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Francie Lynch Aug 2015
Too bad
We can't
Rid ouselves
Of the excrement
As easily
As the astronauts
Expel it
On the
She was a transgender scared to go around people in her school hoping they wouldn't run away from her cause now she has a different face on
Ever since she started in high school after getting influenced by one which wasn't her fault just her emotions got carried away.
Every time she goes to school she remains lonely like a person that is new to the school.
When she tries to confront her feeling to her friends thinking "how couldn't be my friend I regret ever meeting her" as she run rapidly also thinking" she is going to assault me like the rest"
When she goes to class people start sticking a post-it note behind her back saying "I want you for personal gain"
Teachers has also been thinking of expelling her from school .
                                           Transgender is
                                                   life threaten.
JWolfeB Nov 2014
Light , curvy rays,
while traveling from air to water world.
My eyelashes - window wipers.
Crystalline lenses,
sending lovely
but blurry pictures
wait.. let me focus my retina,
underwater dream,
or is it really you?

Dark, straight silhouettes,
falling from the busy water above
My chest - darkened vents
reaching far,
wanting lovely,
but faint pictures
I can’t wait any longer,
for the dark room to lighten
I need you to show me

I take a deep breath
And dive in again.
Debrees of scars
And piercing pain.
Your soul still mauve and blue.
I press my lips
respiring pure love into you.

Breathe your best
into the spine of my life
Expelling fortitude
And forgiveness
Hidden in this deep blue
Revitalized for the first time
This moment opened its eyes
to see the beauty
of what beneath the surface lies
An amazing collaborative  with Dajena M. Such a great writer and a true pleasure to write a piece together.
ryn Sep 2014
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
See "Doom Train"
See "Collision Course"
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
A perfect day (in the city)

First off, it is Saturday morning!
I wake up too early,
Slip into a heated reverie,
five poems to achieve,
along with five healthy sneezes,
expelling the week's dusty remains.

She checks in on me,
to see if I am adequately watered
in my poetry riding place,
in truth, to see if I am overcooked,
still alive, still in my creative place.

A real frittata from her new frittata pan,
is the breakfast plan,
that pan,
gives her so much pleasure(?),
I will be eating them
for the rest of my weekend

Tho confess I must,
The sun-dried tomatoes and
smokey mozzarella, my fav,
were pretty tasty,
maybe I am being too hasty?

She to Dracula dvr'd,
me to nap sweet,
a rest to finally complete,
for once.

we meet up again around noon,
preparatory work, i.e., getting dressed,
off to see Little Miss Sunshine,
now Off-Broadway, at
Eighth and Forty Third.

Yes it was charming and delightful,
dear Wallace Shawn,^
and there were no ****** histrionic
rutting cats in it,
not one at all.
(I know, I know,
I am embarrassingly, lowbrow)

Walked home,
so she could exercise her pet
On the way,
bought us new earphones,
cause I go through a pair a day,
given that I write poetry
in a someday,
watery grave.

Up Eighth Avenue,
at my request,
a reality show,
the meandering tourists
and the grunge to

Across 57th Street,
west to east,
surrounded by the city's teemings,
people flash mobbing,
giving NYC,
its special heartbeat.

Up Madison to window shop,
it seems in this part of town
of fancy shops,
I am to France and Italy teleported,
they don't speak
no English anymore,
though told, they still accept
and US dollars

Home by late afternoon,
she, a promise to keep,
lamb chops,
honeyed Brussels sprouts,
a sweet potato
and a very very good Pinot Noir
purchased when,
I was very very goodly broke,
and contrapuntal insanity was a
partial cure.

Romantic lighting, yeah yeah,
a date-dinner, she gets,
in return, I ecstasize semi-silently
(actually quite loudly, with every bite)
in a carnivorous man-haze.

A grand bargain.

In bed early,
a Hercule Poirot to drink on tv.
I see fifteen minutes,
so I can wake up
to record
in the dead of night,
in plain, yet
triumphant poetry,
her final words.

“A perfect day”
^ see the poem Wallace Shawn

Ironically, written on the day Lou Reed passed way, who sang one of her fav songs,
Perfect Day
Liz Aug 2014
Your tall body has always enticed me
Your long arms have kept me safe
Your scruffy beard makes me smile
And your smile makes me melt
Your hands hold mine and make me feel loved
And wipe away the tears

Enough of these superficial reasons
Your love has comforted me
Your humor has made me laugh
(Until I snort)
Your words have made smile
And cry
But always out of love
Your generosity
Has never left me empty handed
No matter how much I beg you
To keep your money for yourself
Your caring heart reminds me
I'm not alone

Somehow you stopped the shaking trembling in my anxious thoughts
You brought me back to reality
You stopped me from dying
You stopped me from hurting myself
You stopped me from starving
From expelling the contents of my stomach
But most of all you gave me hope
A reason to carry on

A reason to fight my mind
To tell the mirror it's a liar
To throw my blades away
And eat whatever I want
A reason to keep living
And to love myself

I know you don't feel good enough
But look at all this evidence
Change the criteria in your head
The requirement of "good enough"
Should only contain one thing

All you have to be is you
To be good enough for me
Because I ******* love you
Ms Kelly Dec 2014
I reside in you but come out rarely
Like a virus, I appear
Expelling symptoms,
at times severe
I wait until you feel no control...

I elude to the fact that nothing's going right
I cause and irritation that puts up a fight
I will make you feel nothing's alright
Scream, scream

You cannot run from me
You will never be free, as long as you have responsibilities
I'm there...

