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ryn Sep 2014
I have come humble to seek your knowledge
With exhausted feet and weighing burden, I bear my heart
I have travelled far to arrive at the world's edge
Ready to receive what wisdom you will impart

I'll set myself cross-legged on the opposite of you
I see you peering, examining my physical entirety
With one good eye, you gaze right through
Makes me uncomfortable, if I may... But I'll hold steady

I notice you muttering but no words could be heard
Your hands hovering over a glassy globe with an ominous glow
You turn to the left, as if conversing with an invisible third
Whispering secrets that I will never learn to know

Shifting your gaze now into the crystal orb
What do you see, Wise One, in that ball of yours
You shudder upon it's touch as though it's power you absorb
Tell me, Soothsayer... What lies for me in this course?

You swiftly pull your hands behind your back
I flinch with a start at your sudden display
You bring back your hands revealing cards out of a stack
You tremble in spasms, dropping the rest leaving one for play

The card you place face down, right in front of me
You motion for me to pick it up and flip it round
I see the card bore inscriptions and ancient runes, quizzically
You ****** the card and begin chanting in odd sounds

Reciting your incantations, in a tongue I do not understand
They sound like curses rather than the answers I seek
It all ends almost as soon as it started... I can't comprehend
You then place your warm palms gently touching my cheeks

Your features softened as you stared into my sullen eyes
A connection like eternity trapped within seconds never going astray
Then you turn away to fetch a bundle roped in knots and ties
You hand it to me hastily before ushering me on my way

I am now perplexed much... What does it show?
What did you see, what does my future hold?
Please enlighten me what you've come to know
From all of that, what could you have foretold?

Bundle in hand I turn to leave your rundown shanty
As I leave, you speak in your voice, different from before
Soft yet raspy you say, "Do not open till the end of journey"
"Open only when in house, behind closed door"


Moon is up illuminating, as I make my way up north
Armed in hand a strange, scented, ******* bundle
Leaving with the same questions with no answers, I amble forth
Wondering if in the bundle I may find the missing pieces of the puzzle...
If you like this, check out 'Dear Seeker'
xcvii Jan 2016
You see her one day and something's different. Every magazine is full of blank pages. Every billboard is empty. She is the only face you want to see and the only taste you need.

You touch her and her skin is soft like chocolate, but she melts. The verdict? Put away the candy jar. You diet for a year and nothing changes. She's still the only thing you want to make a mess of.

Six years later the realization comes- you were weak and she was there. It was only ever time and space that put you together. You spent every second of the past decade lying her into perfection until you believed every word. But the truth is, you were never happy, and neither was she.

The things that used to remind you of her don't anymore. You've been to New York City half a dozen times since then and never once did you think of her and flinch. Your body has purged her memory and so has your mind. You haven't associated her with Times Square in eons. There's ten years of nothingness between the Tuesday when you saw her and now. But nothing you say could change how that time passed or what it did to you.

And you repeat and repeat,
to yourself this time,
it should've been you.

.
Hartaz Kaur Dec 2018
Particles collate, clouds gather
An uprising it seems, stronger together
Resolute it stands, till it holds no further
As any body collapses, under mounting pressure

Little drops to torrential downpour
The inconvenience it brings, just what we abhor
Struggle we must with virtuous patience
If we are to enjoy befallen petrichor

Trees are fed, flowers bloom
From this garden, brilliance loom
As all things present, this too is transient
A reality so poignant, about an existence impermanent

Leaves frail, flowers wither
Consumed by soil from which it consumed
No such thing as eternal bliss
Such are the laws of our symbiosis

We arrive from dust and depart as stench
A reality from which, we shouldn't flinch
As we gaze into a horizon so eternal
All we have, are moments so ephemeral
“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” ― Alan Wilson Watts

