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Robert Guerrero May 2013
August 12, 1993

This is the third diary I have written in
This diary must be famous
So maybe oneday
Someone will hear or at least read my story
By the way my name is Sarrah
Weird spelling right?

August 13, 1993

Just heard some bad news...
I'm pregnant
I can't believe it
16 years old and pregnant!
The "father" is a dead beat
Ran after I said I might be
I can't keep the child
I don't know what to do

August 15, 1993

I wrote my first poem
One of my friends said it would help
Didn't really
I just wrote and wrote
I almost wrote a book
I wonder what I'm going to do with this child
Aborting it would be painful
Giving it up is almost impossible
Having it is unlikely
I have so much going for me

April 20, 1993

Found out one of my friends loves me
He knows I'm pregnant
He said he would help me
He always has a plan
Maybe I can be happy with him
I don't know
I don't want to bring him down
Diary...what should I do?

April 23, 1993

Still no reply?
I forgot I'm asking an inanimate object
To answer a question
I was forced to ask because of my stupidity
I have poor taste in men
I'm now called distastefully
Sarah the 16 year old pregnant *****
My boyfriend is really annoyed with it
I hope I can love him as much as he loves me

April 30, 1993

I cut myself
The girls at school keep harrassing me
I can't take this
I forgot how many weeks I am now
I just want this baby out
I don't want it
It's causing to much stress
Diary...help me please

September 18, 1993

I lost you for a while
Can't believe you were right here
Underneath my bed covered by my favorite shirt
That now I can't wear anymore
I look like a cow
School is horrid
I almost beat one of my teachers with a textbook
He called me "Sahcow"

September 21, 1993

I just got dumped by the man I love
He said I didn't love him enough
That I was wieghing him down
I can't believe this
I haven't stopped crying since 12 last night
Why does everything have to go wrong with me?
Am I that broken?
That big of a **** up?

September 29, 1993

I have just successfully planned my suicide
The title of this diary says "Diary Of Broken Souls"
It should say "Diary Of Suicidal Souls"
I just read the other 402 other entries
That many people...dead...murdered...by cruelty
Might as well join them
My ******* is just about the same

October 8, 1993

Halloween is just around the corner
And with it comes my death
No more baby
No more mother *******
No more father crying at the sight of me
Well the tears will be for a different reason now
I'll write my last entry on Halloween

October 31, 1993

Today is the day
Finally coming to an end
I'll **** this baby first
Swallow a **** load of pain killers
Throw in a couple anti-depressants
Noose is tied just perfectly
I have it hanging over the school entry way
A little memorial for the girls at school
All the students actually
Who have called me names
Criticized me for this ****
Well good bye *******
Sorry Diary you didn't get to know me
I'll be memorialized in these pages
Somebody will know what it's like
To be 16, pregnant, and depressed from all of it
Brea Brea May 2013
Call me fox and I will call you Jaguar

I normally walk the paths
gawking at every creature I pass
squawking loudly, regurgitating my wisdom distastefully
I spoke like coyote
foolisly
I continued on my way, in hopes of a creature large and as fearsome
as fearsome as you
Jaguar
to strike respect and fear into my heart and my actions
so that my meaning would not be soiled by my uncomely behavior
as I stalked you for days on the forrest floor
looking, watching your muscles flow over your skeleton
in a magestically dangerous motion
You can feel me
in the place all creatures feel, sense, and connect
as one
there is unspoken understanding between you and I
oh powerful warrior
and I am to know my place
in the order
you are beautiful and fascinating to me
a worthy objective on my walk
you are a specimen of the wonder of the world
of the god-like integrity and compassion
that penetrates the soul
you leave the marrow intact within the bone
for me to treasure
for my mouth to salivate and consume in haste
but in awe of the judgement you pass
the power bestowed unto you without a single act of self rightousness
we sleep on the same earthen bed
we dream from the same deep sleep
we touch, our stories, our tales of survival
they reach one another intuitively
and so long as I mind my place
silence my ego
I will forever walk beside you, following in your gracious example
as we venture deep with in the forrests density
living vicariously beside one another
on to new things Nov 2013
This situation has gotten me to see how wrong I was treating you, just so distastefully. I've stopped doing the bad things that I was doing and also stopped using that bad stuff I was using. Its been 36 days now and will be more. I want to share this with you *** Im not like before.  

