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"expose" poems
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart— empowered to rise above its circumstances, unweighted, unburdened, unbound, tied only to that which would lift it higher, untethered from anything which would pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it. It's the free heart, quiet and at rest yet jubilant and uncontained, the celebrating heart, the praising heart, the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage, bent on adventure, journey and romance. All the while it's a waiting heart because it's a yielded, led heart— a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD but willingly, quickly to the LORD— a heart that though eagerly anticipating each twisting turn, next horizon and changing path keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery but forever on the Shepherd because it's a heart persuaded that He alone is the Great Reward for which it has always been looking. True joy is only ours when we find an endless source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One! The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else. The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him, desperate for Him to the expense of all else, willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied. Joy and idols, I have learned, do not easily reside together in the same heart. So if I find that joy is chased away the most likely culprits are my own desires. What am I wanting more than Jesus? For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy. There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss to expose all of the hidden idols within me. It's surely those who have suffered the greatest and most frequent losses for Christ who are also most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy. For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself. Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand, but for any with eyes truly opened to see the most precious of times may be those when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand. Rivers of sadness can open up into wide gulfs of endless delight and are often the very courses needed to carry us there. When all is lost, we find to our amazement that, even so, we still have ALL and no one can rob us of it. When He takes everything from us He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
0
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
~ The Joyful Heart ~
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart— empowered to rise above its circumstances, unweighted, unburdened, unbound, tied only to that which would lift it higher, untethered from anything which would pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it. It's the free heart, quiet and at rest yet jubilant and uncontained, the celebrating heart, the praising heart, the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage, bent on adventure, journey and romance. All the while it's a waiting heart because it's a yielded, led heart— a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD but willingly, quickly to the LORD— a heart that though eagerly anticipating each twisting turn, next horizon and changing path keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery but forever on the Shepherd because it's a heart persuaded that He alone is the Great Reward for which it has always been looking. True joy is only ours when we find an endless source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One! The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else. The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him, desperate for Him to the expense of all else, willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied. Joy and idols, I have learned, do not easily reside together in the same heart. So if I find that joy is chased away the most likely culprits are my own desires. What am I wanting more than Jesus? For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy. There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss to expose all of the hidden idols within me. It's surely those who have suffered the greatest and most frequent losses for Christ who are also most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy. For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself. Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand, but for any with eyes truly opened to see the most precious of times may be those when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand. Rivers of sadness can open up into wide gulfs of endless delight and are often the very courses needed to carry us there. When all is lost, we find to our amazement that, even so, we still have ALL and no one can rob us of it. When He takes everything from us He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
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56
*It is  a rave, That to expose is brave. They are those who know not the pain Of the courage it takes to contain.*
0
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Brave
Lets take the day off and chill out, not stressing soaking up the lords blessings, let's go out tonight enjoy a nice meal unwrap ourselves expose our fun side peel the layers off, relax by a waterfront getting high off the emotions of us, watch fireworks toast a glass of strawberry and cream champagne to celebrate nothing bothering us Just a night off lets communicate with our bodys flirting with the slightest touch temptation not asking for much, the night is still young so juvnille, let's make it worthwhile no dollar amount a value deal of us just enjoying us do wild stuff like we don't now how to behave ourselves, radiate is our smile viberations of our laughter makes the valley's of our heart shake, sweet lovers a savory taste   Take the time to enjoy us we been working so much not taking breaks convicted to the grind like tired slaves, not tonight it's date night we haven't had this feeling for a while now, let's takeoff day cater to each other feed both of us grapes do you want to split a cheesesteak?, nothing much just you and us it's date night take the load off
0
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
Date Night
I am the rose that grew from concrete Budded from stones, rocks, mortar, cement, broken glass, drug vials and bags. I am a product of my environment. What you thought would **** me, Only served to make me stronger. Evolved into a hybrid I'm the only of my kind. My thorns fortified with brass knuckles, My color faded from weather beatings, And all other beatings, The travesty of my existence is not lost on me. Beauty in the midst of pain, And what is the epitome of ugly. I don't belong here and never did. Wisdom I have absorbed From rains never to come again Rejuvenates my leaves. Although I cannot absorb it all, Through the cracks in the concrete. I relish what I can And vow to absorb more the next time, Should I be so fortunate. Because the concrete can protect As well as expose my naivete. So compelling to manipulate, It would be ideal to control. Impossible though. How can you control What grows and survives in the midst of chaos? And at what cost to your soul? Even through the ominous clouds, I remain in light. The Sun has never been immune to my plight. Providing the strength, energy and hope I'll need for the next season of my fight.