"We arrive from dust and depart as stench" - Words not my own. Can't rem where I picked it up from
Zuzanna Dec 2017
The body hasn’t moved an inch,
Ever since that mighty fall.
The turf is cold, but it dares not flinch.
He never expected the trees to be so tall.
My first poem here woooooo
Also I dont wanna tag anything so I wont spoil the meaning, just tell me what you think
sarrahvxlxr Oct 2018
You are a fool to believe
that I am permanent. Like waves,
it is the lips of the shore I know
how to kiss and I do flee
when I want the depth
from within.
You will stay, you say.
But I know your face,
it's from long ago.
Know
that this protective shell
will not flinch.
You will know
about Jupiter,
its secrets.
Days later, it will collapse.
To ease you of your pain,
I will write you a book but
I will rip the last three pages
you will carry it back to me
but you will find me
gone.
ardnaxela Apr 2018
4/29/18 5:47 pm

I wish you wouldn't blame yourself
For those memories I'll never get
I wish you wouldn't flinch so much
At dinner
when the conversation
meanders to my name
I wish my happiest moments
were shared with some of yours
I wish my accomplishments the same
I wish you could make a guilt-free trip
To see me.
I wish when I smiled
Your soul would adhere and do as such
I wish those times when I was knocked off balance
Your love would have been my crutch
I wish in our text messages there was no distance
I wish phone calls between us existed
I wish my existence didn't make you so uncomfortable.
Pops
I wish you would have gotten to know me
I wish you could have helped to paint my canvass
I wish you knew I'm not upset
I wish it wasn't too late
Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded dark side of the moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
A thousand nights ago, a little girl lay writhing in pain
As drops of saltwater soaked the crimson-stained sheets
Cries for help were silenced by the same ravishing hands that gripped her,as the man consumed her whole
Her light was fading out,her hands stretched out towards a silhouette
She was pleading,
She was praying
That the figure take a step forward,vanish the demon-man with her supposed light
But the woman in the shadows did nothing
She stood there cold as before
She did not flinch nor expressed anything in her distant eyes
She did not even claim the little girl after
She left her underneath the darkness as the little girl died a million deaths
It has been a long three years now and the little girl has grown
And she feels all wrong
Like she is too much
Like she is never enough
Because they took everything that she was
You have cursed her with the belief that she can only attain love and enlightenment through another
You have infected her with hate, now she craves the feel of the cold blade on her skin
Her lips have grown fond of the taste of the poison
And she constantly needs pain to numb the ache of emptiness
This is not like those other ******* apologies because she is tired of apologizing for existing
When you never apologized for the things that you allowed to happen
Nor is this her playing the victim card and blaming you
This exists to tell you that
She is sinking
The void is gaping
She is losing
And she is sorry for not being able to "**** it up"
Because when little girls bleed,they cry
And what they need is a mother's caress to help heal the wounds
Because when little girls get victimized,they feel pain
And what they need is a mother to protect them and dry their tears
But you don't know that and she is sorry
She is sorry that you never lived up to your title
She is so ******* sorry
Mom
–W.
Brenna Gracely Nov 2017
Please understand
This is out of my control
Slipping though my fingers like the wholeness I had before he ransacked my temple
and shattered my only jewel.
Nauseating shame
Embarrassment at the failure to hide such weakness
Whilst knowing none of this is a reflection of my lack of strength
A triumphant survivor, a warrior, stripped to a feeble state...

Victim.

Not again.
Lacking empowerment and support, I shrivel
Violently collapsing upon myself.
Self destruction.
That glow in my eyes resembles a star
Imploding
Until my blank stare into the expanse of the past ricochets back the flashback
With more hold on the light in me than a black hole could ever achieve.
I'd rather fake lightness
Than feel the weight I bear compress you too.
This is my burden
I never want it to be yours,
But need so desperately
For you to feel it too.
Please understand
I cannot carry this on my own
Knowing this panic is irrational according to the present setting
Yet it is so real to me otherwise.
Still broken, I flinch at anything resembling a threat
Even if yesterday it was neutral
Or even pleasant.
Finn Parker Jul 2018
I went out in the dust storm yesterday
Sepia clouds filling the sky, but just on one side
Dense clouds obscuring the east
Clear as day over the shoulder

In moments I was engulfed
And I said goodbye to the westward sun
As the grains of sand, one by one
Pelted me in the face

Engulfed in earth
Baptised by the world
Out of vanity is my unbirth
And I don't even flinch
I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere
Hayleigh Oct 2018
Let us find ourselves, lay ourselves bare, run our hands across our naked hearts and not flinch when we say,
here I am home.

