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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
ok okay Jul 2018
The lull of a restless night relieves my senses
It's monotone silence maintains my breath
The cold night breeze enters through an open window
It whispers soft tunes and attempts to put me to sleep
The humming of an exhausted laptop helps me decompress
It distracts me from overthinking and blocks out my stress
As the night goes on it starts to rain
It comforts my senses and cleanses my pain
This time-worn house cracks and creaks
It talks of troubled times and how it came to be
This place I call home proves i’m never alone
And it's always there to support me
3rd poem. Enjoy :)
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Oh beautiful for specious lies
where Christless values reign;
for superficial battle cries
above the muted strain:
Diversity, diversity
God hides His face from thee—
and frown he should, while planethood
distracts humanity.

How sad it is when victim groups
monopolize the floor;
enabling the marginals
to agitate for more.
Diversity, diversity,
Your queer agenda rules—
with Balkanizing tendencies
imposed on witless tools.

Degenerate in decadence
the ailing eagle flies;
in spirals of irrelevance
through clouded toxic skies…
Diversity, diversity
the Left defines your terms;
the weakened body politic
grows sicker as it squirms.

Oh Lord we need a miracle
before the patient fails;
celestial intervention please
to purge us of what ails.
Diversity, diversity
We shall not overcome—
Unless the Lord reveal His word
twixt here and Kingdom Come…
♫♪ Sung to the tune of...PROGRESS !! ♪

Why? Because Islam is right about women.
Women are only one of the two genders created by God !
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
There are times when the Lord will take from us every familiar thing and send all the others away to have us to Himself, uprooting and dismantling our earthly anchors until we find no safe place of attachment but to Him alone. And though we search feverishly to secure another, He will faithfully cut off our efforts at every pass and every attempted by-pass, almost as though we could see them being escorted out the door, marching one after the other in file and possibly taking our sanity with them. “No, not another one! Where are they all going and why am I not invited?” But it is His alone to give or not to give, to give and take away.

The One Who took up the cross and took the cup of the Father’s wrath for us has the absolute right to take anything and everything from us at any time for whatever reasons might please Him. But know this for certain: concerning His redeemed, those reasons will always involve two things—glory and intimacy. They are the overriding answers to every lingering question of “Why?”.

But if we fail to understand His glorious and intimate intentions we may misconstrue our losses to be a sign that He is actually withdrawing His affection from us. The very things which He is doing for love’s sake to perfect our pathway to intimacy might be taken instead for obstacles blocking it, causing us to doubt His love. We could not be more wrong, but sometimes it's so hard to see through the veil of pain.

For it's a strange and bewildering thing to feel that you belong to no place and no person in this world, to have nowhere to call home and no one to share it with if you did. A severe untethering indeed that though meant to prepare us for flying can seem to us more like drowning. The sobering truth is that none of us belong to this life or the things of this earth; all sense of it is only an illusion, and pain and loss are simply the dispelling of the myth—the rude awakening from a bewitching dream we once had. But oh how we fight the disillusionment.

Maybe we remember a time when we had prayed to be refined, to be made more like Jesus, but we didn’t know it would have to hurt so bad and take so long and look so dark and feel so lonely. Even if we have understood and embraced His call to deeper intimacy we may after a while, when nothing seems improved either around us or in us, start to resent our belonging to such a determined and jealous Lover, though He is doing exactly what we had once asked Him to. We may start to think we can no longer bear anything except that which superficially distracts us from our grief. We may even start to give up hope, for if not anchored exclusively “behind the curtain” and if repeatedly crushed it threatens to **** our hearts for good should we have to face one more disappointment.

We may feel very much like we are flailing around in a deep and darkening ocean, repeatedly pulled under by the powerful tow and thrashing waves of overwhelming emotion and continuously knocked back by the brutal winds of confusion. Yet we can still see the unshakable boat of faith and truth standing solidly only a small distance away. We know it is real and that if we could just reach it we would be safe. We hear someone shouting through the din, “Just hold onto the boat! The boat will save you. Look beyond your feelings and walk by faith. Hold onto truth!” But can’t they see that as hard as we may try we have no strength to swim to the boat? Can’t they see that we are sinking?

And so we are left with nothing but to cry out to Jesus, to cry out to Him to bring the boat to us, to come Himself and rescue us. Do we have that much faith? Enough to just say, “Jesus, help me! I’m drowning!”? Enough to see that He is our only hope and nothing else matters apart from Him?

Because when we do, we will understand that this hope in Him alone is the very lifeline by which He will pull us to safety—back to faith, back to truth, back into His intimate arms of love, back into a peace which passes all understanding and into a joy that gives us strength for the journey.

As difficult as it can be in our grief to hear the Lord whispering truth to our hearts above the constant clanging of our feelings, we must now more than ever choose to take the time to be still and seek our soul’s rest in Him and in His promises. But how amidst such clamor and confusion?

Simply decide to cast your cares on Him, if only for the moment, by climbing into His Shepherd’s lap to look and loiter and listen. And if you have no energy to climb up, then just lift your arms and ask Him to pick you up. And if you haven’t the strength even for that, only raise your eyes toward Him and you will soon find your sanity restored as you behold His love for you. Ask Him earnestly to let you see it afresh, for perhaps you have been temporarily blinded from recognizing it.

Stop everything; cease just for this minute from all worry, anxiety, fear and anger. Forget the past and do not look toward the future. Focus only on this moment right now, as if you knew it would be your last, as if it were the very one to lead you into eternity. Inhale like fresh air the powerful promises of God’s Word. Soak in their grace and drink in their healing, keeping your eyes fixed on Jesus’ face. Can you see Him longing for you? Exhale every distraction, conflict and uncertainty of this world. Then listen... What is He saying to you right now? Wait for it, then let your soul rest in it, and let go of everything else. Rest in the grace of this present moment and in His strong, sure arms. Let Him take care of you, wounded one, for you are His beloved, and He longs to tend your broken and needy heart.
~~~

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
    my hope comes from Him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
    He is my fortress, I will not be shaken."
~ Psalm 62:5-6

"The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I called to the LORD, who is worthy of praise,
    and I have been saved from my enemies.
The cords of death entangled me;
    the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
    the snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called to the LORD;
    I cried to my God for help.
From His temple He heard my voice;
    my cry came before Him, into His ears...
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
    He drew me out of deep waters.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
    from my foes, who were too strong for me.
They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
    but the LORD was my support.
He brought me out into a spacious place;
    He rescued me because He delighted in me."
~ Psalm 18:2-6,16-19

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf..."
~ Hebrews 6:19-20a
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
With the red lights in my eyes
And the gray haze in the sky
With the fire red reflecting back
The neon skin distracts me from where I am
And where I should be
In the winter clear, I sit
And I'm sick of it

As the snow falls on cars
On pedestrians and bars
Wrapped in pea-coats and ***
Under the foggy winter sun I slowly stroll
With a woman in my soul
Like a gypsy king and queen
In a lucid fever dream

Up in the offices and desks
With stress in their chests
These people think of home
While their lovers are alone and stuck with screens
Like windows into scenes
They thought money could buy
As they drift and die

Pouring out from the walls
Of worship chapel halls
With hands in their pockets
Stealing trinkets and lockets to give to the men
Who promise the end
But all will be right
If you pay the right price

From the streets of gods
That will one day rot
Under our wandering feet
When we longer speak but are just memories
Passed on like a disease
On death, I've made my peace
Until then, let me be free
RatQueen Jul 2018
Reminisce on all the early days
Stuck inside of a drunken daze
I went based off of all your fleeting words
Couldn't begin to think it all would hurt

Back of the head
Look over shoulder
All that you've said
I go over and over
I want to believe that you're honest and true
But you held my head under water, the coldest of blue

I'm angry I'm mad I release it in tears
Nowhere near the pain I've felt all these years
I inflict on myself some sort of grounding
Body or heart I'm used to the pounding

Back of the head
Look over shoulder
All that you've said
I go over and over
I want to believe that you're honest and true
But you held my head under water
The coldest of blue

Hypnotize me with the lies
I'll listen to it all despite
Pain distracts from desire to die
Who lives through this more? You or I?

Maybe I'll take control of all you do
My fake *** puppet
Serve my desires
in the end for you

Back of the head
Look over shoulder
All that you've said
I go over and over
I want to believe that you're honest and true
But you held my head under water
The coldest of blue

It took a lie for you to show me devotion
My own ****** up version of a love potion
Treat me good so you feel secure
Accept others admiration based on a fear

Back of the head
Look over shoulder
All that you've said
I go over and over
I want to believe that you're honest and true
But you held my head under water
The coldest of blue

My makeup is running and I'm feeling so broken
Its all a ******* joke
The words you have spoken
I empty my soul all the well
For a person so ******* full of themselves

I suffer and shudder
Bury all of it under
I cant begin to imagine
Somebody other
Than you
So drown me in the blue
I'll take it for you
For the sake of something new

Back of the head
Look over shoulder
All that you've said
I go over and over
I want to believe that you're honest and true
But you held my head under water
The coldest of blue

Is it for me or is it for you?