Daily life begins to take a toll,
and your mood swings are really getting old
But alas you have to do what you're told
The frustration!
This kind of turned out like a song? Oh well
the river flows as
living memory

the birds of the
Nile are its
knowing eyes

fly catchers
ply the rich
of sand

layers of
go fathoms

plumb the
mud flats
with heroic
as they did
when the
first rafts
drifted out
of the
Great Rift
to the
opening chapters
of world history

the first
competed with
greedy spoonbills
to navigate
the narrow
of the
ideas, skills
and goods
to build an

troll the
eddies that
goaded the
Mother of
All Waters
to float the
basket cradling
infant prophet
Musa, into the
loving arms
of Bithiah
who nurtured
the vanquisher
of Osiris’
galleries of

a litany
of conquests
rolled on the
silver waves
of this river

the truculent
like sharp
eyed hawks
skimming the
pliant waters
with well
razor quick
picking the
Nile’s bounty

this fertile
delta remembers
more than
6,000 seasons
of harvests

cycles of time
has produced
seasons of plenteous
abundance and
desperate privation
all cleverly exploited
by generations of
fearless herons
who wrangled
the demons
of hardship
to route the
dread of hunger
expelling despair
from the Egyptian
DNA, etching
a new hieroglyph
of freedom onto
survivors hearts

the Niles
and glories
wash this
surely as
the gentle
of feluccas
to lap its

the marshes
have not withered

the verdant
reeds prosper

flamingos find
the water
rich in fish

in due
the red
lotus will
the arcuate
fans in

In the
Valley of
the Kings
the shadows
of migratory
flocks mark
the foundation
stones of the
as they did
when slaves
pushed them
into place

the eternal
lines of
rule has fallen,
their gods
in hieroglyphs
adorning their
royal tombs
on display
in the worlds

the weathered
pyramids continue
to crumble

the face of
the sphinx
withers away

torrents of
blood flowed
in this rivers
currents, now
strained clear
by the reeds
its banks

the fleeting
rule of regimes
are pictured
as momentary
skimming along
the ripppling
water; the
rise and fall
of rulers is
captured like
the shifting hues
sunrises and
sunsets bespeak
upon the waters

the ascending
waves of
the Sacred Ibis
dance atop
the Nile’s gray
waters; the
river jumps
to life as the
graceful wings
take flight
to foreign
to return
again as
the cycles
of seasons
round once

as the Nile flows
its memory deepens
the eyes of the birds
watch and remember

Music Selection:
Gary Bartz, I've Known Rivers

The wheel of the quivering meat
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills-
All the endless conception of living
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind-

I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead.
Paul R Mott Mar 2012
Stars shine on in a night sky so black
you can see the truth.
What is that light but an interruption
to progress so blinding
the sun blushes–
as if another light vandalized
our ever darkening sky.
Closing out on reality,
opening up to ideals,
it’s the rays piercing through the layers
and the yea-sayers nodding
off to sleep in a darkness so deep.
When the genius strips off the latent,
flexes its manifest intelligence,
and puts down thoughts
that flare into the darkness.
No effort from a sun fibbing eternal.
The end might come but the hand
who writes eternity can’t see
the end coming.
Who are the geniuses
expelling the light
and who are the receivers
not likely to admit their stupor
for fear of fantastic phantasms.
Fleeing from their folly,
straying into strange, insipid
serials, unending, not rerunning–
only growing obese with weight
Of chances not spent.
Tikari Mar 2017
The Great Barrier Reef
A beauty born out of rock and sand
Seldom touched by human hand
An image of beauty
Slowly demolished
By the unpolished

The Great Barrier Reef
An unexplained bleaching
Its beauty compelling,
Its color expelling.
It lays in pain,
Forever longing a voice.

The Great Barrier Reef
It burns with heat
A half now surrendered
To the changes from above
A feeling unknown
Whirlpools surging
Destroying all we’ve known.

The Great Barrier Reef
She’d given up
The destruction will never stop,
Her perseverance now lost.
But maybe someday,
The world will once again live in peace.
The Great Barrier Reef
Rochelle R Jun 2014
It was early on when I knew
That my Jiminy Cricket
Was larger than yours,
Larger than you.
The guilt in me
has led every choice,
Or at least shadowed every decision,
I've ever made,
with-in memory.
A villain I've become,
For telling truths
that should have never
had to be done.
Admitting has become to me
Like breaking the rules of humanity.
Am I to be the only one,
Ignoring fears,
Owning all the words
Whispered through the tunnel of ears?
If that's the way it has to be,
I'll write again,
Expelling my inner voice
In the only way I can:

It seems to be
That honesty,
At least with me,
Is a flaw.
It shouldn't be...
winter sakuras Sep 2018
Neurons travel and wind
around your head like
draping tree branches, Christmas lights,
strings of tangled red yarn
weaving a possible

When the cords are
simply content with
remaining relatively still,
being with you
is like
sailing on smooth,
tranquil, clear blue waters
of a vast, magnificent
a blossomed sunset
in the distance
dripping on white, sandy shores
of an island of lost paradise
awaiting our arrival.

But when the cords
flail and twist, tying each other
into knots and cutting off
the clearness
and levelheadedness of thought,
being with you
is like
trying to hang on to
the back of a typhoon,
frigid black waters flailing,
crashing against
foamy, thick quicksand,
roars and curses of a
tyrant sea god
raging seas of water against
the skies,
rapidly expelling
hurtful, sharp anchors and lunging
them to the bottom
of our sandy beds.

And I wonder
what it would be like had I
possessed more
powerful features
as your sea goddess,
as the moon and stars
from above,
and the sandy beds
below that would
catch both
hurtful anchors and
salty tears
you let loose.