Society has laid it’s ***** hands upon us
Let us not live with it’s fingers
Lodged down our throats..
Alone the groans of humanity that were once united in love at last. finds its rest .
We wait for a call that never comes ,
and close our eyes in death .


Now the cricket finds its leaf on some Tunisian shores weaves silk
it’s song of love ,
just as
My hand reaches out to yours only for you to flinch and turn from love .
the pebble washed over by the shore  finds itself on ship wrecked Oceans of thee .
Where once lovers walked hand in hand their love like the sands of time exposed .
Like pebbles stolen from the beach where once Greek lovers found  play ,Their. wedding songs bliss ,
hand in hand on moon set tidel bays .

So the twilight casts its gaze ,
Soon my time moves ever on  ,
the midnight flyer i once caught
Only to never find the one .
Love and death have yet to follow me ,
their paths I know not well ,
the sunshine tomorrow’s ring brings sage of old to tell .
Out of these dark ages Saxon roamed ,
Autumn leaves once green in bloom ,
have turned a golden brown only
now to deaths decay .
Their  sorrows winter shall take and find ,

An Ampetheatre of Chicken bones they gorge,
eight thousand demon hoards ,
helmet , belt and sword and my victory is assured .
“ Now set the table honey just mix the salad dear “  
“ Look mother an olive all by itself can I have it please ? ”
“Yes , now wash your hands “
and i was swollowed ,
...whole ..
When she's angry
folding a towel becomes
an undertaking that causes everyone in the room
To flinch each time a fold is made

her movements are pointed
sharp
like a needle
used to embroider the word
failure on your forehead
like a scarlet letter

When she's angry
you'll never see it coming
until
the pigmentation in her neck
slowly creeps
from ivory
to a shining crimson
piece of armor
preparing her for battle
preparing her to unleash
her barbed tongue

When she's angry
you tip-toe around
what you truly want to say
dancing on glass
shard in foot
you smile as if
you don't notice

When she's angry
I love you
comes out as
a bee sting
you may experience
swelling at the site
instant, sharp pain
and a welt where your heart
should be
When she's angry
Michael Kusi Sep 2018
The strive in life is forever a race
We line to hear the sound of barking guns
We in sprinting blocks, the sweat in face
Because we know we have to be number one

We feel that spark, arise to sprinter’s stance
The hands to box the air, to grab that inch.
We fall behind, and think we lost that chance.
And then we see the one in  front of us flinch

This chance  is close  and so illustrious
The finish line is coming up too fast to stop.
As we approach, a burst of legs beats us.
And we receive medals, but not the top.