Is it for me or is it for you?
Is it for me or is it for you?

Prove it
If only
To feel good from what you do
Songwriting
mark john junor Mar 2013
carving a few simple words into her memory
a whisper of hair drifts over her face
eyes shut she waits for the cold crisp dawn
the candle distracts
and weaves it own tale
soft with smoke and mystery

night disburses
and the redhead across the hall comes tapping
naked and sweating
looking to cop a fresh spike
my girl makes her wait in the hall
"rude" she whispers over and over

our days here are fleeting
soon to escape this motel
and its rodent festival
to the great sunshine
never snows

quiet destitution creeps in with breakfast
and lay in the corner with a soft sigh
down in my mind i want to sleep
but its nearly time to wait
for the mexicans at quality hill
with two $20's in my claw

I am not yet ready to write the words
that would seal our fate and close this painfull day
that poem is within me
it drives me out into the bright sunlight
and the redhead follows trying to make nice
and i know its dope game logic that drives her
i know i could get my girl to bed her
a ******* would be tasty

umm that thought keeps me warm
while waiting on the mexicans
I put on my Sunday best
Wait by the door have my bible rest  at my side
With my skinned up knees and little party dress
Today is my birthday I feel extra nice
My mother polished my shoes and bought me fancy ruffled socks
I await with anticipation to head to my church
A place to feel protected this I’m sure
It is such a warm day I feel the sun kiss my youthful skin
Can’t believe I’m twelve today
Thoughts race through my head
I wonder if they will remember and do something special?
Will I get a new bible for mine is tattered and the cover is torn
I wonder? It does serve the purpose so maybe not
I watch the cars go on by  one by one
Feeling a bit antsy maybe they forgot to get me today
But within a few minutes I’m on my way
With a happy birthday from some fellow church members
I feel so proud twelve years old time flies by  
We head into the house of God
I could hear the bell charming oh so loud
My favorite sound on Sunday morning
My stomach starts to growl it distracts me
Punch and cookies await for me
Church hymns begin to waken my ears
I fiddle with the lace  on my new pretty dress
Clicking my heals and accidentally hit the wooden bench
I’m in the house of god
Mommy always taught me to not entertain myself with other thoughts
So I focus on that white and black collar
He is so large standing like a king
One bead at a time let my fingers dance across
I think of sunflowers and rainbow colors
We stand up and sit down and repeat this again
Its time for fellowship to begin
I need to get myself a drink its stifling hot in here  
I tell the family that brought me here that I would be back in a bit
I skip to get a drink that water is so cold
Why do I like drinking out of a fountain? Is it  because it tickles my nose?
After cookies and punch I’m told I have an extra surprise
For today I can get a ride home
I see the black and white collar its looks so scratchy
But this is Gods house and he does what’s best
As  people say goodbyes and I sit and wait for my surprise
Maybe because momma can’t afford much I will get something nice
Its peaceful as the church hymns are gone

I have never been in here when it is silent
He tells me to sit down and gives me a drink
It taste familiar maybe that wine that only those who had communion can taste
I drink it down so fast it makes me a little dizzy
Perhaps it’s the heat in this building
The fans seemed to be broken on the hottest of Southern days
Father tells me my dress is pretty
I smile politely waiting for a surprise
He ask if my socks are new and I reply with a very loud excited “Yes “
What have I done to get the attention like this?
My best friend had a birthday two Sundays ago
What did she get?
I hear mommas voice run in my head don’t entertain yourself in the house of the Lord
So I close my eyes for a moment or two
So I hear today is your birthday , that makes you a special girl
I nod my head still feeling a little loopy
May I take your picture for the church paper?
You look so pretty but first take your hair down
I release my braids one at a time
My hair is wavy and long and so baby fine
I show off my socks so proud of them
He smiles at me with his  bright smile
Can I see you twirl around in your Sunday best ?
I giggle and spin in a circle or two
Smile he tells me so I do
Come sit here I sit upon a desk
I must be special to be up here
Father asks to see what’s under my dress
I ask why but know father knows best
For a quick moment I lift my dress
Feeling my face become flushed
Its alright you’re the birthday girl
I ask if I get a bible he says after were done with pictures and such
I sit quietly listening to his voice its deep but soothing
My feet don’t want to hold still
I try and be polite and use my manners just like momma likes
He has his fingers stroke my face they are soft but large and feel nice
May I give you a birthday kiss? I have seen my elders  kissing and practiced on my doll
This wont be wrong we are where god lives
His lips graze mine slowly at first
Then it becomes harder and he is full of thirst
These hot Southern days
His face feels like sand paper like grandpa has to make his Christmas gifts
It warms me suddenly then cools me down
I feel a burning between my legs it aches
He reaches for me my wavy hair resting in his hands
I feel so special but keep wondering what my gift will be
He gives me another drink of that pretty red stuff
Giving me sips slowly as he grips the cup
It spills down my lips a little at a time
But we don’t waste any he drinks it from my chin
I feel as though I suddenly forgot how to breathe
There is something under my slip of my dress
It makes me at ease
At night when I go to sleep and put my head on the pillow
I feel that kind of rest
There is an sensation in my chest
He reaches up and pinches these small pink eraser like dots
A noise is able to escape it’s a noise I have heard before
Through closed doors but never from me
He takes off my dress slowly and meticulously
I don’t want to rip my new dress or the slip that grandma made
His mouth finds my little mounds of pink and nibbles away
He makes no sound I finally breathe
As colors start to run down his neck and onto the once white crisp shirt
He removes it . I want to touch it feel it around my neck
Its just paper with cloth but he allows me this
So I stand with my *****  pink erasers and this collar
I wonder am I a man of God now?
He asks if I would like to see why he is a man
I apply yes use my manners so nice
He takes my hand and puts it on a warm hard lump that is escaping his pants
I’m not scared I feel safe
He takes out the thing that makes him a man and he wants it against my face
My birthday present at last
Father is careful placing it  on my lips
So I try and kiss it like its one of my dolls
I feel kind of silly so I ask him how
Like a ice-cream take your time
Go in circles over this spot
So I do and it grows I try and put it in my mouth
My lips are sore and I need a drink
He laughs at me and gives me more red drink
I want you to lay down he says to me
So I do and feel like I have been on a merry go around
He removes my flowered printed *******
My stomach starts to feel woozy  
But I still feel good
I’m twelve today he is so impressed
I lay down with butterflies in my chest
At first it hurt his finger exploring me
But then it was like a warm day and a cool breeze washed over me
It kind of tickled when he put his tongue there
I giggled and moved my hips
But something happened that felt like my favorite candy
My body wouldn’t quit moving beneath his face
I shivered and wondered am I getting sick
Then just like that it was over
He flipped me around and put his fingers in another place
I was kind of worried that I done something wrong
He reassured me that I was doing fine
Something felt warm on my behind
He told me its going to hurt but it will be alright
I felt a pain that heard a sound  
His rough deep voice maybe this is where he belongs
For a moment I didn’t breathe
I held back the tears because I’m twelve a big girl
He turns me over once again takes my tears and put them in his mouth
He was looking for salvation he drank every last one
So as I lay thinking of rainbows and the evening sky
He has some fluid that I drink like the wine
It tasted like nothing but was thick and made me feel shy
But as we finish he hands me a new bible I tear a page and wipe myself dry
Christa Davis Jun 2014
Daytime tells the lies
Sun distracts your thoughts,
Showing how it could be
But nighttime is the truth
It screams it and shouts it
Nothing to look at but reality.
Oh, I know not!
I see not, and master not!
Why t'is caprice - t'is tender whim, is unwilling
to unveil my soul, conquering it with
mounds and plates of rapturous
yet canonical attention. How I dread
such falsehood! Strong, strong falsehood!
What an inconsiderate urgency! A matter, matter of the heart -
as mighty as it probably is, of its own accord! How serious
t'is would be! I am suffrage; and akin to its vigour areth my laugh,
and joy - I would be hatred if none cameth to stop my pace;
my frosty haze; and t'is gruesome maze! Yes, I would but be,
in th' length of some furt'er days!
I shalt no more be of t'is delight, and clustered inside my gloom,
pressed to th' walls of dainty loom; from which I shalt never
be comely enough to be granted an escape.
How terrifying t'ose scenes areth, to me! A poet as I am,
unenviable is my littleness, and humility; to t'ose who glare with jealousy
at pangs of my laughter, and childlike demands - as how t'ey always
chastised during t'eir coincidental encounters. But I am blessed!