Since Im getting better with the pass of each new day.. I'd like you to see it and then maybe you'll stay. When your on mind altering substances or drinking your life away you say and do things that you normally would never say. People don't need that kind of abuse, and if you say "no" I  will understand since I was just a muse. I never meant to treat you so terribly foul. Id take it all back if I possibly knew how.

If you loved me and wasn't able to say it,... if that was even somewhat true then you can still love me especially after all of this time and what we've gone through. Your worth it to me since your the one I want and I will forever be true.

There has never been another man that can compare to you. I have always wanted you  from the very start when you would make up little stories that captured my heart. I have always had a strong connection with only you and I hope that you have that feeling inside too.


I want to love you forever and always be by your side..theres nothing I will keep from you...I have nothing to hide. I want to start out fresh and forget all that's gone on...if were meant to be togetherthis wont take too long.  Your my ultimate love, my one and only dream. Please let me show you im better and that I can love you unconditionally and never be mean. Please consider it and maybe give it a try...theres no other I will desire and yearn to be happy ever after unless your that guy.  <3
Jordan Frances Feb 2014
Can I numb my body one last time?
You say you'll haunt me if
I overdose
I bleed out
I keep my food from digesting
I **** myself
Whether it is intentional or not.

Quitting cold turkey
Is a ***** and a half
But when you quit three things at once
When your life is still a living hell
You find yourself moody
And depressed
And angry.

How is it possible
That when I decide to stop cutting
Stop purging
Stop hurting my body
Stop denying myself
That I start to have those
Suicidal and foreboding thoughts
Enter my brain again?
Not that I'll act on them.

Obsessive thoughts
Lead to compulsive behaviors
I know this far too well.
The bleak practice of picking my skin
Will all but disappear from my routine.
But hey, at least it can't **** me.

Smoking some tobacco
As well as other assorted chemicals
Could send me to my grave.
It's a little bit of a longer flight, however.
And stress is a more direct route.
I guess you have to pick your battles.

People say they hate to be numbed
I guess that's why people abuse painkillers?
Sorry, I'm feeling distastefully sarcastic today.
But my point is
I don't mind it
Because take away the medicine
And you're forced to deal with whatever reality
Brought you to that point.
Might as well procrastinate while you can get away with it.
But it's a dangerous wire to dance on.
Michael Ryan Apr 2018
I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.

As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.

I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.

Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.

Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.  

Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".

Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.  
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.
Giving help, but needing help.  Can you receive help if you already know what they will say.
Terry Collett Mar 2014
Teatime done with
I went with Helen
across the bomb site
off Meadow Row

and crossed
the New Kent Road
to the ABC cinema
and along side

the dark alleys
dim lights
damp stink
she just behind me

clutching her doll
Battered Betty
by one arm
was that a rat?

she half said
and screamed
could be
I said

you see
them at night
down here
she clutched my arm

with her free hand
Battered Betty
swaying behind her
what we looking for?

she asked
cigarette ends
I said
why?

What do you
want them for?
she asked
make up a smoke

with Rizla *** papers
I said
you smoke
old tobacco?

