
Franco and foreign food aid provide free meals for the needy.”

“My children will never live off charity as long as my back is strong” was your Reply.
You resented your husband for putting politics above family and
Dragging you and your two daughters, from your safe, comfortable home at
Number 10 Perry Street near the Village to a Galicia without hope.

He chose to tilt at windmills, to the eternal glory of other foolish men,
And left you to fight the real, inglorious daily battle for survival alone.
Struggling with a bad heart, he worked diligently to promote a better, more just
Future while largely ignoring the practical reality of your painful present.

He filled you with children and built himself the cross upon which he was
Crucified, one word at a time, leaving you to pick up the pieces of his shattered
Idealism. But you survived, and thrived, without sacrificing your own strong
Principles or allowing your children to know hardships other than those of honest work.

And you never lost your sense of humor. You never took anything or
Anyone too seriously. When faced with the absurdity of life,
You chose to smile or laugh out loud. I saw you shed many tears of laughter,
But not once tears of pain, sorrow or regret. You would never be a victim.

You loved people. Yours was an irreverent sense of humor, full of gentle irony,
And wisdom. You loved to laugh at yourself and at others, especially pompous fools
Who often missed your great amusement at their expense, failing to understand your Dismissal, delivered always with a smile, a gentle voice and sparkling eyes.

Your cataracts and near sightedness made it difficult for you to read,
But you read voraciously nonetheless, and loved to write long letters to loved ones and friends. You were a wise old woman, the wisest and strongest I will ever know,
But one with the heart of a child and the soul of an angel.

You were the most sane, most rational, most well adjusted human being
I have ever known. You were mischievous, but incapable of malice.
You were adventurous, never afraid to try or to learn anything new.
You were fun-loving, interesting, kind, rambunctious, funny and smart as hell.

You would have been an early adopter of all modern technology, had you lived long
Enough, and would have loved playing—and working—with all of my electronic
Toys. You would have been a terror with a word processor, email, and social media
And would have loved my video games—and beaten me at every one of them.

We were great friends and playmates throughout most of my life.  You followed
Us here soon after we immigrated in 1967, leaving behind 20 other Grandchildren.
I never understood the full measure of that sacrifice, or the love that made it
Bearable for you. I do now. Too late. It is one of the greatest regrets of my life.

We played board games, cowboys and Indians, raced electric cars, flipped
Baseball cards and played thousands of hands of cards together. It never
Occurred to me that you were the least bit unusual in any way. I loved you
Dearly but never went far out of my way to show it. That too, I learned too late.

After moving to Buenos Aires, when mom had earned enough money to take
You and her younger brothers there, the quota system then in place made it
Impossible to send for your two youngest children, whose care you entrusted
Temporarily to your eldest married daughter, Maria.  

You wanted them with you. Knowing no better, you went to see Evita Peron for help.
Unsurprisingly, you could not get through her gatekeepers.  But you were
Nothing if not persistent. You knew she left early every morning for her office.
And you parked yourself there at 6:00 a.m., for many, many days by her driveway.  

Eventually, she had her driver stop and motioned for you to approach.
“Grandmother, why do you wave at me every morning when I leave for work?”
She asked. You explained about your children in Spain. She took pity and scribbled a
Pass on her card to admit you to her office the next day.

You met her there  and she assured you that a visa would be forthcoming;
When she learned that you made a living by cleaning homes and washing clothing,
She offered you a sewing machine and training to become a seamstress.
You thanked her but declined the offer.

“Give the sewing machine to another mother with no trade. My strong back and hands
Serve me well enough and I do just fine, as I have always done.”
Evita must have been impressed for she asked you to see her yet again when the
Children had arrived in Buenos Aires, giving you another pass. You said you would.

You kept your word, as always. And Evita granted you another brief audience,
Met your two youngest sons (José and Emilio) and shared hot chocolate and
Biscuits with the three of you. You disliked and always criticized Peron and the Peronistas,
But you never forgot Evita’s kindness and defended her all your life.

You were gone too quickly. I had not said “I love” you in years. I was too busy,
With school and other equally meaningless things to keep in touch. You
Passed away without my being there. Mom had to travel by herself to your
Bedside for an extended stay. The last time I wrote you I had sent you a picture.

It was from my law school graduation.
You carried it in your coat pocket before the stroke.
As always, you loved me, with all of my faults that made me
Unworthy of your love.

I knew the moment that you died. I awoke from a deep sleep to see a huge
White bird of human size atop my desk across from my bed. It opened huge
Wings and flew towards me and passed through me as I shuddered.
I knew then that you were gone. I cried, and prayed for you.

Mom called early the next day with the news that you had passed. She also
Told me much, much later that you had been in a coma for some time but that
You awoke, turned to her without recognizing her, and told her that you were going to
Visit your grandson in New York. Then you fell asleep for one last time.

I miss you every day.

[   To hear a YouTube reading of this poem in its entirety, you can visit the following URL:   ]
from Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems 2011, 2018
Esteem plagued the pretense of reality
Fitting firm, a reason to be happy
Wavering diligently the courses daunted by society
As innocence fight for a place in moralities.

For whom must one seek
To be free from stigma and defeat
And claim triumph on red metal seats.
emimg Nov 2018
breaking wrists, bruised upper lips
chewing cigarettes like they're chalk sticks
breathing in, let's let go
throwing shoes over the barbed wire
and inhaling november rain to soothe this
this is the mediocre
let's blow **** up with dynamite
i want to see the end with you
hop in the busted Toyota
play some ****** lofi and let's let loose
bust your head on the dashboard
i want chaotic
run this red light, brake before the train on the track, dine and dash with me, shoplift this bottle of moscato for me
rack up the records
and let's let loose
i'll drink for me and i'll drink for you
i know you hate these nights when you can't reach a high
but i'll count the feathers with you
play with your hair
and hold your hand while we let the car run in your garage
i'll let you ramble about your rendezvous and listen diligently
this is how we can go, i just want to see the end with you
i hope this is good enough
Anna Oct 2018
The noose around your neck
Is around ours
Necks warped and twisted
By pools of molten tears
Erupting without warning

She was an infected bullet wound
Giving you tetanus
A black line that raced to your mind
Reddening your eyes
So you only saw death

You burned in the fire of Hades
Capricious flames dancing
A witch burning alive
Found guilty of being human
A verdict you couldn’t live with

They can't point fingers now
At the void where you were
And their fingers are lost
In old handkerchiefs
Saturated with their tears

Flowers replace you
Where you once stood
White when they should be black
You choke on religion
Even now

We pull back the soil
Tucking you up with the earth
Kissing you with impotent words
Burying you under the rope
You carried so diligently in life
Trigger warning: suicide. This was written about suicide after my boyfriend at the time's brother killed himself. It explores his pain and the pain of those left behind.

— The End —