I am blessed by my words - and t'ese cheerful, yet unending poems -
as unlike t'em I am, ungrateful and vile beings, flocking to th' church
only for th' sake of brand-new dowry, and enforced blessings.
Murderers of peace! Sons and daughters of vice! But I am convinced
t'at virtue shalt forever tower over t'em; and in th' right time t'ey shalt
be pulled off t'eir horses, and unedifying pleasantry. And goodness
shalt t'en win! For truth never bears t'eir unfaithful boasts, just like
it hates t'eir dishonesty; which so insistingly frosts me
with atrocity within 'tis lungs, and so soon as doth it start to cling stronger -
abashed shalt I be! Incarcerated shalt be my front, and dutiful
countenance - in t'at gross conflagration with secular flatness,
hesitations, and worldly doubts, in which yon grotesque salutation, corroborating
'tis assailed countenance, gouty and drained by rightful mockery;
comes but to avenge my love, my wondrous love -
which yesterday was dazzling and dripping fast
but contentiously, like a ripe cherry. Like a small burst of wine
craved by scholarly epicures, t'is feeling but anonymously grips
my lips, trembles my heart, and distracts my limbs;
should I be to think of thee, I shan't but be away
from t'is nauseatedness, of regrets, again! My thee, my thee,
areth thou truly gazing at me from afar? With fascination in thy stares,
wilt thou bestow me such destiny I hath been so desirous of - my dear?
And with thy serene, bulbous eyes - t'at sea of blackness
basked in marred turmoil - ah, a sign but of peace after such fire! - wilt thou
mould thy mind, thy stony mind, like a black-painted rose,
to throw at my being, just one, voluntary glance?
I am but anxious, my love, how I shake all over
with unreturned passion like t'is, my blood is circling
in distorting, yet irrepressible agitation.
How I wish t'at thou could be here, and rendereth me safe, in solely
but thy arms, my love! And shalt thou be my giddy knight - I entreat!
In my unmothered dreams, and t'eir precocious brambles - on t'ose journeys
of loom, doth I fear not, for thou shalt be t'ere to mirthfully comfort me.
And off shalt I fly again, to greet th' thoughtful morning!
But ought I to leaveth my dreams now; for thou canst be here to celebrate
t'is snowy day, and lift me onto triumph! And how I wisheth to cast away
t'is imprisonment, how I longeth for but thee here - just thee, remember t'at,
o but hark to my swift whisper, t'at calls only for thy name, my love!
How aggravated, and corrupted my conscience wilt be -
within th' membranes of my brain; t'eir hardship is severed by thy unpresence.
My love, o my restrained - single love, t'is ode that lights my soul
shalt illuminate thine; and 'tis long words - threads woven along
an abstracted lullaby, and vanquished by silent accusations, from thy, thy mouth!
A well t'at is perilous in its standing - standing like a torch, unruptured
albeit neglected, innocent in 'tis acute forlornness. Poor misery!
Hark, hark, my love - how t'ose dames, irresolute in t'eir volatility, and
charms of miraculous beauty - but tumultous inside, entranced by fear
of losing which, as so graciously raved and ranted all over th' year!
Th' dreary years - which th' above phrase caused me to be well-reminded,
and duly recall how t'eir sickening remorse tossed me around; and decreed
my jests of dread, sickness, and disdain - surges, and waves of animosity
wert but all about me. But how they areth happening again! Amongst th' snow -
running about as t'ey art, t'ose heartless, indignant creatures -
blind to th' tenderness of nature, bland and untouched by its shrieks, and
flickering toil! How I wish to save it, but incapable as I am - a minuscule shadow
of early womanhood t'at I own, I choose to stay distant,
and pray for t'eir impossible atonement, somehow, before t'ey entereth
t'eir silent graves. How t'ose ghosts of malice areth in no way acquainted
with th' woes of th' churchyard, and th' grimness of death - I declare!
How unafraid t'ey are, sacrificing t'is coherent life for such courses
of abomination. Victories upon th' misery of others,
dances to mourning songs, how evil! But I wish for t'eir salvation,
for t'ey art unable to even salve t'eir poor selves. I shalt be fervent
in my generosity, for 'tis th' most rewarding part of humanity;
I shalt be but a faithful servant to my innocuous nature. I adoreth my nature
just the way 'tis, and I shalt build its madly-scarred way back; with tons
of brightness, care, and hearty bliss! Yes, my love, my bliss - which inhabits
th' entire space of my maturity and unmolested passion. Inapprehensible as it is,
I am but to win its grace, and t'erefore thee - just as I hath so ardently dreameth of -
as heretofore, and shalt thou but be saluted and fended for
by my, my sincere and unbinding, affection.
Tom Spencer Mar 2018
On a thin ribbon of light
unfurled from unseen heaven
direct to her parted robe
and disquieted ear

comes an angel’s voice,
the dove’s winged companion,
with words foretold in the book
now slipping to the floor.

What hunger fires
our flickering imaginations,
that require Grace come
wrapped in velvet purses-

with proof of the child’s
purity dripping from tables
and prophet encrusted walls?
I think they had it all wrong-

Fra Angelico, Veronese, van Ecyk,
and even Martini with his
gilded apprehension.
I prefer a scene without

unblemished lilies-
no fine linens, puffing cherubs,
or embroidered pillows on display.
I picture her instead

at her daily labor- pulling
on a ***** rope at the village well.
With calloused hands, she
draws her trembling reflection

skyward, when, announced
by the slightest breeze,
a stranger appears.
Before their eyes meet,

a bird’s flight distracts her-
water splashes from the bucket
washing the dust from her feet
and soaking the tattered hem

of her robe. His silent glance
holds her only for a moment.
In the distance, a voice
calls out, “Daughter!”

She turns, sets off,
bowing to her burden.
A cloud’s shadow
melts in the heat of the road.



Tom Spencer © 2018
2018

Does it necessarily called sad even when there's no tears?
Does it necessarily called scar even when there's no mark?
Does it necessarily called pain, even when it doesn't show?



Heart.
Break.
Heartbreak.


I am used to hearing this word on a daily basis.
Maybe a little too often, but my point here is, everyone knows someone 'utters' that they are in a heartbreak once in a while.

So, what is heartbreak to you?
"When someone can't keep their promises while they have the chance to." —Alessandra A.
"Uncertainty." —Samuel Wijaya
"Friends who leave." —Vivian Loo
"Being a disappointment." —Ryon Regasa
"When the butterflies are no longer there." —Calvina Izumi
"Seeing him smile, but I'm not the reason." —Anonymous
"When someone you love, has another name in his/her heart." —Evadne Richard
"When an effort to love can't be seen anymore because it is sealed shut by a mistake." —David Halim
"When you finally meet someone you love sincerely and somehow they start distancing themselves, and you don't even talk to them anymore and you don't even know why."—Natasha

These are some opinions from my friends that probably represent some/most of your thoughts about a heartbreak, at least describe what comes first to your mind after hearing that word.
And those opinions also described mine, and mostly represent some of the heartbreak(s) that had occured in my life.

Now,
concluding all the opinions above
How would I myself define what heartbreak is?
I would define it as an invisible yet irresistible pain.

Headache is a type of pain.
And heartbreak is also a type of pain.
But we all know that both of them are completely different.

When you're having a headache, you know exactly where it hurts.
But when you're having a heartbreak, it just hurts.
You don't know exactly where the pain came from,
even when some referred to their chest ('cause it's where their heart is) or anywhere else, it's actually just the side effect of having a heartbreak itself.
Just enough explanation to state that heartbreak is like a nowhere and everywhere type of pain.
You can't see and you can't know where it hurts, but it's real. As if it was invisible as it is uncertain.
Just because you can't really point out where it hurts, doesn't mean it's not there.

And another thing about heartbreak is, you can't resist it. No matter how hard you try.
There is no painkiller for your heartbreak, and even if you use something as a pain killer (such as alcohol?), it doesn't necessarily works as one.
It doesn't make the pain go away, it just distracts you from what you're feeling, temporarily.
It shifts your attention and feelings into something less noteworthy for a moment, and then the next day the pain is still going to be there.
You can try to resist it, but only time that can make all of that fades.
And even when it fades, it doesn't go away.
It never will.
Man. In a cleft that's christened Alt
  Under broken stone I halt
  At the bottom of a pit
  That broad noon has never lit,
  And shout a secret to the stone.
  All that I have said and done,
  Now that I am old and ill,
  Turns into a question till
  I lie awake night after night
  And never get the answers right.
  Did that play of mine send out
  Certain men the English shot?
  Did words of mine put too great strain
  On that woman's reeling brain?
  Could my spoken words have checked
  That whereby a house lay wrecked?
  And all seems evil until I
  Sleepless would lie down and die.

Echo. Lie down and die.

Man.                             That were to shirk
  The spiritual intellect's great work,
  And shirk it in vain.  There is no release
  In a bodkin or disease,
  Nor can there be work so great
  As that which cleans man's ***** slate.