When loved ones around you are content, sometimes it feels like what you have then is enough.
Then sometimes when they abrupt with anger, sometimes you feel hopeless as to what plays out as a result.
Ayaba Babe Apr 2013
Sprawled out across his back.
Contouring the bean bag chair into something shapely beautiful.
Knees expelled in opposite directions,
Expelling my imagination into a furious sea of frenzy.
Except for the constant clicking of the video-game controller.
The constant flicking of his fingers soon lead my imagination
The traffic-jam of words inside of me soon slip uncontrollably to thoughts
As I sit behind him.
My heat undecoded.
Legs crossed, just as a lady should.
Girls from all over must tell him he's beautiful.
But beauty in itself is a limitation.
I'm not sure if he is aware that he is beyond
The liberal definition.
I find myself soon forgetting the awkward of the situation,
Instead savoring the surreal reality of such a moment.
"Are you winning?" I shortly ask him, breaking the heavy incredible silence.
But I had to know.
He can miss as many goals as he likes. Laugh it off.
Because inside of me he's scoring.
who will ever understand boys and video games?
Left Foot Poet Jan 2018
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman

******* a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,  
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing  down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released

a one way only sign

time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word  leave just this:

where is the in in

are you the in in
or the jailor at the gate?

you swear never again

until committing once more,

a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,

and the greater toll taken and paid for,

and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity



9/17/17 10:55pm
Emily May 2015
And as he leaves me with his words of wisdom
His blessing
I am expelling every sound he utters away from myself
I flinch from his touch
A pat on the back is like acid on my skin
In his presence I am forced to tape myself up
Whether it is to keep myself from exploding or from falling apart I still don't know
But there are times when my pieces begin to shake and quiver so violently that I start to leak and a storm rages in my head while the rain escapes through my eyes
It is in that moment that I scream at him to leave, without making a sound
And it scares me that he knows what I look like naked
because he has stared at women with my same body on the internet and has drooled over the same curves and lumps that I have
And it scares me how he can sound so sane. So sane that he convinces himself that he is stable
And it scares me that no one but me and my mother will ever truly understand how distorted his thought process is
All this fear and anger sit, rotting inside my stomach and at the center of the mass of hate, there is a spot of sadness for the good dad that left when I began to understand the things a young child should not be able to understand
Day 4
Daniello Mar 2012
I told this
a life-long necessity
of mine
more or less.
But first I said,
before anything, maybe
it’s just a life-long exhaustion
of mine I’m
expelling needlessly, okay?
I want to make sure you
know that
so you don’t go thinking
I’m weird or nothing,
though honestly  

it all drops hard like
faster than
to the same

But this is what I told him:

Sometimes I wish the world
would roll up all it’s got.
Roll it all up in one unsettling
heap of heaviness it can
toss on me like stock from the
deep. O I wish to God it’d
give me the torturous insanity
and every inexplicable loss
it can conjure up—just one
catatonically tremendous
slap to my stupid little
face, flushing it with
cosmic humiliation
and fear I don’t even
notice I ****** myself.

So that, at least, it’d all be
there, you know? And I wouldn’t
have to ask where it is and
what the hell’d I do
to get spared.

I told him give me the
holocausted ashes smelling of
Zyklon B, the crawling away from
sawed off shotgun shells
catching friends hiding under
the library desk anyway, the
running over of your dad by
a drunk who lost his wife to
the cancer that took the brother of
somebody you knew whose
mother had

suicidal depression, hadn’t
smiled really in years, she’d
sat with cold coffee
for years, and around her
had been worse than
darkness, for a reason she
never ended up knowing.

I said to him give me the
harshest words a child has
ever known against him
and have them rest upon
my spine like a freezing
brain spreading electric
wild fires across
my vertebrae, give me
burning skin really
burning, and cheating wife seen
moaning, and drowning baby now
and beaten wife now
collapsing, another baby now
beaten and
thirsty wino keep drinking, and
a stranger with his face
blown off red and
brown and tattered and
I don’t know how but
still hanging there like
boiling chicken fat, dripping,
but the doctors
able to keep his heart
beating and his organs
pumping too, so now
people can see him
and his whole face
as an indication there is
something in the air
that deserves pitying.

Give me it, I said,
with homicide and
double homicide, and
a side of
stabbings and
chokings and
and guns and rope and
gas and asphyxiations
and love letters and
love-making giddy ***
and flowers for the
love of your life
who is cutting herself
because she can’t stop
cutting up souls after
she *****.

Give me everybody’s
******* loneliness
that is lonelier than
a thing lost before it was
born, and as it was
being born, born into
losing itself, its slow
destruction, and there was
not even anybody there because
there was never going to be
anything to help you, there is
nothing to be achieved and
nothing for which
striving is

There just is a memory of
a hazy possibility of
happiness, that one
felt once
in a senseless dream.
A memory that is
always fading towards
non-existence or
existence that has
no place for it, because
it is already full of
something else, and you,
your “transcendence,”
are wasting time,

What are you waiting for I
said (with just a little irony).
Give me the heaviness, don’t
hide it anymore. Show it
all bare and give it all
to me. Tell me, here, take this
and hold it for the sake of—

What?—what is this?
Is it this? Just
the universe drooling on itself? Or
is it more? Somehow less?

Well, for the sake of
whatever lies here (lies here!)
and is too ****** in eternity to
delight us with a clear
answer to the
question that all the
living creatures on this
sacrosanct dirt, in some
crevice of their being, I know,
are asking it.

And this ***, when I finished
telling him what I’ve just told you
didn’t say anything back.
His brown face was treaded terrain,
crumpled cracked ditches,
broken dry grin.