To have the grace in loss is important
Because winning is great, but its better to be a sportsman.
ollie Oct 2018
They call it dysphoria
When I was ten it started
I cut my hair because we were going on a summer trip and didn’t want me to get too hot
A pixie cut
I was only allowed to get it after I stopped referring to the hair as “boy short”
I let it get messy
The tousled, boyish look felt right on me for reasons I couldn’t explain
They called me “he”
“Him”
“Sir”
“Will your son want an adult menu?”
I was ten or eleven
At a fair we went to every year
I don’t remember what the man said
But I do remember he referred to me as my mother’s son
And she did not correct him
She ruffled my messy enough hair
And said “my little boy”
I should have known something was wrong when my chest inflated
When I felt happier than I had in weeks
And all I had wanted was for her to say it again
Because I did not know that I wanted so badly to be my mother’s son and not her daughter
I wanted to **** myself when I was twelve years old and she made me grow my hair out
It went to my shoulders
And it felt so wrong
It wasn’t me inside my skin
I cut it when I was thirteen
To my ears
Then shaved half my head
Then shaved most of it and cut off most of the top
Begged to shave my whole head
Because the less hair there was the more likely they’d call me what I saw
“Ollie” someone suggested one day
And new air
All over
“Ollie” they called me
As if it took no effort
As if it meant nothing
How could it ever mean nothing when it finally felt like someone was saying my name
“Oliver” they started to say when I was too energetic
“Oliver” they said when they had a serious question
Like they knew
Like they didn’t care who I was
And it was me
So me I wanted to cry
So unnatural I wanted to break off the tops of mountains and bury my embarrassment in the rocks
Some days it’s my jaw
I know that’s odd
But when you want so badly to be someone you tend to study their features
My jaw is pushed back an inch farther than it needs to be for a girl
Sometimes when I push it forward my jawline sharpens
It feels more masculine
More square
Some days it’s my height
They tease me for it
My 5’0
‘Cause you can’t find anyone shorter than me anymore
And I know just nine more inches would be average if I were who I wanted to be
My hands
And how my wrists fit in everyone else’s
Because they’re too skinny
Sometimes it’s my voice
And though I know it’s lower than most boys even
It’s wrong
It speaks like a woman wants it to
My hips
Too wide
My shoulders
Too narrow
My hair, somedays too flat
My chest
My chest
I want it to be flat
Like my hair
Somedays
I press my hands down in an attempt to push it off of my body
Because it does not belong there
These two lumps I’ll never use
I subconsciously started wearing baggier shirts
Not because they were more comfortable
Partly because they didn’t carry clothing in my size
Partly because if it were baggy enough, no one could tell I had *******
I want so desperately for them to be gone from my body
Because until you know what it feels like to only be able to love yourself when you’re looking up you can’t understand
But the worst part
Is the name
They call me a name that makes me flinch when I hear it
I want to cry sometimes
Because it’s wrong
It’s not me
Boys don’t cry, they say
But do you want to know a secret
We are the boys who flatten our chests and cut our hair
Who run along the train tracks in the hopes our legs will build the muscle the average man has
We are the boys who want to be strong and do not know how
We paint our faces in the colors they do not respect and let our tears streak through
We are the boys who cry
Boys will be boys
Even if they have to pay thousands of dollars
And fight for the right to call themselves such a thing
Boys will be boys while we have the chance
We did not when we were younger
Hailey Feb 2
We used to dream,
Float with sparkly wings,
Wear crowns forged from daisies,
Protect ourselves from evil,
Wait for the perfect prince
With armor as shiny as stars,
We would run from demons,
Laugh ‘till our faces ached,
We built friendships
Like castles everlasting
Strong and stable.

Or so we dreamed,
We’ve all grown up,
Floating slowly into depression
Wearing shackles forged by anxiety,
Discovering you can't hide from evil,
Learning the perfect prince never existed
Turning to shiny blades,
Realising the demons
are inside our own heads,
Crying ‘till our eyes turn red,
Breaking down the friendships
That were once so strong
Now fragile and broken like glass.

We used to imagine,
Fight off fiery dragons,
Rescue the damsel in distress,
Become king and queen
Of our vast imagination,
Worry if you could go out
Into your empire,
Lead an army,
We built our imagination
Colourful and innocent
Full of magic.

No longer we imagine,
We’ve all grown up,
Fighting off cyber abuse,
Rescuing our own motivation,
Becoming the tired teen
Of the busy classroom,
Worrying what peers thought
About your every choice,
Leading childhood into adulthood,
We destroy our self esteem
Crushing it down
Down after day.

Our life used to be full of smiles,
We’ve all grown up,
We don't worry about dragons or demons
Our demons are the very people we’ve grown up with,
We try to protect ourselves from our destructive thoughts,
We become the villains of our own story,
We mask ourselves in makeup or false personalities,
We hide behind popularity and screens,
We flinch away from social activity
Just incase they smirk at what your wearing
What size your trousers are
What colour your hair is or how it's styled,
We suclud ourselves to our rooms,
We never realise how much we’re loved
We’re blind to it
All we see is our bad sides
We’re all beautiful and handsome
No matter what anyone else thinks.

Just because we grew up
Doesn't mean we have to grow up.
Sean Hunt May 29
The towns around me are boring
I don’t want to go out my door
I sit inside here snoring
There’s nowhere I want to explore

The people I see are not pretty
Something is wrong with each face
Exceptions are few, just me and you
I dislike the whole human race

When I plan a great escape
and fly from north to south
the sun is so hot I’m begging for shade
but don’t want to be in or out

The menus never change
The choices are always the same
I’m finding my food very strange
and looking for someone to blame

I’ve been living here way too long
I’m beginning to squinch and flinch
It is said that just like this song
The English love to whinge
The man stands behind the curtain ,
for in silence he stands ,
no body speaks to him .
no one even knows he is there .