she said
put it
in your mouth?
If I get

enough tobacco
sure
I said
looking around

the ground
yuk
she said
sometimes

I find dropped coins
I found a cuff link once
silver it was
but one

ain't much good
unless you're
a one armed man
I said

does your mum know
you smoke?
God no
I said

she has enough
to worry about
without me
adding to it

she frowned
clutched my arm tighter
well you shouldn't smoke
she said

you're only 9 like me
and I would never smoke
and our children
when we have them

won't smoke either
she said
she looked
at Battered Betty steely

I pushed her words
and images
out of my mind
for the moment

I saw a semi-smoked
Senior Service
on the ground
by the wall

and stooped
to pick it up
it's got lipstick on it
Helen said distastefully

it's has a woman's
spittle inside
I looked at her
disapproving gaze

and threw it away
yes you're right
I said
men's spittle's best

she frowned darkly
ok
I said
not really

I just jest
another time maybe
I thought
taking her deeper

into the dark
and rats
and damp stink
of drains

remembering it all
it sinking
into my
9 year brain.
BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1950S
Eulalie Oct 2013
My biggest fear is that everyone will eventually discover how positively unremarkable the soul beneath this husk of a person always was,
To shy away from the cringing passersby as they gawp mercilessly at the offending blemish of my existence.
I'm trying to learn how to like myself, but it's a pathological, preexisting condition to be able to identify all of the things wrong with me simultaneously as an individual and as (un)contributing member to society.
I don't mean to be so cruel, for I know in my heart that self-love is paramount to intelligent, peaceful, pleasant enlightenment,
It's merely that I sense some ubiquitously negative energy whenever I make the attempt to muster up some sort of internal kindness.
No, it gets wasted on all the strangers and non-strangers in my socially habituating dwelling.
I'll share with them the stars from the sky and the very constellations from their hearts and make them feel positively dynamic and optimistic and they'll walk away from me with a cushy spot for hope in their pockets.
And I'll retreat to the shelter on my back, drained as if the flow of my mind were poured out in a colander, leaving the pulpy, distastefully rude thoughts that remained to wreak havoc on my crippled self-esteem.
I'm so sorry that my kindliness is some lewd pantomime of genuine altruism.
I'm sorry if I destroyed the ethereal, impossible image of who you fashioned me into.
I was always afraid that this would happen.
I decided to try some alternate honesty with myself. I don't know how I feel.
Mitchell Mar 2011
Kicking and screaming children
With their troubles and complaints
Force words from minds of dreary states
Realizations some won't meet the date

A bitter taste enters the air
Cloudy grey **** tangerine
Brightening to the tune of the loon
A broken down *** with a gun

But faster then we are here we are gone
A fatalistic but hopeful parody
Cracking glass jars in the twilight moon
As my sister brunette watches the toons

Littering through the concrete sidewalks
As the grandma's sagging sit down to talk
These registers are filled with monopoly money
And I just watched a movie of ******* Bunnies

An eccentric with one hundred ways to love a woman
A man that gave the game plan
To a high hearted man glittering sands
Ziggy the man with the amazing hands

For we are on a high and mighty moving picture trip now
Caught in the lit lie of the illusion
Asking the nurse for another freebie transfusion
And a peek from the geek under her sheet

A silly break in the world is the only thing a mad man CAN do
Because sometimes the only sky I see is slightly hued blue
And the men that elude to hatters that are mad
Playing with words in rhyme just make me sad

Brought up as a back door man by my own accord
I caused mischief and terror like every other outlaw
A foreigner in a seemingly "comfortable" land
Nowadays everything seems to have a ****** plan

Where tomorrow is that day and the next will be that
And the guy who you get take out from is wearing the same hat
But the hate you feel deep and preach onto the electronic page
May drearily, hopefully, perhaps distastefully give you a wage

Oh where does the madness stop if it only ends with money!
For these worries are from a sagging face watching bunnies
And eluding to grandeur nearing signs of a menstral manager
And a cosmopolitan back break with the blackening beauty of a snake

Lo,
Here I wait,
For sweet mornings embrace
jessika michele Oct 2013
King of the roaches
you are

With your crown of garbage
and your kingdom of filth

In your lazy chair throne
With a controller of realms
The crusader of Los Santos

No don't get up
don't dare lift a finger
ill come to you

and linger
counting the insects as they crawl across the wall
across the primitive artwork of a previous lover

three paces behind
close enough to see
to speak
to touch

far enough away
for if anyone saw
to pull away and dismiss

you need your freedom your highness?
is that all you wish?

please be my guest
to frolic with the trollop in the kitchen
or even the harlot
who's ruby red lips you so distastefully admire

take no notice
after your gallivanting
how quietly I have escaped the castle.
Nassir Brown Jul 2014
I get this feeling
in my chest.
Almost like a pain; the same pains that lingers after a fresh wound.
It's the same feeling I get when,
I'm in fear.
Like a pressing on my chest and
A tightening rope on my stomach.
But I excuse it distastefully and with haste.
Then I get this feeling in my stomach;
Like a million butterflies inside, like a constant tickling but
It isn't funny this time.
This is the same feeling I get when I'm nervous.
The pressure to act, the time is now.
But uncertainty of, "what action to take" is overwhelming.
But still I brush it off methodically and with grace.
And then I get this thought in my head;
The same thought that comes about when I know that it's
Game time, time to perform, time to act,
The calm before the storm.
But I'm confused.
And I can't channel my feelings and I start to go mad and I can't control myself and I'm blind with rage and thought and emotion and my heart starts to race and I can't hold it in and then,
I'm calm.
I now I know what I must do.
PART I
Sam had been eagerly awaiting this move. The new house was spectacular. An old, colonial home in rural Pennsylvania, with a wraparound veranda and a bay window in what appeared to be a castle spire on the far North side. The roof was made out of red clay, pieces of it broken, yet undisturbed. The front yard was turning brown in the July sun, and the front door had a crack in it the size of Texas. But with a little elbow grease, Sam and his family were going to make this ****-hole a home.