He looked elsewhere, smelling of
decades of drunken alcohol
and lice and yellow toenails and
******* alone against
brick walls at night

and also his brown hands
adjusting the dirt-drenched
cardboard bed he will surrender to
tonight, after who knows
what else.
Celestial Vince May 2015
Words mean a lot, though miss used a lot
And so I thought why not, type-out my thoughts
At the age of twenty, I fought a lot and I lost
Submitted to reality, thanks to life for this munity
I quarrel with this world to find my golden state, but
Even in the golden age, this imperfect being still remains
Yes I grow with age, learn from my mistakes
Expelling all the weeds, growing and suffocating this angelic
So when I wake-up,
stare at mirror, moisture my skin with perfumed lotion
With the attempt to adorn this temple...
Close to Goodness yet far from purity
at times I may be white, till my robe is  painted with mud
I'm only human, and yes I fall, but get back up
This life is rough, behind the smiles and all the love
Remain deep scars, this life is tough, but I still laugh
Endure the harsh times, and all the storms
If I be iron this structure would be corroded
Filled with rust, burying, who I really am All my imperfections, lust lack of trust, sometimes lack of love, and all the scars can taint my soul

Flawless Imperfectionist
Perfection is close to us, yet far from our reach. But chasing after it, makes us seem perfect, when no one is.
Zane McHarris Feb 2016
It starts as a way to forget,
No not to forget, just numb.
It starts as a way to numb,
The splintered glass deep inside my chest

The first few drinks bring peace
No they feign it, illusions
As it poisons my body and mind
The whiskey coils around my heart

As it constricts I feel the pain
And anger I tried to escape.
I pour another glass hoping
For the illusion to persist.

Desperate now I put the bottle to my lips
And as the liqueur flows into my blood
The words flow from me into my pen
Expelling the pain, expelling the cardio-wounds

I trade pain for poison
The bottle's dry
I lay my head down ease myself back
And wonder if I wrote this poem or if it belongs to J. W. Black
Brenten Hargrove Feb 2012
Me and Jagged Teeth usually dont take this path, but , it was an unusually hot day.
The shadows from the trees grew thick expelling most of the heat
She always had badluck , tripping on her own shoelaces , getting caught in every mischeveaous
act and even biting her own tongue as she spoke. there was a day unlike this one where she claimed dominion over
the forest we walked, only for  her to fall face flat from her throne , a trunk cleaved by lightning it seems,
and chipping her tooth on a very vicious rock.
forever since that day i've called her Jagged Teeth
"there it is" she spoke pointing towards the middle of the path.
A large filter of light from the sky fell upon the center ,
the sun seemed to have chosen this one spot where it would torture the wood.
"this is where the heart is"
she whispered. "they say if you make a wish here in the sunlight..."
"Who cares!!!" I yelled. It was beutiful enough without all of her fairy tales.
Never had i seen nature at peace with itself in such a way... No sound would echo
through except the chirping from the crickets and the buzzing from the gnats.
They did not swarm here or attack...Nature was at peace with herself.
"You dont belive me?" Jagged remarked
obviously not, i thought to myself . "How would she know"
"I'll show you then"
over where a patch of
flowers were swaying in the breeze she stumbled over a vine,
turning, to me and giggling at herself,
peculiar enough the flowers were taller than us
She moved them aside crawling on the soft
bed laden with petals and worms and other beuteous things.
She swept away some soil and dug her hand underneath  
and up she pulled a small white daisy, roots and all...She looked me in the eye
"Quick!, Before it dies"!!!
She bolts back out of the thicket of flowers i
stayed confused at how she knew so much about this,
from the corner of my eye , where she picked her treasue
a small snakes head rose up from the soil...
"Hurry" she exclaimed  i ran to her. "There was a-"
Just watch!
slowly she walks to the heart of this  Oasis and holds the flower at eye level. Slowly picking each petal one after the other ...
"so what " I thought but then, the petals flitted in the wind like a tornado was around them and each white petal
burst with color into butterflies one red, one green, one blue, one yellow , one black and one white
They flew around us growing larger and larger until they burst into hundreds,
flew up into the sunlight and exploded into petals each a color of those butterflies
I could only smile. Magic before my eyes and Jagged was the one to show me.
"How did you know of this place, Jagged?"
she skipped towards me and smiled. " I saw it in my dreams." She explained "BUt hurry before the sun goes down!!!!" "Make your wish!!"
Excited i ran towards the flowers taller than my head. Leaping i fell on the bed to my knees and reached deep through
the soil of this hallowed ground. I felt the emptiness
of this space and reached deeper my hand grazed something soft and i grabbed and pulled it out
A low hiss and a stinging sensation was on my hand. "Benjamin!!!" cried Jagged
but before i could turn to her i fell darkness came over me like a thick shadow...
As Benjamin fell Jagged caught him in her arms he convulses and shivers.
"Help!" She Cried and begged and pleaded
"Help, I dont want him to-"
"Die?" muttered a soft deep voice
"N-No...I do'nt...Where are you??"
"Beneath you." It hissed and from below the snake transformed into a figure reminiscent of a human in a dark robe it dressed and spoke softly,confidently and quietly.
"What did you think the price of the young life you took was?"
"Young life?" she queried. "The Daisy...But i didnt know!!"
"NO ONE EVER KNOWS!! They Come and mutilate and ravage this land like savages and expect no retribution!!" He booms causing the infinite chirp of the crickets to cease, the sun to sink lower and the flowers wither deep into their bed.
Jagged Teeth cowered before it crying and sobbing silently , gripping Ben tighter.
"But I'm sorry..."
"Sorry will NOT bring back the life you took selfishly ,Child...Now leave him here, the poison in his veins will soon end him leaving  him to become part of the Oasis..."
"No!!!"she cried
"YES!"Declared the spectre
"Now leave this place, and the LIFE that is the cost..."
"Take me instead!" She begged
I've already done this deed little one. I cannot reverse this..."
"You lie!.." she retorted "If this wood can grant wishes I'm sure you could..."
The shadow leaned towards her Smiling widely, grimacing its teeth blindingly white but eye deep and black.
"You would give your life for his and the little sprite you took?"
She kisses benjamin on the forehead and lays him gently on the bed of the forest.
Standing sloely looking it boldy in the eyes;
"FINE!" it hissed
Spininning the spectre turns bright white  and consumes Jagged Teeth...
"B e n j a m i n..."
I turn to see Jagged standing in the middle of the Oasis.
"J a g g e d!" I yelled runningtowards her.
I see behind her a figure ghastly grinning with darkened features...
I reach out towards  her and so does she.
The ground, thick like mud slowing me with every step. On my arm is a grasp cold and sharp. The figure is clutching
my wrist behind me but i keep running, the closer we get more of the spectres appear...closer and closer...until everything is black. The spectres ooze black liquid and i scratch to reach above them. I see Jaggeds limp hand and before i can clasp it in mine we are swept away by the black mass of the river...
"Jagged Teeth!"
I lurch forward and scream.
The room i awake in is white and a loud beep is blipping in and out. The door slams open
"Ben, Sweety its ok it was just a bad dream!"
"Where is  she mom, Where is Jagged!"
"Honey, Who?" she replied
My heart sinks into my chest and my head into her *****...
Behind her she closes the door. She did her best to calm him but he still seemed restless,distant even.
What was this Jagged toothed monster that haunted his dreams?
She motions herself around the corner and she sees through the window where her son is resting. The doctor is standing there looking confused with his charts mumbling about anomalies and other inconsistent data.