0
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
REFLECTION
emotions bounce around to eventually be transcribed into beautiful words a patchwork of thoughts from her mind, made with fragmented sentences, allow her to expose part of her soul. words that coax images or emotions or memories to arise in other's minds. the most magnificent artwork that changes for every reader a display of her soul that will never be seen in the way she intended it to be seen. a curse or a gift?
0
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
an artist of words
In order to expose my heart and truly write, I must release my status or my pride, this is not about me, it was never meant to be a way to gain recognition, another way for me to perform on a stage, some sort of exhibition. Yet I find myself hesitating to write my thoughts, trying to impress people I don't even know, It was only meant to be an outlet a therapy for me, never some sort of show, but like everything I have ever done somehow Id rather waste my time trying to impress. My guilty conscience driving me to be truly under duress. Forced to hold back the leanings of my heart I merely release a fluffy worthless shallow piece. I will not be stifled, held down by my need to please, my ribs will not rupture under this pressure as I try to breathe. I must write with heart and soul or not at all. So this is my open message to you pride, no matter how many times I fool myself into putting on your mask, I promise, your control over me will not last. I will take you off just as quickly as I put you on because I want someone who reads these to truly see me. To see me with all of my scars misfortunes and faith, I will put my heart out, I will never aspire to be fake.
0
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
Pride
See with an eye  of  wisdom, Yet you'll fail to understand the reality, Drag the lies until their skin bleed, Yet you'll fail to expose the reality, No matter what you do to make them believe, Deception  is the only reality.
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Deception
As you fanned me and fed me grapes, you let the sweat drip down your lobe. On a night as wet as this, slip off your robe, expose. my fingertips scaled your knuckles, fumbling the thing you held out to me, burning so brightly. All before you stopped to talk to someone more important than me. You moved so candidly. You sat down at the bench In a dress all black and backless. I've seen it in a dream. With the moonlight flowing down the river, your neck, and spilling onto the banks, your shoulder blades, your hand crept across the keys like the most beautiful spider I had ever seen.
0
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:34 PM UTC
Keeping Up With the Corinthians
Human directives, veracities unverified   Bellies belching with anger, murderers Udders dripping hate, foundling banters Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink Tear motions and debates of inequality My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield Emergency alarms sirens from 2003 The indefinite complications and hunger A land of the displaced, starving nomads Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws Inhumane human interrogations persists A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve Force-feeding, torturous measures applied All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed A Rwanda slain in divide and rule Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves Machetes slashing necks and hands A lust of power, a genocide slaughter The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch Autocratic regime boring divisions Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill Indifference pooled in pits and camps The institutional social indoctrination The honor and killing to expose shame The violation and dishonor of moral fabric For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit Confessional secrets of only what lays within A torment watching witnesses, all dangling Marxists calls ships to stow ashore Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit Invalid contracts awaits signatures The white immigrants to be enslaved All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor Wage packages taken to pay for freedom Humans bought and sold to be owned Slaves yorked and counted as assets Bounded to serve plantations and homes A human, non human, a chattel, a slave A debt ******* offended and ***** Untamed and made to obey a master A falling global strings unturned Tunes strumming hate, war and pain Human trafficking, violence, inequality Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists Commercialism, zero hour contracts For if we have no rights, I have none For if we have no peace I have none
0
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Cruel Inhumane Autocracies
Human directives, veracities unverified   Bellies belching with anger, murderers Udders dripping hate, foundling banters Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink Tear motions and debates of inequality My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield Emergency alarms sirens from 2003 The indefinite complications and hunger A land of the displaced, starving nomads Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws Inhumane human interrogations persists A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve Force-feeding, torturous measures applied All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed A Rwanda slain in divide and rule Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves Machetes slashing necks and hands A lust of power, a genocide slaughter The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch Autocratic regime boring divisions Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill Indifference pooled in pits and camps The institutional social indoctrination The honor and killing to expose shame The violation and dishonor of moral fabric For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit Confessional secrets of only what lays within A torment watching witnesses, all dangling Marxists calls ships to stow ashore Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit Invalid contracts awaits signatures The white immigrants to be enslaved All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor Wage packages taken to pay for freedom Humans bought and sold to be owned Slaves yorked and counted as assets Bounded to serve plantations and homes A human, non human, a chattel, a slave A debt ******* offended and ***** Untamed and made to obey a master A falling global strings unturned Tunes strumming hate, war and pain Human trafficking, violence, inequality Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists Commercialism, zero hour contracts For if we have no rights, I have none For if we have no peace I have none
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55
Fold me like you always have, Run your nails to set the creases, Shape me to the form you crave, Bend me into the art of your wishes, My form forever yours to toy with, I conform to your will and desire, Expose my surfaces, above or beneath, I will always be there for you to admire, I can be flexible or I can be stiff, That depends on what you want, I am here to help fill your rift, The one who says you can when you can’t, Craft that which you seek of me, I am but your art, your origami.