  While man can still his body keep
  Wine or love drug him to sleep,
  Waking he thanks the Lord that he
  Has body and its stupidity,
  But body gone he sleeps no more,
  And till his intellect grows sure
  That all's arranged in one clear view,
  pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
  Then stands in judgment on his soul,
  And, all work done, dismisses all
  Out of intellect and sight
  And sinks at last into the night.

Echo. Into the night.

Man.                     O Rocky Voice,
  Shall we in that great night rejoice?
  What do we know but that we face
  One another in this place?
  But hush, for I have lost the theme,
  Its joy or night-seem but a dream;
  Up there some hawk or owl has struck,
  Dropping out of sky or rock,
  A stricken rabbit is crying out,
  And its cry distracts my thought.
Ghazal Nov 2012
The reason I don't wear makeup
Is that I don't want there to be
Anything on my face
That distracts you from Me.
And no, I don't look pretty
Buried beneath the layer
Of foundation and gloss.
Because then, I'm barely there.
Only when unadulterated, untouched,
Does my skin look perfect,
Adorned with the best rouge there is-
Which is, my Self.
remington carter Oct 2016
morphine. i found ashes in the pages of the photo albums under
my bed yesterday, leaves turned red pages to the colder chapters
and i thought you could still grow a rose this time of year but then i
remembered when we used to make flower crowns in sixth grade so
i took some morphine;
it helped with the pain

the night is younger than ourselves and we run through breakspears road shattering the lampposts with our bare hands, yes we are the new generation! everybody knows we aren’t scared of losing the pieces in our own, we just want to see the skin pulled off the tips of our fingers! (when you’ve been feeling the blunt edges of scalpels and needles all your life walking on glass starts to feel like heaven)

codeine— hell is getting hotter! she took to the clouds and the glass
shards wrote crimson sonnets on the bottoms of her feet, marietta i
trusted you i really did, i made you promise
that you’d stay; not with me, of course
(some things are more important in the end)
i wanted you to stay here.
but you wanted to see the stars so
i choke down the cough syrup;
one ache distracts me from the other

dear marietta,
the light distorts so strangely here in the water.
this is how i want to leave this place
sorry i use way too many parentheses whOOPS
Bob B Nov 2018
For what would be a change of pace,
Check out this unusual place:
Persecuted groups came to create
A place where they could discriminate.
1840s gold rush dreams
Preceded years of get-rich schemes.
Nutty religious cults explore
End-time prophecies galore.
Believe whatever if that's your conviction,
Even if your "facts" are fiction.
You can construct your own reality;
"Whatever goes" is gaining vitality.
Anti-intellectualism
Accompanies attacks on secularism.
Fewer people think it's not odd
For leaders to wait for messages from God.
Satan's causing natural disasters,
For he's out to get us, according to some pastors.
Hustlers hustle the hustled, you see:
Religious theatricality.
Snake oil is sold for a quick fix;
Someone always has a bag of tricks.
Charismatic visionaries
Hope their income never varies.
Though P.T. Barnum is gone, we can say
That humbuggery is here to stay.
Homeopathic cures are widespread.
Devious mediums talk to the dead.
Scare tactics of foreign "invasions"
Keep popping up on numerous occasions.
Some have rewritten the history of the South.
Fake news spread by cyber "word of mouth."
Commingling entertainment and news--
Called "infotainment"--can spread one's views.
Acting out your fantasy makes you feel
That fantasy--NOT reality--is real.
People are duped by made-up scares.
The "National Enquirer" peddles its wares.
Cosmetic surgery transforms features.
People are abducted by strange space creatures.
The fantasy industry proliferates:
Fox News infects all fifty states.
Prosperity-gospel preachers are abounding,
Hoping their spiritual interest is compounding.
The war on the devil is not metaphorical,
For scripture, some say, can't be allegorical.
There are always the paranoid ones
Who fear the confiscation of guns.
Groups attempt to change the rules
So creationism can be taught in the schools.
Anti-establishment's becoming the norm;
Mistrust of experts is taking greater form.
Lies don't matter as long as you
FEEL that what someone says is true.
Some fear "invaders" crossing the border;
Others fear a scary New World Order.
Distrust places the media on trial
And fosters climate change denial.
Some say vaccines do great harm
And GMO foods are cause for alarm.
They say gun laws will only provide
Guns to "bad guys" with something to hide;
That regulations on any level
Of finances are the work of the devil.
A con-man leader will always keep spinning
The fantasy that with him we'll be winning.
That fake news is harmful and only distracts
People entitled to making up facts.
Voter fraud's still the talk of the Right;
Conspiracy theories keep coming to light.
Con artists boldly state:
Conversion therapy makes you straight.
If an alternate universe is in demand,
Then WELCOME, ALL, TO FANTASYLAND!

-by Bob B (11-12-18)

°Inspired by Kurt Andersen's "Fantasyland: How America
Went Haywire"
Amelia of Ames Aug 2016
Don’t think too much
About forbidden touch
Or legal abuse of such
Little creatures like dairy cows and fabric workers.

Don’t feel too much.
The homeless man with his crutch
Can disappear, hush.
Turn your head dear, eat McDonald’s chicken fingers.

Don’t love too much.
Why on real people crush?
People slip through your clutch.
As flashing lights reanimate Rihanna, both your eyes close the shutters.

Our world distracts us from seeing,
Persuades us we need a break.
Deserving one after a day going nowhere.
Turn the TV on to the latest ‘Bachelor’.

So loud. So loud. So loud. Too loud!
I shut my eyes from the too-bright lights.
I need to escape the escape, to find solace.
I put pen to paper and hear its whisper.

Poetry softly roars while TV screams shrill.
You’ll remember the written words for time
Degrees of magnitude than you’ll remember
(consciously) that singing cat meme.

Real love takes more effort
Than a heart reaction on Facebook.
Writing truth takes longer than re-posting.
Yet I want to share myself, not another gif lol.

Mute the volume for a second.
Can deaf ears hear again
the music of
the pen?

Think too much.
Mystic Ink Plus Apr 2020
"In a mad world, only the mad are sane"
Clearly stated by K. Akira.
Scary!

What is freedom?
How close is it to insanity?
Scary!

Is that a freedom when one has to lose peace of mind? Is that a freedom where finally one has to ask ownself, who am I? And may regret what I have become. Is that a freedom where you search for the thousand Suns when you know one is enough? Is that a freedom where you have to sell the soul to exist a new time? Freedom is questionable.

Never ask that freedom when you are not ready for. Never ask that freedom where you don't belong. Never ask that freedom where finally one has to shed tears. Never ask that freedom where foundation of life ends. Isn't it insanity, freedom beyond control? And you may have observed where weeds florish, lotus thrives.

Balanced freedom is conscious state of being where no outer stimuli distracts, and one could flourish. Freedom in any form is always neutal, but the person who execute it, could be wrong. And forgive me if it is illogical, Earth revolving around it's axis is universal example of how much freedom one needs.

What is freedom?
How close is it to insanity?
As the saying goes, your freedom to swing your fist ends just where my nose begins.
Yes, should I repeat that?
Reasonably never ask the insane, what freedom is. At that instant they will justify everything, where they are always right.
It will be scarier that time.
Thus freedom itself is never the issue, for what cause it is exercised, is.
Nothing more.
Genre: Observational
Theme: Better Human Project
SP Blackwell Jan 2015
II

Do not be afraid, my darling
I see you.
I see your tattered spirit
and stripped flesh
wandering in darkness.
Alas!
we are kindred,
you and I,
for I too have been
murdered.
I have died a hundred times
and I have lived a
hundred and one
We, who are dead
but still breathing,
are kindred.
I have been poisoned by
the nectar of lust. And
this nectar was
sweet and it was
intoxicating and it was
addictive and it was
******* lust.
It was fed to me by
a man posing as
a god and he kept
my goblet full and
I was paralyzed.
He was not a god
nor a man.
He was a snake,
a false prophet.
The nectar was
venomous and
my blood,
my body, and
mind were
laced with
paralytic venom
I could not move
and died waiting.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who have died
waiting and paralyzed.
We who have been
murdered by false
prophets and snakes.
We are kindred with
Eve and the apples of
Eden, we who are
poisoned but  
still alive.
In this paralytic state
a surgeon came
and he said unto me
“I will let you be free”
and he cut into me.
He entered my chest
so delicately and
so eloquently he
whispered to me
“ Darling, if I cannot
keep you I can’t let
you be free.”
He wanted a
keepsake, a piece
of my heart.
Something which I
would never just
willingly part.
He took a small
piece though I
screamed to
his claim. This
was not my love,
just blood,
muscle, and veins.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who walk around
with pieces that will
never be found.
We who have filled
the empty cavity with
other objects to
replace what can
never mended.