"Will he be ok?" asked bens mother
"Yes, But he seems rather Dillusional.."remarks the physician
"Its an act of God that we found him in time, the poison he was subjected to was more than three times the fatal dose...."
Bens mother clasps her purse and reaches into it to pull out a cigarette.
"Thank you doctor..."
She lights her cigarette and inhals the white fumes.
"When can we go home?"
"Well lets run a few more tests, I want to make sure he is ok, Physicallly and Emotionally."
"I understand.." She exhales violently
"Where was he found if you dont mind me asking...?"
"He was outside of the Forest, Hell i didnt know he was the adventuroud type...Hell inever even Knew that place existed until now..."
She drags one last time on her cigarette before ashing it in her hand
"Looks like he's been through hell."
Jane Tricky Mar 2013
March 3, 2004**

It was a cool night. We sat bundled up sweat pants and hoodies. She lived in a trailer (a mobile home for those who dislike such terminology) on the outskirts of town, on a farm to market road that many blunts had been smoked on. One of our favorite activities was piling into my four door compact car and rolling up delicious strawberry Phillies or Swishers filled with half brown, half green **** of the earth bud. But that’s a different story…
Her parents and sisters were gone for the evening. The porch swing was situated in the backyard just outside the sliding door, beside the riding lawn mower, ratty trampoline which had been bounced on one million and one times (she even broke her tailbone on that stupid recreation device), and the newly constructed chicken coop. The swing creaked every time we swung, but we didn’t mind. I’m sure a small spritz of WD-40 would have cleared it right up but our teenage minds were incapable of such logical decision making.
It was not the first time we had partaken in such events and it certainly would not be the last. The canister was plastic, red, and a familiar sight for most. Anyone who uses a combustible engine fueled by such a horrific liquid knows what I speak of. However, when you’re sixteen and too broke to buy *** and too young to purchase alcohol and cigarettes, sometimes your options are limited. But we must have a vice. It’s a requirement for all humans, regardless of what some might say. Being the reckless young woman I was at the time, I had many of them, and honestly, I still do today. On this particular evening, the heavenly aroma of gasoline was both our friend and our savior. We would inhale and then pass the canister to one another, over and over again. Between the intense sessions of déjà vu and cat naps, our night was a blur. Incessant giggling and talks of silly adolescent affairs was all that occurred. The feeling of being somewhere you’ve been before a thousand times in a row is overwhelming and really makes one question the concept of time and experience. How can I be somewhere now and have been in the exact same position before? How can I experience something that has potentially never occurred because of the inhalation of a substance? It is quite boggling really. After exploring the realm of drugs extensively, it is quite odd to look back at a night in question like this and wonder how a substance can do what it did.
My best friend and I sat there for hours on end, inhaling and chatting. We would occasionally salvage a blunt roach to smoke on or steal a cigarette from her older sister or father. They were never my choice in brands but it’s difficult to be picky when you’re a thief. Up until this point in time, I had always enjoyed the aroma emitted from gasoline. However, this night would mark a change in perception.
The majority of what occurred is not only uninteresting but extremely hard to remember. Gasoline has a way of doing that… expelling memories from your brain in a whirlwind of déjà vu and uncontrollable nap taking. But, at some point in time we decided to take our little private party inside; perhaps because of the weather but more likely because of a lack of clear reasoning.
All I can vividly remember is that we both woke up to her father beating on the window of her bedroom to let him inside the house. We were both so startled by this event occurring that she knocked over the canister filled with the petroleum based product. Quickly scrambling to resolve the issue, we hid the gas can in her closet. We then looked at each other in pure disbelief over the situation. Not only was it scary but it was also quite amusing. The situations we would put ourselves in were always quite delightful, even when they were horrific beyond belief. We tried to muster up a plan of action but it was no use.
She then ran to unlock the door to let her dad in. The first thing he asked upon entrance into the house was, “Why does it smell like gasoline in here?” Obviously we did not have an adequate answer for him other than, “We don’t know, we were wondering the same thing,” The best part is that he never even questioned us. Why would he? We were just sweet teenage girls with smiles plastered across our faces because we had been huffing gasoline all ******* night.
On a night not too far in the future, we would partake in the same type of inhalation but because there was not a canister at my house, we would huff it straight from my grandma’s van. Our neighbor saw us doing it and called the police. For the rest of my grandmother’s life (six short months) she passionately believed that people in our neighborhood were trying to siphon gas from her Chevy Astro. She made me go to an auto parts store to purchase a gas tank lock to deter such activities. That marked the end of our gas huffing days.
Kripi Dec 2015
I thought a girl is
A beautiful loving delicate dove
A gorgeous admiring sweet blessing
A pretty cute free fairy
Huh and I got a shove