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Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC
Origami
Healing leaves are now disrobed branches on the edge of this wilderness. Many tall Douglas Fir stand sentinel over 100 foot tall amazing grace — the fleeting leaves expose the beauty of the moss clad scaffolds adorned with a lime-grey lichen lace Nature is my refuge — solid ground to stand in this harmony and peacefulness. Jesse Stillwater — December 2018
0
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
lime-grey lichen lace
What might it be that doesn't let me compete to three verses ? Perhaps it is that I tend to write longer poems, perhaps the lengh shouldn't matter so much as the message is carried through. From mind to heart, then to ones soul I try to reach out with no goal. Yet am beaten, brought back down, by three verses which show up with such malice, ominous, threatful aura, they have approached me. I pretend not to mind, I pretend not to have seen it, yet the simple, silly, broken stream in my thoughts has already engaged it. So that it once again, cannot repress, envy on such a level. My writing style might have been through changes, might have come to a disliking to those who prefer a clear, structured, yet well recorded, beautiful and magnificent rhyme pattern. That should surely catch one's eye, perhaps fill them with glee and bliss, happy thoughts that they would miss once they are gone. But no, I cannot turn, this path was chosen, locked, destined to be walked upon on an journey which has become endless, by time which had stopped passing anymore. So now it became unrecognised, forgotten, left in an abyss without any light to expose it to the world outside my head. Such is the fate, which I will gladly bear with, for this, has been a  route, from which I learn and educate. So go ahead, you can take my flame thrice, even if I might not be able to burn this image into your eyes, this ember, about to go out from the cold, windy, airless area, will only burn brighter. As it rises from the ashes and yet again, goes ablaze ~ Umi
0
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Despair
What might it be that doesn't let me compete to three verses ? Perhaps it is that I tend to write longer poems, perhaps the lengh shouldn't matter so much as the message is carried through. From mind to heart, then to ones soul I try to reach out with no goal. Yet am beaten, brought back down, by three verses which show up with such malice, ominous, threatful aura, they have approached me. I pretend not to mind, I pretend not to have seen it, yet the simple, silly, broken stream in my thoughts has already engaged it. So that it once again, cannot repress, envy on such a level. My writing style might have been through changes, might have come to a disliking to those who prefer a clear, structured, yet well recorded, beautiful and magnificent rhyme pattern. That should surely catch one's eye, perhaps fill them with glee and bliss, happy thoughts that they would miss once they are gone. But no, I cannot turn, this path was chosen, locked, destined to be walked upon on an journey which has become endless, by time which had stopped passing anymore. So now it became unrecognised, forgotten, left in an abyss without any light to expose it to the world outside my head. Such is the fate, which I will gladly bear with, for this, has been a  route, from which I learn and educate. So go ahead, you can take my flame thrice, even if I might not be able to burn this image into your eyes, this ember, about to go out from the cold, windy, airless area, will only burn brighter. As it rises from the ashes and yet again, goes ablaze ~ Umi
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26
“I'm big, you're little. I'm smart, you're dumb. I'm right, you're wrong.” This is what you've taught me, but I've learned another way. I try to be so peaceful, I practice every day. I've been through quite a lot, And I've had to be so strong. My message must have gotten lost, been fighting for so long. You raised me as a woman, Yet you treat me like a man The way that I'm reacting often goes against my plan. I'm trying to reach out and you call it my excuse. What you see as parenting, Feels like abuse. I feel very threatened and begin to snap back; I realize my mistake too late, I try hard to retract. I need some space to breathe, I need a little air... You get so worked up; leaving no room for repair. I try to walk away, I try to be alone, But you will never let it be And that is set in stone. I feel backed into a corner, As though I have been trapped. You push me all my life And expect that I won't snap. I am very agile, But I am just a person. I try to learn to bend so the problem will not worsen. You think that I'm rebellious And full of disrespect Whenever I'm defensive As I am made upset. I don't want to feel scared And I don't want to feel pain, Once you introduce those feelings It can drive a girl insane. I'm sorry that I haven't