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Carina Sep 2018
Trapped in a cage with golden bars of light
Of ancient habit and direful duties;
Below the water crashed into the bight,
The whispering waves baiting with beauties.

But her shadow lurked around the coast,
Dashing her to the beach like drifting wood.
Preventing her from what she wanted the most
To reach new shores from where she stood.

She wanted to travel and sail the open sea
Beyond the shingle, seaweed and shells
Closer to the horizon where the birds flew free
Or to the arenaceous ground in diving bells.

And coming back to where she started
She found her seaside changed since she has parted.
Or did the widening horizon change her perceiving?
For returning was not the same as never leaving.
Dedicated to all those wandering souls who like to seek new horizons, who love travelling and experiencing the world with all its wonderful facets.
Sitting here in class I am today, minding my business as they would say. I’m listening to the teacher teach but hearing only things left beyond my reach. Another whole day in this **** school so I can come out each night 'more-of-a-fool,' and would it behoove them all to know, I ain’t no dummy, no 'coffee-Joe'?

  …but then I’d have to get the chance, the opportunity provided to advance and the equal treatment they all receive that somehow has been lost on me. Why do I even come here? Why does my Mom insist on this? They don’t call on me, care about me, acknowledge me, it’s ridiculous. At lunch each day I gotta use my fists and even my own kind acts wicked, cause for the rest of them fighting is all that exists.

  Exists; having objective reality or being.

  I exist alright; exist if you call this a life, defined by ******, **** and monkey, or related to some ******-actin’ ****** or some dumb brawler or that dude good at running but never ever seen as intelligent and cunning. The girls ignore me, teachers too, white guys hate me, what did I do? What did I ever do to them? I’m just like you, I just want some friends, want the chance in life to succeed, man shut up about being freed that **** happened a hundred and fifty ******* years ago, I’m just as sick of hearing about it as you are 'Bro.'

  They say I have rights, they say that it’s fair, they say there’s a chance for me everywhere, but everywhere I look that’s not what I see, I’m put-down and degraded cons-tant-ly, told that I should join the team, or passed over in conversations about some thing. Forced to be friends with thugs that hate but to them at least I can relate, for just like me they was excluded or marginalized when told that they are deluded; they’ll never make it anyway, never achieve their dreams, never have their say so why even bother when no one cares how you feel, when your dreams in life won’t ever be real, when you end up in the streets and all you got left is to steal, when its still,

“Go back to Africa ******!”

...they say with zeal and the vitriol an violence comport surreal, Helen didn’t hold this secret to reveal nor does rap, truthfully, with these problems deal? Cocooned by stares and ****-sure glares, because your own sports brothers hate your *** and make you just wanna ditch that class, so here I ended up on the streets, hangin' round on my crew’s beats, acting tough, street-cred and clout and there your 'momma-an-sister' out n’ about, while here I am a fresh drop-out and can you guess what?

Here we come to take her purse, I clock your mom’s mouth and shove down your sister but ***** you boy I could’ve done much worse, she could’ve lost her life and come home in a hearse!

  Is this the ****** ya’ll wanted to see? All filled up inside with hatred, cause I was told that I would never make it, from day one got no attention, spent half of high school in afternoon detention, training me for my future as a prison convict yet another sign our society is depraved and sick. Given no chance or help or just some praise, no moments to shine and no Happy Days, he’s just a gang-banger, a **** they say? My actions may be worse than your words assail, and well, that may be me and I may be in jail but here’s something from my Grand Momma, a little encouragement goes a long way to change this drama...

You see me on the street you better ******* run cause you already know what’s in my jacket son and my hoodie will be up so you can’t see my face since I already know what you think of my race.
I guess these are rhyming stories really. I grew up poor in rough neighborhoods and majority-minority schools. This piece is a tribute to tribulations of poor African Americans which I know all too well having grown up in their neighborhoods.
Dolores Jul 2018
The feelings muffled by the pain,
Like a smoldering bonfire
Covered with damp leaves.

The dimming flame of affection,
Like the pieces of wood
Emitting sinuous smoke.

The infatuation hitting suddenly,
Like the bitter smell of carbon
Inspired with its blackness.

Quenched by
The heavy rain
Of experience.
Blissful Nobody Sep 2018
I must be made out of stone,
A stone is a good thing to be,
I have weathered wounds ,
Changed a bit on the outside,
The core remains the same .

A stone is a good thing to be ,
Nothing changes inside,
A landslide or an avalanche,
It’s just an adventurous ride,
An experience that shaped me.

Nothing changes inside,
Time has layered me solid,
A little unraveling by nature,
Is time again working on me,
Showing the grit that makes me.

Time has layered me solid,
Bruises sharpened my edges,
Water smothered me smooth,
I could lay alone for ages,
Or I could flow and dissolve .
Stephen Purcell Sep 2015
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the ****** of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Classical ideals of education and life. Miscellaneous cultural connections.
Nassif Younes Dec 2016
So
You're boasting about your massive wealth
Of life experience
To someone who has spent their entire life
Living.
Ilunga Mutombo Aug 2018
Steve - Hey

Steve - Hey

Steve - Hey how are you doing?

Steve - Hey I’m just trying to get to know you.

Steve - Wow so it’s like that?

Steve - You won’t even give me a chance?

Steve - I know you see the Facebook messages.
                            
Anna - Hey sorry I don’t feel like talking. You are not worth my time or attention.

Steve - I’m good now.