Do not fear, my darling
we are still pumping
blood and we
are still alive!
An artistic healer
found me wandering.
He said unto me,
“ My love, I see your
rough edges and you
are flawless to me
with all your perfect
imperfections.”
I was his canvas
that could be remade
to what he wanted
me to portray.
He molded me,
bent me,
folded me,
painted me.
He chiseled away
at places that
were already weak
places that were
untouched by people
like He. I was his
muse which he
misused, abused,
and attempted to
create and sculpt
art, which I was,
to his vision
of what I should be.
He coated me,
plastered me,
froze me in time but
paper machete is fragile
and I never asked to
be molded or painted.
Slowly I broke free
from thee. Death by
art was not meant
for me
Alas!
My darling,
do not be afraid.
We are kindred
you and I.
I see you in all
your molded glory
upon the altar
which he built
to display a creation
which he did not create.
I am the one
who chiseled
at the cement
and the plaster
and the paper
and the alter
so that we can
escape a different
type of cage.
I see you broken
but uncaged.
A builder of dreams
approached me and
he said unto me
“ You are a rarity
in a world full of
mediocrity. A rare
bird like you should
not be caged.”
He built me a castle
made of sand and
deafened me with
promises which
were lies. The tide
rolled in and castles
made of sand were
taken back to sea
and i was deaf
and I could not
hear the rumbling ,
the crumbling,
the mumbling as it
was all swept away.
I was asphyxiated by
the sand and sea
of empty promises
and lies
and expectations
that I found myself
chocking on.
Do not be afraid my darling.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We have
swallowed
and choked
and  inhaled
the dirt which
posed as sand.
We who have been
drowned in lies.
We who have
been buried and
have touched the
ocean floor at great
depths have come back
to the surface.
Alas!
We are still swimming.
We are the ones who
saw the shore and
returned to land
with our feet firmly
planted on sinking sand
and unsteady ground.
Hush my darling, and do
keep our secret safe.
Hush and never let them
know that we, who are
dead but living, are the
ones who created the shore.
We have a multitude of
little deaths. Deaths which
showed us life, joy, and
pain.
Alas!
My darling,
we are kindred
you and I.
We are the masochists.
We invite the murders in.
We who see the axe in his
hand as he knocks and
yet we still allow the
murderous aftermath
to begin with no regard
for the clean up.
My darling, we take with
us a piece of our killers
as they have taken a
keepsake from us.
Alas!
My darling
we have taken
we have learned
we have observed
we have seen their
surgical precision as
they have taken us
apart. We have
mended and
stitched and
sewn and
glued and
filled and
repaired
ourselves.
Oh my darling
do not fear for
we who are
still alive
still fighting
still breathing
still living
still pumping blood,
we have taken
their murderous
intent. We who
were victimized
by batting eyes
and lies that left
bitterness as an
aftertaste have
have learned to
lace honey with
arsenic. We are
kindred, you and I.
We are different
now. The stichting
and filling
and sewing
and gluing
has changed
us.
We are not afraid,
my darlings.
We see you.
You who have
caged and
trampled and
opened and
taken and
broken and
killed are no
longer feared.
Be afraid
my darlings.
Alas!
We see you.

III

I am a serial killer.
I have ravaged
empty vessels
which once upon
a time were
filled with ideas
of what could be.
I am innocent!
I slay the murderers
who murdered me.
Those who murdered
we.
I and we have
perfected the craft
which you,
and you,
and you,
and you
have used as
weapons of
mass distraction,
mass destruction.
I am the one
who distracts
and destroys.  
I have ingested
sufficient venom
to become
arsenic laced
honey.
I have let a
man drink
from me ‘til
he could drink
no more. He
drank himself
to insanity.
Oh dear!
I fear I did
not warn him
of the venom
that’s within.
What once was
just plain honey
is now
poisonous
to him.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
cervical slayers.
But again
I am innocent!
I once sheltered
a wretch and
he sought
sanctuary
inside of me.
He never looked
at my eyes.
Only prayed at
the church that
he made betwixt
my thighs.
Oh dear!
I fear
I did not mention
that this was not
his church. It was
my sanctuary which
was now covered
in his dirt.
Death by exertion
was his end.
I let him die *******
but I did not let
him win
A tragic death
for a stallion
like he. Because
I am small he
underestimated me.
Like Helen of Troy
I brought
destruction
upon thee.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
psychological
terrorizers and
verbal mesmerizers.
I have linguistically
lobotomized men
who thought they
could philosophize
the origin of I.
I have sown the
seeds of doubt
within the halls of
confidence which
have lain within his
mind.
I have broken
fortress walls
that were built to
withstand the  
wrath that fell
upon *****
and Gomorrah.
We have cut out
the tongues of
our verbal
betrayers and
left them befuddled
in Babylon.  
Oh dear!
I fear I forgot
to mention that
Freud is my Father
and Jung is my
uncle.
Your mommy issues
do nothing for me.
I am not her!
I am a child of
psychology.
Rationally you are
weaker than me
mentally.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
egotistical thrillers.
I have paralyzed
and anesthetized
men who have been
thrice the size of me.
My scalpel is sharp
and my steady hand
cuts as deep as my
verbal violations.
This is my body.
This is not your nation.
My dissection was but
a brief vacation to
your annihilation.
Your internal organs
were similar to an
egotistical colonoscopy.
You thought your
insides were different
from me.
You required proof
that we were the
same.
I said
“Let me cut first”
and you did not
complain.
Oh dear!
I fear I failed
to mention I’m
quite skilled and
I have killed before,
far better men and
even their ******.
I am a serial killer!
A killer of killers!
You are a cheap
thrill as I reap
and I sow.
I plant the seeds
that I know will
not grow.
You will stay frozen
and will get old.
I need not a keepsake.
I own your soul.

IV

We are naked.
Our flesh is worn
and our spirit torn.
The garments which
once kept us warm
are now just eaten
and tattered.
We have silently
walked
and waited
and paced ourselves
and learned hatred.
WE have come
back home where
board games and
Barbies wait.
I have broken
all my favorite toys
just like you
and you
and you
and the horse
you rode in on
have taken all
my simple joys.
You have all
taken away
a piece of pink
and replaced
with a piece of
grey. A piece
which will never
be the same.
Oh Darling!
Do not fear for me
do not fear for we.
We have become the
porcelain women
which watch
and wait.
Our pink colored
kingdom shall
never be invaded
because here we
are waiting.
Not even shoots
and ladders or even
the Madd Hatter
can lead you to
green pastures.
Oh my!
You failed to notice
the malicious
twinkle in
my eyes.
I fear this was
your fault
for you created
a steeple
betwixt my
thighs.
Silly rabbit,
we were never
yours.
I was always
mine.
This is
not revenge.
This is a warning
before the rhyme.
Isabella Oct 2014
There was no knight to rescue me
that night - just a gentle breeze, whispering the secrets of the earth
The cheering of cheery companions taunt me -
Go and join in, have some fun
The night is sweet, the night is young
Empty glass bottles fill the house,
Not yet shattered, but waiting to be
The clinking of alcoholic beverages between each merry soul
Good to see you again my friend,
Good to see you again
Somehow, some thing is missing
Something isn't right
The gentle hum of the party's vibes as it swings into life
distracts me from my sole intention:
Keep a low cover, don't make any noise
Keep a low cover, stay away from the boys.
Kathleen M Oct 2018
touch my face and feel my gut
it's knotted up, punctured and twisted
with knives of lovers lost
look at me with shame and forget me
no longer call me by my name, brother
i'm barren from the child i chose not to let be
yet still swollen from the emptiness
stepping on nails, sharp as i pace back and forth
tattered soles and tattered souls
can't overcome the obstacle without proper shoes
end my suffering with a needle or two
let ooze the regretful sorrow that feeds on my sanity
drain the abscess that is my conscience
my conscious mind
it throbs beneath my skin
and whispers secrets from hell, ear to ear
on sunny days
tiny voices and threatening reminders
of crimes not yet repented
committed in fear of solitude
ways to escape unknown, unwanted
negligent to what could be
because the what is distracts me
traps me
i must first love myself
to be loved by you
everyday is a chance to recreate
we know that
our limbs grow longer ingesting opportunity
but hear me when i shout to you from the asphalt
the world unwillingly grows smaller and smaller
and chances are slimmer, slander
ensures
luck be eradicated
because pieces of us
have been
amputated
In reflection of my observational experience with the community of addicted individuals living on the streets of downtown Vancouver, I attempted to put myself in the shoes of the less-privileged to help me understand the cyclical, inescapable lifestyle so many struggle with everyday in our country.
nuffSaid Apr 2014
Into that dark silence of thy white night.
I walk alone, amazed by the sight.
The falling snow flakes kiss my cheek, sharp like a knife.
And I, in that moment realize that life, will be, alright.