turned out quite how you expected. My problems are ignored And my person feels rejected. Expose me to the anger of which I have been subjected... I forget why I'm hurting and I follow your objective. The things that I'm saying are just sitting in my head, You may not remember them as things that you once said. I don't mean to preach and I don't try to follow, But your anger is so loud That I find mine hard to swallow. I'll leave if you need me to, But that's not what i need. I want to coexist with you, I'm just not up to your speed. I need love and I need patience, But you have your own issues And you cannot face this. It's chalked down to "He's old and he'll never change his ways" If this isn't an excuse, I don't know what more to say. You think that we are different, but we are quite the same. You don't see yourself in me And I find that quite strange. You say I make my problems Into someone else's, While doing just the same... Am I the only one who is selfish? I never mean to do or say the things that I have I wish that you could help me out, but you are just my dad. You are who you are, no matter who it affects. I just have to get over it, as everyone expects. I'll try not to be like you; Try to avoid all of your habits. The idea is in front of me, I just can't seem to grab it.
0
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
Rotted Apple and the Stubborn Tree.
“I'm big, you're little. I'm smart, you're dumb. I'm right, you're wrong.” This is what you've taught me, but I've learned another way. I try to be so peaceful, I practice every day. I've been through quite a lot, And I've had to be so strong. My message must have gotten lost, been fighting for so long. You raised me as a woman, Yet you treat me like a man The way that I'm reacting often goes against my plan. I'm trying to reach out and you call it my excuse. What you see as parenting, Feels like abuse. I feel very threatened and begin to snap back; I realize my mistake too late, I try hard to retract. I need some space to breathe, I need a little air... You get so worked up; leaving no room for repair. I try to walk away, I try to be alone, But you will never let it be And that is set in stone. I feel backed into a corner, As though I have been trapped. You push me all my life And expect that I won't snap. I am very agile, But I am just a person. I try to learn to bend so the problem will not worsen. You think that I'm rebellious And full of disrespect Whenever I'm defensive As I am made upset. I don't want to feel scared And I don't want to feel pain, Once you introduce those feelings It can drive a girl insane. I'm sorry that I haven't turned out quite how you expected. My problems are ignored And my person feels rejected. Expose me to the anger of which I have been subjected... I forget why I'm hurting and I follow your objective. The things that I'm saying are just sitting in my head, You may not remember them as things that you once said. I don't mean to preach and I don't try to follow, But your anger is so loud That I find mine hard to swallow. I'll leave if you need me to, But that's not what i need. I want to coexist with you, I'm just not up to your speed. I need love and I need patience, But you have your own issues And you cannot face this. It's chalked down to "He's old and he'll never change his ways" If this isn't an excuse, I don't know what more to say. You think that we are different, but we are quite the same. You don't see yourself in me And I find that quite strange. You say I make my problems Into someone else's, While doing just the same... Am I the only one who is selfish? I never mean to do or say the things that I have I wish that you could help me out, but you are just my dad. You are who you are, no matter who it affects. I just have to get over it, as everyone expects. I'll try not to be like you; Try to avoid all of your habits. The idea is in front of me, I just can't seem to grab it.
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95
*To be alone Every day To see you leave, and return Just a spectator In this play Many bees, come and go Filled with hives Filled with words Still alone Yet surrounded By an ocean Sounds too fast To be heard Hello, goodbye I am busy don't you see With many tasks In the hive, of this world A load too heavy For my arms Carry without choice Caught in a web Filled with hives, and the bees A grand purpose All its own Heavy loads defeat the hands Falls and cracks, such empty shells To expose, raw and blank Lack of hope, of despair Staying here all alone Unemployed*
0
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 9:24 AM UTC
Unemployed
God ensures everyone a shore floating on the sea of the soul! No stone is as solid lying in any temple. Light up the flame lay it on the passage to the truthful selfless human conscience. Unleash from the unseen the one true enduring origin! The more one understands the universe's more meaningful! Hails from the one yet to expose the utmost intelligent of all!