I am regarded as a girl
Just because I am physically weak
I can't  go out of the cage
Just because I am physically weak
People make fun of me
Just because I am physically weak
I am in danger
Just because I am physically weak
I cannot make decisions
Just because I am physically weak
I cannot raise my voice
Just because I am physically weak
I cannot dream
Just because I am physically weak
I am restricted
Just because I am physically weak
I am tortured
Just because I am physically weak
I am kidnapped and *****
Just because I am physically weak
I am a burden
Just because I am physically weak
I can't debate
Just because I am physically weak
I am insulted
Just because I am physically weak
I am cursed
By being physically weak

I wish you killed me
Before expelling me out
Instead of killing after giving birth
Just because I am physically weak

*By a physically weak human aka A Girl
Angelique Sep 2013
Dissatisfied with ourselves
                                          and lonely with others
Seeking the truth
                             but speaking with lies
                              ­                                                   What a life
Breathing oxygen
                                 but expelling smoke
Turning love
                       into hatred
                                                                ­             We're magicians
I dunno I think this is ok...
I was writing with the intention to submit this to this school lit thing but I wanna submit something rather good and I just can't find it in me to write anything of that value.

Just as an extra...!zHd1/
Bus Poet Stop Apr 2015
this is not a ten stepper essay.  You are, and you admit it, full stop. Addicted to HP.  No help here.

but to answer the question...

the writing of a poem,
no matter what your style,
eye dropper word selection,
slow methodical,
or furious expelling, frying oil
until crescendo is achieved
is clearly a fulfillment of
a ****** type of need.

after words,
when you repeatedly
check the number of likes,
it is just you asking me

was it as good for you
as it was for me?

Usually, eventually,
the answer is a
quiet, soft spoken,
very few reads version of:

"Uh, just let me sleep"
which means you will try again
in the the morning suncomeforth.
eye put the vin in vignettes
Emanuel Martinez Sep 2012
How come your body of warmth
  Boulder of boldness and hope
    My limbs in vain, fold
      In and out of its hold

Smoothness and strength
  Making me hang stealthily below
    As the muscles in your arms
      More than tickle, grip, supporting my back

Frolicking, commanding every enclave
  Exploring this landscape with precise measure and expertise
    Cherishing every arch, every curve, every carving
      Like the greatest monument,
        You guard me against all elements

And every time you press this lips
  Cautioning against the unleashing of nirvana
    Tinkling with mere existence
      There's a launching of infinite catharsis

Even when this land becomes regimented and bound
  Enclosing every possible escape
    Encroaching, expelling the very efforts to liberate
      You pause in front and gaze into the power of my eyes
        Extracting every trace of repression and restraint

Canvasing, surveying the infinite value of this place
  The conqueror, the lord, the trustee of this land
    Has come to stop pondering the chase
      He's built the greatest monument, he never planned
September 18, 2012
If you can't see,
How can you expect to be free,
Sitting on your knee,
Taking it all,
Paying a hidden fee,
To the engine.

Selling your soul,
Thinking you're not part of the sin,
And then wondering why does it smell so foul.

You're in it,
And so am I,
And so are the masses.
Programmed over the eras,
To chase the escape,
Forgetting that it's just vape.

Who are we kiddin?
We all can see,
Fom the seats we're sitting in,
Absorbing the malicious,
Expelling the benevolence,
and being blatantly shameless,
Forgetting that such an exsistence should be nameless.

But here we are,
Here we are,
Smitten by the evil kitten,
Claiming what can we do,
What can we do?

Who are you shittin?
Who are we shittin?
But ain't it fittin.

I guess we do belong,
We did reap what we sowed,
And we did it all together.

Here's a pill,
Forget that it'll make you ill,
But this is it.
There is no escape.
So why are we looking for salvation,
In the new phone,
In the company raise,
In the new hand bag.

Same fallacy,
Different phase,
Moving on.

The salvation you seek,
Is something that you'll find inside,
And even when you do,
She will never stick around.

So accept,
That every day won't be amazing,
And don't forget,
That everyday doesn't have to be bad,
And that's what this life is made of,
Till the day we all are just vape.
Sabbathius Jun 2015
In vain, the priest attempts to exorcise
He struggles hard to cease the demon’s rise
His prayers prove to be of no avail
She's almost sure they will completely fail

Contorting limbs, in pain and immense fear
From one of those alluring eyes, a tear
Cannot control the one inside no more
Without a pause she screams, so sick and sore

The wretched spawn is crawling right within
Her aching throbbing belly weak and thin
Some spikes are seen already tearing flesh
She feels each one just like a dagger's slash

With blisters-covered skin, expelling pus
There is no true escape from all this fuss
Entirely drenched in sweat, in **** and tears
Atrophied head rotates, her judgement nears

Amidst the blackened blood, now flowing out
Applying strength, ignoring cry or shout
Exuding putrid smells, an horror-born
Keeps screeching out as if destroyer’s horn

*Possession, Defilement and Birth by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
I fear for my mental faculties :/
Just kidding, but sometimes my mind is a really scary place xD
Lying there lifeless


Pretending to be asleep
the gray ceiling drips onto my face
with each passing second the
room gets smaller and

Smothered by restlessness
suffocated by longing
I sigh a heavy sigh
expelling another moment from my muddled life
debating on whether I should get up or not:

     The effort of pulling off the iron covers
     the indecision, the fear
     afraid of being caught

Sneaking out to do naughty things?
                  I think not.
Something I shouldn't be doing?