I walk alone, amused by the sight.
The pure white scenery distracts my want to give up life's fight.
And I, in that moment realize that life, will be, alright.
Because confusion melts away, an inside, I ignite.

Pure and white is the scenery that distracts me from life.
Cold and bitter, devoid of strife.
Confusion melts away, an inside, I ignite.
Revealing inner feelings that reach new heights.

Cold and bitter, devoid of strife.
The falling snow kiss my cheek, sharp like a knife.
Revealing inner feelings that reach new heights.
Into the dark silence of thy Cold night
when times hit rock bottom I like to just take walks (preferably on a snowy night). this is a poem about a stress fighting mechanism that I use a lot in the winter (hardest part of the year --for me).
Lotus Apr 2013
Lupine casts the shadows
Tattooed on the skins of
Twining lovers.
Their pale ******
Intensifies the purple and violet
Splashes dotted on the soft green rugs.
The two lovers roll
Atop and under,
Aside and over,
Their sweet sweat distracts the bees from
Their honey foray.
Bees buzz
Lovers sigh
Perfection in its abundance.
FinkZ Aug 2018
Was it your beauty
That distracts me?
Was it your body
That makes my focus blurry?
Was it your smile
That sets my heart on fire?
Was it your eyes
That makes me can’t see because it’s too bright?
Was it the way your singing
That makes me can’t hear the radio coming?
Was it your brain
That caused my heart to beats faster like bullet train?
Or maybe your just overwhelming
That inspired my dreams and caused me overthinking

Whatever the reason is
You made me crashed my aircraft
Really **** hard
That nearly caused a fatal injury
Never fell so hard in my life. Until you shot me down, by just the way you look.........
ms reluctance Apr 2014
Remember…

When we had too much time on our hands
yet never ran out of things to say.
When we thought we knew everything,
when every path was the right way.

Silences used to be complete;
silver nights after a sparkling day.
Something about the days gone by
makes us want to rewind them and replay.

But maybe it is not that simple.
Maybe we are looking back the wrong way.
Maybe it seems easier because we fought
and lived to fight another day.

We can take a stroll down memory lane
but it’s not a worthy place for us to stay.
For nostalgia is a sepia toned b*h
who distracts you as today slips away.
NaPoWriMo Day #8
Poetry form: Quatrain
EMPstrike Jul 2014
The moment has passed, but it still is not too late
To forsake the greatly separated paths we've chose to take
Cutting off to the clearing forged, by feet, of matted grasses
Trailing round the pines and oak, whom fragrantly halt attachment
But their sight, so tall, and woody scent so strong and pleasant
Distracts us from the task we try to hold here at the present
But we soldier on, and wavering dodge all obstacles we see
So that "me" "myself" and "I", through "Us" can become "We"

Parallel paths given life from what we've made
Forming lines into a grid, all paths for everyone to take
Whats yours is mine and hers and his and continued making, still
Forever all of ours, our experience, free will.
Man
IN a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.
All that I have said and done,
Now that I am old and ill,
Turns into a question till
I lie awake night after night
And never get the answers right.
Did that play of mine send out
Certain men the English shot?
Did words of mine put too great strain
On that woman's reeling brain?
Could my spoken words have checked
That whereby a house lay wrecked?
And all seems evil until I
Sleepless would lie down and die.
Echo

Lie down and die.

Man
That were to shirk
The spiritual intellect's great work,
And shirk it in vain.  There is no release
In a bodkin or disease,
Nor can there be work so great
As that which cleans man's ***** slate.
While man can still his body keep
Wine or love drug him to sleep,
Waking he thanks the Lord that he
Has body and its stupidity,
But body gone he sleeps no more,
And till his intellect grows sure
That all's arranged in one clear view,
pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
Then stands in judgment on his soul,
And, all work done, dismisses all
Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

Echo
Into the night.

Man
O Rocky Voice,
Shall we in that great night rejoice?
What do we know but that we face
One another in this place?
But hush, for I have lost the theme,
Its joy or night-seem but a dream;
Up there some hawk or owl has struck,
Dropping out of sky or rock,
A stricken rabbit is crying out,
And its cry distracts my thought.
Homunculus Dec 2014
In a distant dystopia, it towers above all.
It radiates a dim blue glow, that
Transfixes eyes and minds alike.
Pulling with the gravity of 20,000 suns,
Its force cannot be rivaled.
An irresistible, iridescent abomination, and
An admonition unto the autonomy of thought.
Weaving tapestries of illusory illustrations,
Into the indigent intellect of its unsuspecticng viewers.
It's images penetrate the psyche like magic, as
Minds are manipulated into the madness, of
Mass consumption of manufactured "needs."
Its reporters replace reason with rhetoric, for
Objectivity is no obeject in an age of sound bites.
It demonizes difference, distracts, and desensitizes.
Apathy becomes queen, and facile pleasures become king.

Remember your vigilance.
This is part 1, part 2 will be a companion piece (or counterpoint, perhaps) called "The Virtuous Page"
Mihle Mdashe Jan 2019
I’m testing my mental because I know once I’m caught up with someone or something I’ll lose it. It took time for me to be here, to speak out about my ****** up life. Took a lot of withdrawals and telling myself I’ll talk about it only for me to cower away. Oh but I love infatuation, it keeps me going. Like how I was infatuated by the way writing remedied wounds I couldn’t possibly fathom. Those pages were what I spilled my secrets to, I smeared my blood on every page to remind myself that everything beautiful has a consequence. But the pain had toned down and creativity found a new abode. Just like the word indecisive implies I still can’t make a decision on what to write about. I’d like to call it indecisive insanity cause I still can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I had journals filled to the brim with criticism but by 16 I had confined in those four walls in my mind that said I’m not worthy enough . Writing became a short lived passion, I can feel the words ricochet off the walls in my mind. I start perspiring all of my rhymes. Sometimes you just hope and dream that they’ll see the light you’ve secretly placed into those poems  the endless stalking of dictionaries and finding out new strands of knowledge distracts me from myself. It dresses my bare mind I just hope that no man will come and undresses my mentality.
Mouth Piece Dec 2013
I feel stupid and scared when my insecurity exposes What I am. My environment, biology, and temperament make the perfect storm to What I am. What I wear, what I look like, what I do, what I enjoy, what I buy, all lead me to these tangible ideas of what I am. The most dangerous ideas are the ones that make me look and feel good. They get addicting……But how horribly great is it to be rescued with the humility of a juicy failure? I can see this best when my actions slow down to keystrokes. In hindsight my biggest failures are my greatest successes. Now only if I could conquer the great quest to be a great failure. Then I’d be free to be What I Am with no vices or pain! But alas the ideas of perfection keep scuffing my ego. I’m getting better at failing and maybe one day I’ll be perfect at it! So you see my dilemma? Well I wish it stopped there but alas there’s another variable in the mix that makes my dilemma turn barbaric: and it is the Who I AM (Soul). What I am (Body) is not the Who I Am (soul). So the paradox begins “For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want.”(Galatians 5:17) Sworn enemies now inhabit the same space and it’s impossible to separate them through this process called humanity. Their like roommates who hate each other to the point of ******! Now the key word in the scripture is "battle" which means two things:
1. I can win a battle-I can lose a battle
2. I can be lazy-I can be prepared.
For you see the Earth touches the What I am (body) with temptation and fears that many times distracts me from manifesting the full potential of Who I Am (Soul).

I’ve spent my whole life fighting for the identity of What I Am (body) when in the end the whatever I am dies with my body. The What I am can not continue to rout my soul. In our culture there is an infinite amount of ways to build on the perishing What I Am and only a few for recognizing the who I am. But I must fight back on the side of Who I am (soul) which is eternal. This is scary and definitely unpopular to the What I am is what makes me happy Yolo culture but let’s get serious. Here’s some indicators of a losing battle: Insecurity, pride and jealousy are great signatures on the victory flags of the What I Am (body) camp. Here is where you can ask yourself deeper questions and reconsider. This will be far more scary and painful than you can ever imagine because this deals with what you have always perceived as your identity for your entire life. This is the road less traveled. The time is now!!!!! My battle cry is: “Jesus by your strength only do I claim victory of Who I Am!”…………………. If anyone wants to talk I'm here to learn and grow:)
They have become defiled
They have defiled the land

"It's so unfair," she said. "Is this a loving God
Who sanctions genocide?
Who commands His people to slay man, woman and child?
A nation condemned, not the first
An entire planet submerged
Heaven snatched away for disobedience
No, I will not tolerate such a Deity."