0
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Intelligent Original
complexity bias how you love to criticize my poems as too long and overly complex poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews Writing is a **** temptation - we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90% perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring - give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is easily digested and there are no consequences I am a member of a discriminated-against minority we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of our faces,  you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied 25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white, my occupation is playing video games and making sure my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States where I was born there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in my future this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy, ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about, on your way out, of course, of course, we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way, order slowly declines into disorder my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the the Herzog continuums and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my going, gone under so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the requisite taxing authority you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go, perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
0
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
complexity bias of a ******
complexity bias how you love to criticize my poems as too long and overly complex poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews Writing is a **** temptation - we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90% perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring - give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is easily digested and there are no consequences I am a member of a discriminated-against minority we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of our faces,  you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied 25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white, my occupation is playing video games and making sure my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States where I was born there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in my future this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy, ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about, on your way out, of course, of course, we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way, order slowly declines into disorder my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the the Herzog continuums and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my going, gone under so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the requisite taxing authority you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go, perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Continue reading...
41
saw something i can't erase from my memory yet it's physically deleted from yours. now there is no proof of your infidelity besides my word. you make excuses and tell me to keep quiet not to start something over nothing. what is nothing to you is a lot of something to me. you care more about the feelings of another than you do about mine. you lie to others about our relationship you act as if you don't love me as if you will leave me but the second i say i will leave you you are crying, with more excuses. this is an all too familiar road for me and i refuse to go down it again. so many tears and excuses now i could drown in them. you still fight to keep toxic things in your life. you still fight to keep me content by your side. what your reasons are i will never understand. you never really loved me you don't know what love is. i will find a way to expose you both. the last laugh will be mine.
0
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
Caught Him Deleting Messages From His Phone
Where are the role models? Who do I admire? The *** and drug obsessed rapper? The naked model in the magazine? Who? Where is the father figure in that single mother home? Or the concerned and responsible mother of two? Where is the morals in society? Tell me Where can I find them? Everyone seems absorbed by popularity Acceptance Is this the reason we expose our bodies? Disregard our morals? Sully our name? Where are the role models? The positive influence? The man holding the door for the young lady? The mother struggling to put her children through college? I'm in despair Will I succumb to the warped society? Will I trade my personal respect, for a robe knitted of shameful glory? I'm afraid Where did all the good people go?
0
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Where are the role models?
**I have an issue One that weighs heavily upon my heart One that, if left unchecked, threatens to tear our social moral fiber apart An issue I will express in English, with some help from my old friend *Swahili Hii imenisumbua akili, kwa hivyo kuiongelea ni kitu tunastahili Hii story ya immorality tunaichukulia so so light Dem akiji'expose kidogo mbele ya kamera haina mseo, tunampandisha cheo kwa society, all of a sudden ye ni socialite The new cool, eti ‘good girl gone bad’ Hiyo njaro siyo polite* We have a lot more to live for than that which we seem to be aware of It’s not always about a good time, or lack thereof Our reputation as a culture I believe is something we badly need to take care of *Siyo game Siyo Jokes Si eti mambo na fame* It shouldn’t just be about who drinks, who smokes, who vomits and who chokes *Hiyo lifestyle siyo dope Na siyo right* Six hundred and seventy something ways to die… choose one I refuse to go… speeding down a highway, drunk out of my mind, on another booz run However, I may not exactly be the right person to point out how messed up you are On a scale of one to ten? I’m probably as guilty as you are ******
0
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
My English Swahili Sheng' expressive...