Sam walked inside the front door and was greeted with one of those large staircases that splits into two directions at the top. There was a portrait of someone at the top of the stairs, but his face had been ripped out of the painting. Peculiar. He then walked across the squeaky floor into the kitchen where he decided to run the sink for a drink of water. Rust. The water ran brown and he was wondering what he would drink since the fridge was still in the back of the U-Haul. While the rest of his family was still unloading, curious Sam decided to tour the house, since this was the first time he’d actually been in it.
He went upstairs and hung a left. The wallpaper here was hideous. A mix of Posies and Lavender painted the walls with a yellow smoke-stained backsplash. Upstairs smelled weird. Ammonia and cigars. Classy cigars. Not a 75 cent Black & Mild you buy at the drive thru when you can’t afford a real pack of smokes. I follow the smell back to a bedroom. This bedroom was the master room. Sam opened the door that was slightly ajar, only to find the room was completely barren, short of an old timey rocking chair. Maybe the old occupants left it?
Walking about this room Sam feels a cool chill on the air. Like a September breeze gently brushing the back of your neck. Looking around he felt nothing but the empty space. No weird vibe, but not a comfortable one either. He felt like an iceberg standing in the ocean all alone, waiting for the Titanic to come along. The Titanic in this case, being something of any interest or excitement. Time to move on.
He moved out of the room, past the stairs and into another, smaller room, past the strange portrait. Once again, there was an empty, barren space where his feet hit the floor. This room had carpet. Old carpet, maybe **** from the seventies. But he really didn’t care. It just appeared as a fire hazard to him. Hardwood has always been Sams’ favorite. He wandered about this room the same as the last, feeling nothing but the coolness and how awfully the room was decorated. Obviously a childs room. The walls were covered in Zebras, leapords, tigers, and lions. There was coloring on the walls. He didn’t notice what it said until he really looked. “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE HERE” was inscribed on the wall in red Crayola marker. He binked, and rubbed his eyes. Looking up again, it was gone. How strange. I’m not imagining this, he thought to himself. I have 20/20 vision, I don’t mistake anything. Oh well. His inner monologue had ended.
After a minute of contemplation, he decided to go help the rest of his family. On his way out the door to grab a box, he was greeted by his eccentric mother. “Aren’t you excited, Sammy?!” She exclaimed as he came outside. “This house is so old. I love the history.” She said enthusiastically. She was a young mother, having Sam at the age of 19. She was a nurse. Taking care of people was her specialty, and another was not giving any regard to herself. Being 31 now, she’s having a sort of mid-life I-Need-To-Feel-Youthful-again crisis. That’s why she bought this house. She figured a new house could mean a new her, and she could live how she’d always wanted too. She was a small framed woman, about 5’3 with a petite figure and a bright red pixie cut. As she was carrying boxes of China into the kitchen to place on the counter, she had to stop and breathe in the places aroma. Inhaling deeply, she sighed “Wow, sam. This is spectacular. Don’t you think so?”

“Kinda weird.” Sam replied, making his way up the veranda steps with another box. Placing it down, he commented about the hideous wallpaper. “This place is pretty **** ugly to me.” Sam said distastefully. “Samuel Smith, watch your mouth!” Mother said. Being a single mom and not having a father figure to help raise Sam, she’d done the best she could. Always teaching him to use his manners, watch his language and chew with his mouth closed. She’s the picture perfect mom, only missing the mini-van that comes with mom-hood. “I think we’ll make it work just fine, baby.” She added as she came up to him, wrapped her hands around his cheeks and kissed his forhead. “I love you, pumpkin.” She whispered. Sam replied, wiping her hands from his face. “Mom, come on. I’m to old for that stuff now.”

She pulled away, minding her boundaries. “You’re never too old to be my baby, Sammy.” Now go wash up, I called in for take-out earlier since we don’t have a stove yet, and you know you’re not allowed to be ***** at dinner time.” Sam sighed deeply. “Ugh, fine.” He stomped his way to the bathroom to see the new shower. Everything in the bathroom was very nice, except for a crack across the mirror. He took in his surroundings as he ran the water. To his surprise, the water in the shower wasn’t burnt orange and filled with rust. It ran clear, as it should. Sam stripped down and showered, singing Motely Crue to himself while washing.