In dark caves the Canaanite altars drip with the blood of children
The stench of feces and foul ***** taints the air
Yellow pools glisten in torch light
**** drips from the walls, piles up in mounds scattered on the floor
Animals mill about, sniffing the carcasses of other beasts
Each one kept for a purpose, dead and alive
No golden calves here, only warm flesh unyielding
Worthless for breeding, unneeded
For the Canaanites feed on the carrion of their own battlefields
The meat of their own brothers
Sisters, Fathers, Mothers
The feast devoured, bellies full, sated
The leftovers packed in salt for another day

Night falls, soon the stone that seals the altar tomb
Will be rolled away
The strongest of the peoples will enter the huge cavern
To claim their rightful reward
Until then...

The sounds of grunting women and children
None resisting, none even caring
Most feel nothing
The women should be crying, the children screaming
Only the infants' wails stand out against the cacophony
The noise of mindless rutting, the tears drawn by innocence crushed
Man and woman so desensitized
They barely feel anything anymore
But they remember the sensation
They strive to get it back
The Canaanites have become too ignorant to realize
They never will
So they've turned it into a God
Given it life, passed it on, infecting their enemies
Every bit as lethal as the diseases they've unwittingly cultivated
Passed on to open hearts and open minds
And to their infants and children
A malaise that blossoms into deformity, leprosy or worse

On a dais in the center of the cave
Are seven corpses
The Strong Men know them well

A Canaanite woman squats in a field on the edge of the village
She heaves and groans, face red from effort
With a final push she feels relief
The tiny thud of a newborn hitting the ground distracts her
To her it is nothing more than another form of defecation
She wraps the umbilical cord around her right hand
With her left she grasps the slimy casing
With a quick, purposeful **** she tears it in two
Rips, wanting nothing more to do with the burden she's carried for nine months
A final glance at the condemned child
The sand around it's body blotted with blood and issue
It's airless plea unheeded
She turns and walks away, apathetic
She's done this before
Many, many times before

The cave echoes with an ungodly sound
The Strong Men harness the beasts
The noise is maddening
The Strong Men dominate
Their laughter is insane
The creatures, they believe, are their prize
After all, they are the Strong Men
They are the leaders of the land

Friendship is dead
Compassion is dead
Fear is dead
Hope is dead
Desire is dead
Reason is dead
Logic is dead
Understanding is dead
Joy is dead
Peace is dead
Patience is dead
Kindness is dead
Self-control is dead
Faithfulness is dead
Gentleness is dead
Goodness is dead
Love is dead
Dead as the corpses on the altar
Dumb as the animals in the cages
If those creatures were sentient beings
They would beg for the slaughter
If the Canaanites had not so long been numb
They would pray for the same

The Strong Men
Are ready
Now
For the
Corpses

****

A loving God puts a crippled horse out of it's misery
A loving God buries it deep underground

A loving God does not condemn without reason
Without good reason

A loving God does not sanction genocide
But He will clear a field full of rabid skunks
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
Siren Coast Jul 2016
Every morning I go underneath the Earth
I leave the trees behind to walk upon concrete
A utopia of green and blue
For a dystopia of gray and black
Trying to maximize my worth
A weekly void to fill
Means to survive
Off of hands I do not want touching me
They have the tightest grip around my throat
More is not enough
Everything I have I turn over
To breathe air that they poison
Drinking the water they have polluted
I scream and I shake and I cry
How can they do this?
Why is everyone okay with this?
Do we have no say?

Blind power
I look around me
You are all staring at a small screen
A device they have handed you
You even paid them for it
And now it distracts you
From the poison they feed you
A revolution! Please, I beg
Around me blank stares
She wore it best, he's dating that *****
Wake up I plead
There is no power left of the people
Willing wrists
To be cuffed
Alaina Moore Feb 2019
Overwhelmed is a term tossed around to the point of underwelming.
I am a depressed person in a glass cage, with no way to hide my fear.
Like a million little cuts across my body, and not a **** one distracts me from myself.
I feel like I'm pounding on the glass screaming, "I wish you would just be happy!"

I'm a depressed person wanting telling a depressed person the worst things to say to depressed people.
The irony is a silent needle that sews the lips shut.
Pretend you're alseep while pretending to be alive.
I sacrifice myself for others worthy of the life.
Exhausting to carry their burdens, and the tears they can't actually cry.
Faces rest in palms as if hands are any sort of shelter.
Inability to let things go makes me feel like I have to rip them apart.
Living like this makes you ill beyond belief.
All I want is a good night's sleep.
Claudia Ramirez Oct 2012
It is dark and cold, and it feels like I’ve been here for hours… maybe even days.
Where exactly am I?
How did I get to this cold and empty place where no human hands could give me warmth?
Where animals do not even dare to come.
I try to think, but the bitterness of this place distracts me

I start to walk but I begin feeling this icy numbness.
I want to continue however I just collapse on the never ending ground  
Every thing just starts getting darker and darker
My eyelids getting heavier …

My head is spinning
I touch my face and realize my hand feel frozen
How long was I out?
The silence of this place bring fear to my mind and pain to my heart
Causing me to shake and I begin to sob
As I do the tears become frozen on my red cheeks.
What has caused this sudden lament?

I start to walk but I begin feeling this icy numbness.
I want to continue however I just collapse on the never ending ground  
Every thing just starts getting darker and darker
My eyelids getting heavier …

A movie starts to play
Of a young man
With eyes that had a smile of their own
A smile that makes you want to join him,
Nice, big yet gentle hands that just told you to play with them.
A voice that made you believe in the impossible as if it could make your dreams come true.

I wake up once more and I hope it’s the last time.
I can not take more of this wilderness and all I can think is
who is that young man? I want to be with him.

The movie starts up again
And there is that young man again but this time….
His eyes do not smile; they are full of tears
He has lost hope; now his words speak only of loneliness
As blood fall to the floor from his arms

Now more then ever do I want to be with that young men
Because I know
That once I was the person, who brought that smile to his eyes,
And that this forest of gloominess is ours.
I need to find him and help him out
With the result that this will stop being the forest of Aokigahara.
my god, you embody admirable beauty
you replenish all the good when my world is crashing
with waves so persistent these rocks must remember
the importance they leave when the tide begins to fall
i'm dying to know, has this sand always been so white?
i find peace in the piles my car is collecting

i beam at the worlds these rocks are collecting
communal homes, no fighting; just beauty
my pale limbs get lost in sand so white
shortly revealing themselves as waves come crashing
sometimes i stand on that rugged pier and i fall
awaiting the swallow of the sea, forgetting what i shouldn't remember

here, the wind is always changing, it will never remember
these impeding worries I've been collecting
it may not be strong enough to catch my fall
but it floods my lungs with beauty
for a moment i feel this high is crashing
a seagull grooms his messy feathers, searching for the white

i tell the gull he's beautiful, despite his lack of white
he distracts me from what i shouldn't remember
in taking flight, i envy his crashing
colliding with the water at such height, i grasp the shells I've been collecting
i notice the tide receding from its path, revealing more beauty
tripping over sand, i race to the pier for one last fall

i attempt to leave but the oceans current begs for another fall
the powdery sand on shore grabs me by the ankles and i'm glowing white
i am flattered by this playful behavior, i'm grateful for its beauty
with you, my dear, my peace of mind is all you must remember
rest assured i will never abandon the memories we are collecting
for it is you, i run to when my world is crashing

i swiftly dodge the sudden rain so violently crashing
in a dreamy state, i observe the drops as they fall
still, my shoes are soaked from where water insisted on collecting
in my rear view i see the sand converts to mud and is no longer white
it doesn't matter though, its not the way i'll remember
a storm could never retract genuine beauty

recounting the days moments, drenched in beauty, i feel my body crashing
time is limited when trying to remember as my eyelids fall
white sand is all i see and i'm buried beneath the pillows I've been collecting
sestina poem
Eulogy
Its difficult in moment like these to come up with something  honest and insightful to make everyone feel better. It’s difficult to find the encouragement necessary to get a bunch of ******’s like you to smile when I have a perfect understanding of what you have lost.  Grandmas passing came with a unique set of challenges I can admit I was not prepared to face. Her death left me feeling as equally perplexed as her life.
When grandma started to really get sick and I had to start wrapping my head around her passing I was afraid of a lot more than I am now. I was afraid I was losing the opportunity to know her sober, I was afraid to lose a member of your strange, perfect, functionally challenged  family with its unique jerry springer dynamics. I was afraid I would lose the feeling that someone understood me, the way family only really can. I was afraid I was losing the person and the pace that tethered me to my origins and everything I think I know about myself. I felt like I was losing a person who provided for me my first understanding of the world and introduced me to the intricacies of the human experience I was losing my reasons to be angry the reasons I loved her. I would be losing the way she accepted every imperfect bit of me completely. I would be losing someone who was there for good or bad to watch me collect my scars and change my mind. I knew I was losing one of the most important women in my life and I was absolutely terrified and in a way I did lose those things.