Refrain from the resentment of others Whose methods may seem foolish, wildly daft For one will not find common acceptance Of every individual's craft Refrain from the resentment of others Uniqueness, distinction of thought is vast One's growth depends on self-exploration For it may expose the world's unknown paths
0
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
To Each His Own
My hijab is a piece of imagination a symbol of Islamic populism, yet I get carried away by racists misjudging my outer belief, only for the sake of white extremists, I cry and wet my birth certificate! why am I a Muslim? Is it my choice? I see a minute third-piece frame down the lane-a sorrow to share, it chokes my individuality- an insult to my devotion for god, for life ; yet, people have the time to call us terrorists when they roam naked, some pretending to be feminists and lovers! Reality is a bitter piece of chocolate melting away as time fades, as it erodes the values we held before, 20th century is still marred by those who wish to keep their history books unfolded, un-kept and unstated; a wish down the memory lane is needed for it will awaken the senses of my fellow brothers and sisters fighting over a shawl covering my head!   I am curious and this curiosity is not a mere joke, its the curiosity weaved into a cloth hiding my sensitive and strong brain from those “all-seeing” eyes around me, pretending to expose my hair as if it was something of utmost importance and value, but friends,  it’s nothing, it’s a trick by those who seek to humiliate me and my faith for god, and I am sure that this will echo for the decades to come, for me, a hijab is – “ a piece of head covering worn by women of the world”; and I am sure that our fight for the right to wear something will reprimand and will be carried out by my fellow successors and those who shed light to our cries and woes in this big world of ours! [AMEN]
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Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
Hijab- a symbolisim of devotion #
My hijab is a piece of imagination a symbol of Islamic populism, yet I get carried away by racists misjudging my outer belief, only for the sake of white extremists, I cry and wet my birth certificate! why am I a Muslim? Is it my choice? I see a minute third-piece frame down the lane-a sorrow to share, it chokes my individuality- an insult to my devotion for god, for life ; yet, people have the time to call us terrorists when they roam naked, some pretending to be feminists and lovers! Reality is a bitter piece of chocolate melting away as time fades, as it erodes the values we held before, 20th century is still marred by those who wish to keep their history books unfolded, un-kept and unstated; a wish down the memory lane is needed for it will awaken the senses of my fellow brothers and sisters fighting over a shawl covering my head!   I am curious and this curiosity is not a mere joke, its the curiosity weaved into a cloth hiding my sensitive and strong brain from those “all-seeing” eyes around me, pretending to expose my hair as if it was something of utmost importance and value, but friends,  it’s nothing, it’s a trick by those who seek to humiliate me and my faith for god, and I am sure that this will echo for the decades to come, for me, a hijab is – “ a piece of head covering worn by women of the world”; and I am sure that our fight for the right to wear something will reprimand and will be carried out by my fellow successors and those who shed light to our cries and woes in this big world of ours! [AMEN]
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Spines curve as sweetly as drops from a honeysuckle Notes in a melody fill the void spaces Gentle rushes stir like the swish of rustling leaves Flushed as red as the cherry who’s stem is knotted Time stolen from the hands of a frozen clock- Still like snow fallen from a winter shower Senses fully awaken to chase alluring aromas   Repetitive jolts of candied sin trickle throughout the body Electric flow in the veins sparks an extended invitation Contagious appetite will mirror aches of desire Surges of shock in the body join the mind and soul Accelerating spikes in heart rate kiss private secrets Boundless longing branded to one another Yearning indulged by limitless exchanges of energy- Transfers immune from harm Pressure from oneness loosens the tremble in pleading breaths Hands close around each hip to clench their hollows Credible fingers drenched in admiration coat mingled skin One is composed by the gravitation of two Defying moonlight to surrender at an immeasurable ****** Reaching for the highest point to let go Sharing traces of untamed wind with soaring wings Collecting innocence altered by ecstasy Choosing vulnerability to expose what cannot be said Fantasies traded through the rhythm of touch
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Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
I wake your senses to remind you that you wake mine
I want to kiss you. It sometimes physically hurts not to kiss you. I don't want to look into your eyes, because I don't want to see the confusion in them. I don't want to explain myself. I just want to feel your breathing on my face as my lips fit onto yours. I want to slip my thumb under the line of your jaw, and tip your head back, to expose your beautiful, long neck. I want to run the tip of my nose along it and to hear nothing but our breathing. Sometimes I look at that face and it's like I've been hypnotized, my greatest desires want to come out. I want to kiss you sweet god in another life I would kiss you. And then afterward, press a soft hand to your lovely head and wash the memory from it.
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Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
I Want To Kiss You
So many times Whenever i got chance In every circumstance I expose my feelings For her it's thrilling She is normal Even so formal But i can't help myself In such type of dealing!
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Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
# Innocent Feelings #
A morning dew sits on my dearest rose: A shadow of evening's coolness stands still. How gleeful I'd be to remove that chill— That accursed blight, I yearn to dispose. Not in my powers, no warmth from me flows Not matter the measure of my goodwill. Only the sunrise this quest shall fulfill And light, my dear efflorescence expose Always that morning seems ever unsure, Yet surely it comes as the world still turns. Finite be the hours my rose must endure; Nothing this must be allowed to obscure! For surely as in the sky our sol burns, Warmth still exists for my rose to make pure. ~ D.B. Guy (1990 - )
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Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
A morning dew