After stepping out of the shower, he went and ate dinner with his mother. He’d gotten his usual order of General Taos chicken on a bed of white rice, extra sauce. Mother ate the egg rolls and dipped them in soy sauce. She wasn’t a big fan of meat, anymore.
After a few more hours of moving and assistance from hired help, sam went to his room and laid down on his brand new mattress. Covered in plastic, he struggled to find a comfortable spot where he wouldn’t slide off. He found it in the middle, and slept.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“What the hell?!” Sam jumped out of his bed and almost out of his ****** Doo themed pajamas. BANG! BANG! BANG! “Mom?!” he yelled. He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, and flipped the light. He found his mother in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors shut with all of her might. “What are you doing, mom?” Sam yelled. She turned to face him. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t quite point it out. She curled her lips into a smile and said “Go back to bed, Sammy. Mommies just having fun.”
“Um… okay. Goodnight then, I guess.” “Goodnight, Samuel” she muttered. That was NOT mothers voice. “Are you okay? You seem weird.” “Mommies fine, Samuel. Go back to bed.” He went without questioning It anymore. This had frightened Sam out of his wits. His mother doesn’t bang cabinet doors shut at 3:35 A.M, or ever, for that matter. He tried to disregard it and went to sleep again, using his pillow to drown out the banging.
I'm getting more into writing stories. I'll post the other parts soon. Might be three, might be four. Depends on how much I like where this is going.
My bones ache for a body they don't have. Stomach empty I look in the mirror unsatisfied with what I see. It's a stranger. Intense, pale, fat. Skin should cling to bones like rubber to skin in the water, instead it hangs distastefully to my eyes.

******* in I then breathe out the stale air I force to my lungs. The urges are never weak enough. Food looks so good though I know I cannot indulge in what I see as my sin.

My bones ache for a body they don't have. I ache for a body I don't have. I want to be thin, beautiful. I will never be, not to my eyes. To me my body is just a stranger that I'm forced to be with.
Kiagen McGinnis Oct 2011
because i hope to absorb something i can't quite touch
a dream you wake up with in the back of your throat
clawing, scratching
to be verbalized into
a plan
a place to point your feet.

my flat will be painted red and covered in
tastefully
or maybe distastefully
**** art ,

and i will look out the window and think

the only thing i really need is myself.
Parashar May 2015
In that effervescent essence of elation,
Another day dawns

Twilight finds its way through time,
twisted and tied
Trembling, like the tense, tangled trees

Decadence, descending, with delicious darkness
and then vanquished, with vain valour

That day and its dawning, drowns all
that disengages my disparagement
Distastefully delectable, defenseless..

I ascend,
into this conscious realm
I transcend,
past this putrid pestilence
that plagues my existence..

Nightmares, negated by the nascent
necrosis of my negligence.
Bereavement beckons yet again,
But there is time,

There is time to taste
the tepid transience
of tomorrow..

Silently simmering within,
seraphic, sumptuous sorrow
sinks slowly,
softly..
Gaia Jul 2013
His eyes were blood-shot and dull
his hair unwashed
two days worth of ****** hair
framed his jaw,
in his hand was a half empty bottle
of whiskey

the wind howled through the pine
trees outside his dusty window,
barely blocking out the noise
of the highway

he looked at the overflowing trash can
wrinkling his nose distastefully at the smell
and then at the empty bed

closing his eyes, he raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips
and savoured the fire that blossomed in his stomach.
He rose on shaky knees and walked over to the bed,
falling back
and stared vacant-eyed at the patterns in
the cracks of the white plaster ceiling.
Michael Marchese Sep 2016
My pen is always free
To find
When most sublime
My mind
Is still so bound
By rhyme
Each word and sound
Left undefined
By rhyme
I find
Abrasively
Will grind
In teeth
Distastefully
Bequeath
Each line
That chimes
Pervasively
In ears
And fears
Begrime
Invasively
My head
To dread
Implacably
This crime
Of rhyme
As if it were a wrinkle
In the fabric
Of all time
Gaia Sep 2013
His eyes were blood-shot and dull
his hair unwashed
two days worth of ****** hair
framed his jaw,
in his hand was a half empty bottle
of whiskey

the wind howled through the pine
trees outside his dusty window,
barely blocking out the noise
of the highway

he looked at the overflowing trash can
wrinkling his nose distastefully at the smell
and then at the empty bed