The  moon and sun rise ,
then fall ,
for no one even knows he is there .
The birds fly unto their nests as winter chatter brings ,
the  starlings and flinch ***** their tiny wings .
He looks out and the clouds and sun play hide and seek .
Still he says nothing ,
still he won’t speak .
No food or water does he eat or drink ,
no table does he dine with a beautiful lady to pass his time .
And fear not his mood does not tell ,
of the darkness he feels inside his own hell .
There is no light in his house and no one knows ,
that in silence he cry’s for the young and the old .
The clock ticks another day has passed ,
and after many months his beloved walks past .
He smiles .
Then a knock on the door and his heart starts to pump ,
with loving arms they kiss and ****** ,
her flowers hit the floor ,
and the doors slammed shut .
Kyle Edward Wood Sep 2018
they say ignorance is bliss..
but thats just a tacticle mind trick
to keep your mind in a cage
locked away from the source thats binds it  
from the earth to your heart,
that's just how HE designed it
we will reconnect with true force
if we can only just find it

which leads to the point of this message I'm ventin
since i was young ive been on a heaven sent mission
i chose to come to this earth, to spread light and give lessons
regrets cant exist, its just apart of the mission
to take what i learn, ascend it, make better decisions
despite the shame that ive stricken upon all over myself
i wouldnt trade it for nothin
its my pain that gave me better health
when broken in darkness
the lessons learned were the hardest
i stare in the mirror
theres the shadow of my soul in tears
the negative ego mind body appears
i gave it a hug and a kiss in exchange for some wisdom
i said "bless you for being there when there was nobody else
i needed you then to help numb my broken health
but the deal wasn't fair you took more than i was prepared to give, so leave me at once i banish you to the abyss,
don't you ever come back you wont be missed"
****! PRESTO SHADOW WILL DIE
if kept at bay it will starve it needs you to thrive
if you feed it again it will always come back
like a parasite it clings around and waits to attack
ive dealt with these demons for too long now i see them
i stare them dead in the eye
not a flinch of fear i dont feed them
i stay strong in the light they cant breath there
when the light came the negative ego no longer remained
its only purpose was to learn to see both sides of the game
both equally true but only one is holy and the other
just insane

then the storm impeded
the clouds blew far from my reaches
the sun descended its healing
heard a voice like a heart beating
it told me to spread my message with no reasons
do it for yourself and don't care about how other people see it
I'm a galactic missionary from parts unknown
i've known it forever but recenty I'm a new soul
don't believe what your told,
don't believe what they tell you
theres no world out there
its all right here within you
Starlight Jul 2018
Should
never have to
face the
thickened
sticky
white and
creamy
cheesy
cliched
wrath and
terror
of her
mother's smile.

Should
never have to
flinch
inside
behind walls
made of
bricks
behind
barricades
of
stone
wrapped
in
bubble-wrap
at her
mother's
glance.

Eyes
should
never
hold
so
much
power
within
the
flash
of
discontent.

She should not
live
on a boat
always
biding time
waiting for
storms to pass
for
waves to
curl
and crack down
upon her
head
down into
the sand
that
holds her
down into
the dark
that
kisses her
goodnight
down into
the brutal
flick
the tap on the
glass
clench
of
the fingers
twitch of
the jaw

should never
have to
wait
for the
mother's roar
to
echo
through the
chamber
of her heart
until
silence
envelopes
her soul
and she
can sleep
without

fear.

Should
never
fear
her
mother's
evening breath
the
gentle and
stilling
exhale
a sigh
a brittle
and
glassed sound
that shatters
against her
tightly
pursed
lips
locked
mouth.

Should never
tell the heart
to
quiet down
and let
her run
like a
good
child
ignoring
the warning
bells
which
everyone else
seems to ignore
the words
that leave
her
stubborn
lips
in the
joke she
tells
the story
she
preaches
the hesitated
eye
widening
limerick

the expected
story
to tell
her
friends

her
mother's
wrath
tastes like
fire in
her belly
sulphur in
her throat
and
metallic
lingerings
of
biting
her tongue
to
suppress
the
screams

'what can you expect'

'my mother gets like that'

'she attacked me'

'but its okay'

'I was stubborn'
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