Taking slow strides across the room
my eyes adjust
just enough
to bring forth indistinguishable shapes
I rely only on the silent energy
that the darkness emits
my ears pivot to pick up the blackness' ululating drone
I tune into its mystic frequency
abandoning all mixed signals that came about today

The slits of oceanic blue light
slather the window's opposing wall
an illuminescence too scarce to peg the door's frame

I twist the cold brass **** until I hear the click of metal

Tip - toe - ing . . .
through the never-ending runway-hallway that seems to  

S T    R       E          C            H        o  n   f    o     r        M  I       L           E                  S 

strafing crucified
agaist the wall
still hitting every
creak I had been aiming to miss

Descending down
the steps
I reach the
one more step down and my excitement rises

I glide across wooden floors
stirring up invisible dust...
I am the lazy particles that float in the air
minus the fanned out beams of sunlight
shining through cracked blinds
to scream out my presence
and fuel my pestiness

Finally I am close
close enough to breathe steam on the storm door
remove the stick

push up the lock

pull. slide. open.

The cold air knocks the wind into me

My first barefoot step is into a pool of icewater
turning to close the door I enter hypothermia
my body crystalizes, cracks, shatters, and re-crystalizes again
sitting down on the step I become inorganic

I tilt my empty heavy head up to the heavanly sky,
howling my thoughts to our silver satellite

I try to find comfort from afar - comfort my bed alone could not supply
my insides evaporate from my
frozen skin and
disperse into the air
my particles grow incandescent wings
the kind that effortlessly ***** and flutters

My molecules are ****** up towards the sky
they leave me behind to join the stars
I welcome their departure and wave goodbye
I hope when they return they bring back good tidings

Now that my insides are gone, my particles adrift,
My frozen-solid body is hollow
and so, a weight is lifted
(even if only temporarily,
the numbness is temporary)

Still gazing at the infinite clusters of stars like
woven celestial patchwork
littered across infinite black plains
I feel content admiring the lone stars
adventurous and brave as they come

    Feeling like those lone stars,
    trying to find my place
    I snuck out to my backyard

All I needed was some space
Welcome, old friend! These many years
Have we lived door by door;
The fates have laid aside their shears
Perhaps for some few more.

I was indocile at an age
When better boys were taught,
But thou at length hast made me sage,
If I am sage in aught.

Little I know from other men,
Too little they know from me,
But thou hast pointed well the pen
That writes these lines to thee.

Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope,
One vile, the other vain;
One's scourge, the other's telescope,
I shall not see again.

Rather what lies before my feet
My notice shall engage--
He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat
Dreads not the frost of Age.
James Fate Oct 2013
the nights are growing cold
I sat outside to finish reading a book
about love and cancer
extremities growing numb
falling foolishly in love
with the pretty girl whose face
gave me the courage
to sit down beside her
on a bench
in the sun
five minutes before my next class started

I found out her favorite author
but neglected to discover her name

in the sunlight
YOLO only says to live
and it’s easy to forget
that I’d like to have
a future

my night sky consists
of millions of tiny, ferociously burning
pin ******
and one heroically loyal mirror
reflecting more brightly than ten thousand
500 million year old projections
of dead stars

I am doomed to fall in love
with a girl who can honestly tell me
that fear of death
and love of life
don’t really feel any different

I wish I could choose
the type of fool I will be

but I know that the moon
has never been in love with the sun
that she has only ever revolved around us
as we revolved around him
waiting eight minutes for his light to reach us
until night falls and we finally notice
her cold, bright eye
slowly blinking at us
doing all she can to be like the light
that we love
reflecting the old, distant light at us
seconds after it touches her surface
she is the closest thing we have to a companion
to a light source
yet we still spend our lives reaching for the stars

I have no belief in a God
I know the sun
is a ball of burning gas
expelling particles and waves of energy
into blank, full space
and that the moon
is a dense space cloud
with a reflective surface covered
in craters
and darkness
and brightness
and a few human footprints and I know
that the night sky
is full of things that can **** me
and everyone I know
with no warning
but such a fool as I am
I can do nothing but love
the cold, lonely face
that looks down on me as a reflection
of my source of life

she will only ever be my beautiful mistress
of untouchable hurt
and so I am doomed
to love that which will break me
if I ever get close enough to touch it