closing his eyes, he raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips
and savoured the fire that blossomed in his stomach.
He rose on shaky knees and walked over to the bed,
falling back
and stared vacant-eyed at the patterns in
the cracks of the white plaster ceiling.
TERRY REEVES Feb 2016
SHE WAS SMALL WITH A LARGE RED BOW IN HER HAIR,
IN A HURRY AND NO TIME TO STAND AND STARE,
I ASKED HER IF I COULD COME WITH HER NEXT TIME,
SHE SAID THAT SHE MUST ASK THE QUEEN - HERS NOT MINE;
WHEN WE WENT, WE WERE JUST IN TIME FOR A TEA PARTY,
MY FRIENDS WERE ALREADY THERE AND THE *** WAS EMPTY,
THERE WAS A MAD ONE, TWO KNAVES AND A SLEEPY ONE,
THE QUEEN SAID, 'BE QUIET,' BEFORE ANYTHING HAD BEGUN,
SLEEPY WAS NOT PAYING ATTENTION - 'OFF WITH HIS BED,'
SHE SAID AND BEGAN TO SCATTER PETALS IN SHADES OF RED,
'WHO IS THIS? SHE LOOKED AT ME DISTASTEFULLY,'
'IT'S JOHN, YOUR MAJESTY,' ALICE SAID WISTFULLY,
'YOU SHALL BE HAPPY IN MY COURT,' THE QUEEN SAID,
'OTHERWISE, I WILL TELL THEM: OFF WITH HIS HEAD!'
Amethyst Fyre Dec 2016
Swirling sea of blue, purple and green
Strange how those colors always come back to haunt me

It is a curse
Graciously bestowed from a myth above
A beautiful voice breaks the silence
Ringing madness and a tint of despair
A blissful call to the depths of the sea
A one-way ticket to live forever in beauty

Too beautiful for category
Winged creatures
Not to fly, but to take the flight from others' wings

Sing the elders hiss at me Sing louder

I stop
But we're hurting them! I cry

They stare at me, horrified
Drag me by clipped wings to the altar
Pronounce my charge
Zeus, she will not sing

He muses
A siren who refuses to sing
What a curiosity
He looks me up and down, distastefully amused
As if I'm a favorite toy of his that he accidentally broke

Release her he says with a wave of his hand
The elders gasp
Should she not be destroyed? A chorus of their gravelly voices ask

Zeus glares at them
Of course she should
But she'll do that to herself
Imagine, knowing you have so much power, just by opening your mouth and never being able to use it
She will break. She will drive herself mad or she will sing
And that will be the end of that

He smiles at me
Goodbye now he waves one hand
And they throw me out to the humans
Who are just as ready to mock my strange looks and past
As to take me in

I will go mad for them still
I will not use my words for evil, for unintended harm
I must not sing
**I must not sing
fray narte Nov 2021
1
i am the space expanding non-stop at the risk of losing history
and what remains of its stardust.
my sorrows expand with it; my vastness grows wider,
deeper by the day to accommodate
an uninvited houseguest.

2
i fear the act of going through my bones
like a bundle of endless, wistful letters;
some for burning.
some for throwing away.
some for breaking through
my ashen skin.

how can i be both limited and boundless —
it is no magic — just mundanely human.
the thought descends like poison eating at my backbone
until i am no more than a bygone, spineless caryatid.

3
yet again i take down the cosmos,
pick it apart
and in my hands, manage to turn it
into something distastefully prosaic —
turn it into a disassembled being.

all this wordless sadness has made me ancient. alien. unidentified.

4
i am the space expanding non-stop at the risk of losing history;
i have long stopped trying to make any sense to myself and
there is no greater joy
than to be a perplexity.

amid it all, i tiptoe back and forth
between the ice-thin parts of celestine silence
and the static ringing of incomprehensible poetry.

the ground where i stand on breaks;
i float with no direction.

5
i am the space expanding endlessly; i grow wider and deeper
to make room for vaster sorrows —
if only a sigh is enough to hold me
as i tear it all down. tear it all quietly. inward. once and for all.
if only a sigh is enough to hold me
as i implode in tragic,
breath-taking cosmic colors.
ShenequaMonroe Mar 2017
Instead of love and needing
You used and wanted
Flaunted your lustful conquests
Distastefully like a sick game
Just another name on the page
I know the feeling of being trapped without a cage
Prisoner of love
My crime confusing love and lust
Left in disgust
My punishment life sentence of emotional emptiness
I'll drink to that... Again.

— The End —