But in a weird way it was as I was losing her that I feel like I finally found her.  I found her in places I had never thought to look before. I found her in myself when I laugh at things that aren’t funny. I find bits of her younger photos in pictures of me in the way my eyes set on my face In the anxieties we shared. I see her in Jasmines complete acceptance of those around her, I find her in Jessica’s ability to take up an entire room, I hear her in cody’s never ending sarcasm. I see her In the way teia will spend days in a creative endeavor,   I watch her in kalebs quiet observances and in the way he distracts  me from my own grief, I see her sometimes when dad is sad but he still smiles and the stony flash in my mother’s eyes when she’s being  super stubborn. I find her in all of our strange occurrences all these idiosyncrasies . I find her in the way we all have strange relationships with one another just as strange as the ones she had with each of us. I know now better than ever before what she gave me what she gave us and its at least as monumental as the things we have lost lost. I know now here with all of you where I belong, where she belongs and  who she was.  And although I can’t say  for certain if she is with God I can’t shake the feeling that perhaps she is with us and if not than at least I find comfort knowing  we all have something of her in us. I hope you find that as terrifying  and disturbing but mostly comforting as I do. Because for better or worse she’s marked us  and also it’s really difficult in a moment like these to come up with something both honest and insightful that makes a bunch of weirdos like us feel  any better.
Madison Marian Aug 2014
I used to cry from worry
And thought I wasn't capable of much
I thought great things required great people
A task I'd never clutch
I am not great not different
Not extra ordinary
And life was too hard and I was too small
But really it was the contrary
I thought I cried because things were hard
But now I see those were tears of lost hope
I wanted to grow up to a better phase of life
Instead of learning how to cope
I thought life only got easier
And that this was just the worst
But I could only see in inch ahead
I was ready to go in the dark head first
I didn't know that life just got harder
But also better by the minute
Because as you age you grow and learn
And potential has no limits
I was the start of something great
It was still yet to be
But I saw nothing in myself
And distant future was hard to see
I realize how our perceptions change
My once biggest problem is now so small
And I am now capable of greater things
I no longer wish to grow up rather for time to stall
But even after all of this
I still see no problem in crying
It's part of you don't hold it in
When you do to yourself you're lying
Keeping it in is like wearing a mask
And it doesn't make it better
So shed the feelings and be proud
Even if your cheeks get wetter
But please never cry from worry
Just have hope in life in you
Worry distracts from what's really going on
And can taint your future too
Live a life filled with hope
But remember when life seems hard
This is but a moment in a picture you can't see
This moment is but a shard
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Once upon a time we had the hymnal propped by the kitchen sink so's I could learn; years later Mum would sing along with me, and now...I like never but once in a blue moon dare to sing aloud, for missing her to tears.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVII)


What's happened to--me?  Rainy hours detail
Thet eye with silver's touch while green lawns fence
The minutes fog obscures by vague suspense
With softest carpets rolled out to avail,
And I'm not erm, my own in sheer betrayl;
Erst naked trees lost to mists' whitish sense
Of yonder, I could shiver, and do hence,
Cuz in a blink I'm his upon that scale.
One comment like my wont five days ere, poor
As what?  now he distracts aught hours 'til through
Suggestion I am giggling, sober, tour
His deepest sorrows, and maunt say he'd woo?!
Of course, I'm better searching violets, fer
All that.  Let purple wink low, saying we knew.

05Apr17b
Hyacinths, violets are classically known along with purple as signifying sorrow, the former I've seen rendered as "hyacinth/ai/ai--" like wailing.  And I love them, to be certain, or is that to say the least?
Alberto Ruiz Aug 2014
You say you're proud you're clean today
Yet you go back to your old ways
I look at you and see it's a reflection
Of my selfish days and
I realize it's me who's changed
There's two of us inside my head
Fighting for the chance to live
A wolf inside of my own brain
No wonder it's so difficult
This war within my mind I wage
No wonder I can't even think
Straight when the two halves of my heart Decide to break apart and
All I'm left with is the broken parts
Lying on the asphalt
Freeway crashes in my head
Locomotives in my brain
Is it my thoughts or is it a migraine
It's all the same
I'm on a train
Going no specific place
Failing
Derailing
I desperately want it to be a dream
Maybe if I stop thinking
It will all just go away
Drown my thoughts with mindless
Music so I lose track of the pain
Understand
My motives aren't insane
They're just a little out of place
I look at my reflection
I can't even recognize the face
Time to make amends
Attempt to fix the broken things
Shattered pieces vaguely
Remind me of all the times my wings
Failed me
I need somebody to save
We can get a little crazed
When we don't know when to stop
And I will crack open Pandora's box
And let the contents out
Right about the hour that I find the clock
has lost it's power
Sour consciousness distracts me from the task that is at hand
Focus on the destination
And enjoy the journey
It will never go as planned
But we can plan to make it worth it

[ARH]
Katherine Ann Dec 2013
It has been 268 days, 1 hour, and 27 minutes since you left the world Mel.

I felt you the other day,
As the leaves were changing their colors
I felt you the other day
Just like the trees feel the breath of winter upon their backs
and Fall inevitably turns to Winter
And the leaves disappear
And just like the leaves fall to the ground and get carried away
So do my memories of you
One at a time, I’m losing them
Since the day you died, fall has been in season
I had a tree full of brilliantly colored memories
And as time has passed on
The weather is having its way with my mind
No season lasts forever
And this one,
I wish it would
Because every day brings me another 1440 minutes
Away from your existence
I’m forgetting.
The first to go was your smell
So I held on tighter to every moment I spent with you
I wrote them all down, you know.
But my mind doesn’t understand how badly my heart needs to hold on
I’m forgetting
Your voice.
Your eyes.
Next it was your laugh
And all your little corks that I held so dear.
It’s been a while. Hasn’t it?

I felt you the other day
Without even thinking of you at all
I just knew you were there
Looking down at me
You know, sometimes I sit for hours
And focus solely on you and try to remember
And I torture myself
With the thought of you being gone
Until I feel a little bit of comfort,
And in that comfort, I know you are there
But as of late,
I don’t feel better
Sometimes I sit for hours and cry until I can’t see,
Until I can’t breathe,
Until I can’t speak
I have to.
Because if I don’t,
Then it makes me ashamed
I feel guilty
For forgetting to miss you.
I miss you everyday
It’s just sometimes, it hurts harder one day than it does the next

I felt you the other day
I felt your presence in mine
It was comforting
And shattering
I’ve learned that the wound never really heals
We just find a stronger medicine
I felt you the other day
As I sat in the red chair that people you didn’t know
Decided to dedicate to you
As an act of kindness so that we’d remember you
It’s been here for 218 days, and a little change
I’d like to burn it and pretend you never left
I’ve noticed that it’s easier to talk to you during the night-time
When I’m looking at the stars
Because it’s easier to remember when it’s darker
The sunlight just distracts me

I’ve breathed a million breaths since the day you left
Inhaled life and exhaled the stale air that somebody else
Will fill their lungs with
Yesterday is gone and tomorrow hasn’t happened yet and
I’ve spent today missing you
Today turns into yesterday
And tonight bleeds into tomorrow
And I’m still denying the truth
That you’re gone

Your voice will never reach my ears
Your heart will never pound upon your chest
Your breath will never pour into the atmosphere
And you've left us all here
and maybe we’re resentful cause none of us were ready
Goodbyes **** the passion out of you
Put your reality on pause while the world continues spinning
They take your breath from you
While reality drowns you and your lungs give out.
And you end up panting for breath
As you choke back the sobs that the world needs to hear

I sat next to your grave today
And the wind, made drunk with your presence,
Breathed against me
We talked, you and me
I talked
And you listened
I saw your mom
She told me that “you’re better off than we are”
And maybe you are
But it still makes me bitter
I’ve heard that nothing is destroyed,
everything is just transformed
So the trees are cut down and thrown in a fire
The logs are turned into ash
And blown away with the wind
Your shell is resting 6 feet below me
Flowers are growing
The grass has come back
You are in them
And that is eternity

And I hope you went
With a smile
I hope it was as easy and as quick as
Leaning back in a chair the color of the sun
while listening to lazy piano music
Can we reverse time?
Or has the timing been assigned?
Every moment has a purpose
Maybe death is misunderstood
Grief can cloud the mind
You roam free, no longer confined
Your destiny no longer follows a design
Wherever this journey took you
Don’t forget to paint the skyline
With your presence

It’s a little unfair and a little unclear
As to why you had to leave
How can life be so cruel?
It’s hard to believe
That moments turn to memories
And some memories turn to regrets
Regrets turn into lessons
And lessons paint vignettes
That become your background
Just a part of your past
We may be through with the past,
but the past is not through with us

Life changes and seasons go on
People pass away
Memories live on
Sceneries shift
Faces are interchanged
Life keeps on keeping on
And hearts get maimed
Human connections
Are all that truly remain
The fragile beats of the heart
Never stop when you’re in pain

— The End —