I can’t tell you whether my heart is dying
or if I’ve finally found a way to live with myself
Charlie Chirico Feb 2017
watching the world burn.
This calm is maintained by
expelling air in between each blink.
Glass is far in sight,
glasses cracked
and not foreseen,
because I'm not a seer.
Blanketed in ignorance,
wrapped: up tight.
Shelf this selfishness, I'm told.
So I consider this advice.
Rearranging the paperbacks.
Misplacing the first editions.
All the math in the world; variables
do not ease understanding
of long division.
So I'm left not right,
have never been alright,
and that is why being centered
is crucial for survival.
That is why becoming adaptable
isn't laughable
while watching the world burn.
It's having a cold disposition
to withstand the heat.
Michael McLean Jul 2014
I'm fatally dancing advancing with and toward

a slow zoom through hallways to the dark room

trying to shorten my strides or grip the walls at my sides gouging

a fingernail fear of mortality that makes out the shape

of the cursive-signed names of everyone or thing ever in a

not-so clever attempt to accept the thief that's in and is the night

I breathe heavily and wide to prove that I'm alive until my ribs

touch the white-walls rubbing along in a washboard song

that peels paint like turpentine with a rank smell wafting

from the room at the end of the line and time knuckling under

the backs of my knees scraping off of the floorboards slouching across

the adjacent door frames where exit signs should read thee

forehead pulsating expelling sweat to absolve me and for moments

the room might shine and I am still
anonymous Jan 2012
I should love you as an eight year old,
asking to be excused from your third grade class
to go throw up in the bathroom.
Leaning over your desk in fevered prayer,
hunched over two tender nubs of breast.
Sitting down with your counselor
and a pack of giggling girls to have “the talk”
while bleeding into a *** of toilet paper.

I should love you as a twelve year old,
blue eyes lined and lipstick smudged.
Crouched behind the bushes, expelling chunks
of non-digested pizza and coke.
Taking two bottles of tylenol and laying down
on your kitchen floor, watching the broiler burn.
Calling your boyfriend, and whispering
so your mom won’t hear
“I love you, I hate you, don’t go, leave me to die”

I should love you as a fourteen year old,
thin as a pencil, hair black and straight
Walking with a humming in your head
to your eighth grade classes, slipping away
to the library and reading books on dying
and so you steal a bottle of ativan
from your grandfather’s medicine cabinet.
You take 10.

I should love you as you are now.
Seventeen, eyes darkened to a jade,
and burnt out on suicide attempts.

But I don’t.

don’t leave me.  
The things we’ve seen,
the perfectly serene
tranquil hours,
thick, sweating, hazy bliss.  
Stay with me.  
One more day of
nakedness in the park.  
One more night of you
late and deep and
infinite in the dark.  
One more breath of you.  

You *****!

I should have tossed you out
with the cigarette butts and
the empty bottles of *****.
I should have buried you
in the back yard where
no one
would ever find you.
I should have
handed you over to
those shady *******
who moved in down the block.
I should have sold you.

Oh, my love!  

These cloudy afternoons are
cloudy for us, tangled
in each other.  
Maybe I could live with
never seeing you again if
I could just always taste you.  
I understand you  
so perfectly.  
The lovely flower,
an intoxicating
I will hold you
so delicately.

You *****!
I will eat you.  
I will take you down
in restrooms;
on the beach;
on the side of the road;
on the steps of the church
with the clergy staring
upon us,
possessed and hell-promised,
in the middle of
room full of people.  
I would burn the
******* house down,
just to elicit
the tiniest bit of
glow from you.

My everything!

I plead.  
I entreat.  
I command, beg and weep and
I find a little more of you
absent each and every day.
Like you have dried up and
withered as
the direct result of
me loving you too much.  
Words and want and sentiment
do nothing
to keep you here and
so what do I do?

I ensconce you
in plastic to
preserve you.  
I roll you up carefully
expelling all the air and
secure you
with a cord.  
I make room for you in
the freezer
so that you will never change,
so that I might take you out for
a few moments
at the end
of seemingly endless days and
finger you
on the kitchen table.  
So that I might breathe you
in moments
when another heartbeat
seems too painful.  
You help me like that.  

You are looking quite
green but
that red hair, oh!  
So carefully I keep you
these days
not sharing you with
anyone, ever…,
almost never.  
I mean if the right girl
were to come along and
if she was of the mind
to understand,
open enough to
mentally grasp
the sort of relationship
that we have then
maybe we could
allow her just a bit
of the madness we share.
Or maybe if I had a really,
really good best friend
I might allow him a
taste of you
now and again.
Friends share until it
hurts to give,
don’t they?

All we have been through,
so many close calls like
that time in that
dank little apartment
when the authorities were
mistakenly busting down
the door next door.  
It was a terrifying experience but
I giggle a little now
at how
when things quieted back down and
darkness fell
I scooped you up and
shoved you
in the trunk of my car and
we drove and drove
and drove.  
It was summer and
hot as hell and
the next day you
started to smell a little,
reek actually and
your odor saturated the
interior of my Chevelle and so
I made sure we
traveled at speed no more than
ten miles per hour
under the posted limit,
totally paranoid with
the situation and
still as happy and rich as
I have ever been with
so much of you
bound and tied and
packaged for
no one
other than myself.  

And still,
look at you.  
Everyday diminishing,
evaporating into
nothing and
enough is never
Every time I resolve myself to
quitting you,
to leaving you behind and
moving forth
I pace the floor
my mind traversing a
monotonous loop that
circles every reason that I should
cast you out but
religiously returns
to the need that is you.

Mary, don’t!
Don’t leave me,
Sweet, sweet, sweet
Julia Sep 2014
Pain. It hurts so bad
Shattering you inside.

Pain. Your beating heart
Is no longer alive.

Pain. Your weary eyes
Are blinded with dark lights.

Pain. The suffering
And guilt of your life.

Pain. Your teardrops
Stain your blotchy face.

Pain. Your veins throb
Expelling adrenaline as you fade.

Pain. Your mind goes blank
You don't have the attention you crave.

Pain. Your lips are cracked
After crying for hours straight.

Pain. You're shivering with cold
And no one will keep you safe.

Pain. Peer over the edge
Estimating the fall.

Pain. It's all you have
Once you fall in love.
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!

— The End —