Steve - I found me another lover.

Steve - All I wanted was your time and your attention, but you placed my heart in an emotional detention.

Steve - To me now you just another potential lover I could of loved and cared for. But you loved your ego more.

Anna - I’m sorry.

Anna - At the time you wanted me I was busy.

Anna - I want you now though, even though you have another lover, I envy her. Your persistence showed me you were worth my time. But my ignorance encouraged me to ignore my heart and feed my ego.

Anna -  Now it’s sad to watch you go.                                                  

Anna - I wish I knew better and did better. Now loneliness comforts my **** mess.

Steve - I guess this is goodbye, because with persistence I also come with, love, patients and loyalty. I am glad I never gave you the best of me.

Steve - My lover truly deserves all of me. My time and my energy, my flaws and insecurities. Thank you for letting me find the best of me.

Steve - You were the light that had to shine in me for me to find the best of me. Your rejection brought out a better version of me.

Steve - Love stings like a blind bee it can kiss anyone and make them feel it slowly. For those it never kisses their hearts forever remain lonely.
Try Dec 2018
Drop Drop into the deep end,
new faces daily right up to the weekend,
the realization of your current situation yet to set in.

some are looking for retribution,
others caught in eternal confusion,
thinking they see the end of the path but it's just a delusion,
hardly any one making moves,
many of them are just goons,
blue baboons.

there's only a righteous few,
making daily moves,
which they can prove,
as they get out the shelters,
into a new home quite soon.

so look towards the new moon,
get into the groove,
for you have yet to bloom,
don't let the place consume you.


© Try
some personal experience of what you get when living in a shelter, i may not have been in a position to go and live in one for a year, tho to understand the real struggles people go through on a daily basis it was a much needed experience.
XyL0S Oct 2018
.

Who
should I blame,
If
the night is
Everyday,
And
the night is
dark?

.
Who do you blame,
For the pain
and it's cause?
.
Arke May 2018
I wanted to leave this morning with hope
Dreaming about how today would not be like yesterday
I could get up 15 minutes earlier
Wear that new little black dress that makes me feel good about myself
Catch the bus on time
Eat a good breakfast just like you've always told me to
But I got up and had a missed call
And that's when I found out you were gone
And I rolled over in bed hoping this would be a bad dream
And got up late
And put on that little black dress that I keep for funerals
And called a taxi to pick me up
And I saw you one last time, pale lips and eyes cold
I couldn't eat for days after
Your body hooked up to humming machines
I wish it had been me instead
Whisperer Jan 9
All I gave you was love and care
even if I was slightly bend from previous 'experiences'
All you ever did was stab me with words , breaking me further
And return those broken pieces wrapped in the cloak of betrayal
- The one you left broken
Mia Wallace Sep 2017
I'm weathered and weary from shapes of greed
Their colors mislead me
I am naive
But I know eyes that taste
Without seeing
Now you know me, don't you?
But you are just waiting.

I am tired of this misinterpreted concept
I am tired of our tangled body's, this act between two that is only about you.
I'm tired of not being able to dance freely in fear of needy hands and sharp teeth
Pressuring possessiveness
Climb into your soul and off of my body
See that I am a creature of interrupted freedom
I will not answer to your hollow eyes
Your misconstrued ideas of love constructed by a society that forgot to feel
That forgot to see
That forgot that you are you and I am me

I will not answer to your hollow eyes
You are not welcome here.
Every colour has a melody
Every song has a hue
Every kiss has a story
Every scar is true

A soldiers strength
A lovers tenderness
A mothers love
All warriors true

All endings had beginnings
All beginnings will end
All starters will finish
All rainbows will bend

Every love will taste hate
Every hate will love taint
Every tear will see a smile
Every smile will feel great

Every colour has a melody
Every stranger is a reminder
That you paint your own pictures
And kiss them with colour.
© JLB
07/08/2018
20:18 BST
Arianna Dec 2018
'Twas but a moment:
The Law of a Moment
In all its force

     of IMMEDIACY

                                             Tragic,

                                         Irrevocable.

Allofthis
     In a moment, and not

                                     A moment more.
A short tribute to the element of immediacy characteristic of tragedy, the sudden finality which at once sows the deep-seated anguish of tragic experience, and facilitates the catharsis necessary for triumph over suffering, "having learned not the meaning of suffering but what it means to experience it truly and unexpectedly for the first, though not the last, time".

(In quotes: excerpt from a fantastic book/collection of essays called "The Tragic Abyss", editor Glenn Arbery)
Iska Feb 2018
'Why is it so painful to grow?'

A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.

The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.

A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.

Yet still... It grows.

A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.

Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.

Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.

And still.. it grows.

The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.

The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.

And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.

The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.

Then the bud breaks
A ***** appears
a petal unfurls from within.

Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the ***** stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.

And still.. it grows.

Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.

Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.

They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.

You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.

And now... I can't grow.

So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.

And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.

Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.

And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
Daniel eason Nov 2018
The earth rotates
We all have our fate
Missing someone
Or not wanting to be yourself
Neglecting your health
Turn your self around
Tune in to the sounds
Magical experiences yet to discover
Enjoy time with one and other
A poem about how you can change things around
Seanathon Nov 2017
Cold candy
Pop rocks bursting in the morning hail

My mouth a mess and mind untested
Tired and still

The morning reaches out to me
But nothing gets better at this time of day

I wish my words could carry me
Like I carry a them, away
Nothing feels worse.
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