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Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
It is almost gone, the fight to sustain, to go that extra mile.
I cannot go down that road again without the promise of change.

Hope is nearly extinguished;
a flame snuffed out by years of beurocracy and neglect.

Groping through the darkness that has enveloped us
as we struggle through days without end.

The much dreaded evil has crept under doors and into our ears;
voices of torment and faded support.

Fighting the good fight was not meant for this.
It was the promise of something more.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Melpomene Sep 2018
Say
He is desperate to settle down.
It's crystal a trick to lure me drown.

He thought
I was speaking with my heart all along,
But I was just singing along the song.

A little truth and lies,
A little tries and prise.
Building up a vivid paradise.

He seems patient,
Patient to get obsession.
Observation to his intention.

Kissing with passion,
Groping with no hesitation.
All nature mating season.

Scene like Adam and Eve,
Having fun in Eden with full incentive.
Both are full of deceptive.

Sharing juice of the forbidden fruit.
He drink without dispute,
Dying to see my attribute.

In his baffling blue eyes.
Reflection of a perfect goddess.
From the pools of lies,
Everything look fresh and nice.

I'm Lilith in disguise,
But he is too drunk to realise.
Drunk from his own pride and prejudice.
And there is where the pleasure dies.
It's about a male player that met a woman which is a player too...But he is too arrogant and over confident that this woman will fall for him like others women.
But what's in this woman mind is really clear for herself. She knows what this player wants and she was seeking a little fun at the moment so she just play along with his scenario.
And also it reminds me about a poem that I read before when I was in middle school "Two Pools of Lies".
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
We dapple our kiss
hot white Zinfandel

and like the blind groping for
doors, you open me

longingly for warmth,
one hearth we coalesce.
Sofia Von Jul 2014
So tired yet so awake
I sit at the edge of an ellipsis
crimping the charred innards of my tattered soul
to make a masterpiece of gore
and internal war.
over the years of self loathing
I finally love myself
but getting ****** up feels ****** perfect
and watching this world unfold anew with each hit
or shot
rocks my mind
unkind but exemplary in it's own fortitude
to prevail my own veils
aside they're cast and fumbled with
as thick smiles seed
and the pace is set for the evening
I can't help but think that leaving
could do me good
but who backs out before the last shot?
who leaves before the deafening toll of midnight?
Cinderella's umbrella of security
and purity
is at jeopardy
and with great haste she wastes away the good looks
for late night *****
and nicotine
forgetting to clean
her closet of supreme validity on
the functioning teen
trying not to be mean,
but completely obscene in gestures
with the barbie's manufacturers groping for caspers
in the utopian disasters of the girl they forged
many decades back, but lost track
of the track that played that summer night
in the moonlight of immaculate humor and love
above all the oozing essence that manifested
now tested, for virtual ******
your cerebellum will tellem the positive
credo
that we all know is hooked on the days drift wood with
byzantine benzodiazapines to guide her haunted spirit
till
the cracks turn to crevasses and prehistoric protons mate with electrons
in the vat that is abrewing to plot the lies
watch the skies fade to grey as it may
be about time for the ecliptic rhymes to find
reconciliation
in the bladed grains of mortality and sigh
for being high in this lowered juncture
of subsisting future
buys you time to mull over such a daydream
as your last breath
Ormond Jul 2018
.
In dusk a cloud moves,
Barely are there any stars
And the sheet drops, sinks,
As lovers we came to this
Gentle pond without guile
Under the willows green,
Set on the banks of whin,
In sight of a stone bridge
And settled in to watch
The swans arrive and go,
Like windy arcs of bounty
Under great falling blanket
Of indigo and gold sparkling,
Enameling eyes of the heavens.

Now, I come to visit alone,
Only memories gliding slow,
Love has fled near after song
The sweetest spring awakening,
How time unveils dark truths,
My hair, it falls in the wind
With the groping willows,
The godly eyes of the skies
Are now mere stars that flash,
My love is betrothed to another,
Still, the cool white swans at dusk
Ride in waters turned shallow, murky
And black as their eyes in day fall,
And yet they remain wondrous,
White rose of my soul,
Drifting away.
.
MKF Feb 19
Lights off.
Hands fumble for hearts
Missing, slightly, every time.
Grabbing.
Groping.
Never quite hitting targets.
Bodies intertwined,
But not interlocked.
Lips slipping,
Landing on cheeks
And noses instead.
Eyes scan,
But never meet.
Attempting,
Not achieving.
zen Sep 2018
Gliding in air
was an eerie delightful hue
hanging high above violet and blue,
for eons no one had knew,
the peon pest probing around
the howling zoo,
rhyming and roaming
hiding and hoping
flighty the ronin
ran,
groping every moment he could come to
as a token to his gallantry
the guidance to his apathy
decided to devise his only strife
to live happily
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
We hear your voice so dumb,
We see your face so numb,
We feel the aura seize its place - so very, very dumb.
You’re the last to see or hear
And often never do,
There’s only one that matters here
And of course, that one is you.
And even the herd can’t bear to hear
That narcissistic moo,
You won’t know who you are
But this song is all for you.
And who the hell do you think you are?
Or do you even think at all?
When you went too far
With a pimped out car
Did you even think at all?
When you talk with crumpled hands,
When you clothe in rip-off brands,
When you mumble dull demands
And follow screen commands
Of what it means to be a man –
Do you even think at all?
When you’re banging like a broken drum
And sticking up your thumb,
Do you even think at all?
Because you’re looking kind of dumb
Dum,
Dum,
Da-dum.
Dum,
Da,
Da-dum.

And you say it’s all for fun,
You do it all for fun –
Robbing houses, shooting guns,
You do it all for fun –
There’s **** and ***
And kicking ***,
There’s groping ***
And hauling ***,
There’s “let’s get ******” and recognise the pun!
You rap for guns and bling
You rock for getting laid,
You’re stocking phrases set to sing
For ******* and for babes;
You get it all the time -
Or so you tell us all the time -
With that slack-jawed, open hole
And droopy doggy eyes,
You tell us “any hole’s a goal”
As your tongue ***** to the side;
You dribble like the rain drops,
You dribble and it never stops,
It never stops,
It never stops;
Our eyes have rolled,
It’s getting old
And the hole that your vocabulary holds
Will load again with what it had before
It’s awfully sore,
And such a bore –
“History’s just a bunch of stuff that’s happened all before” –
And did we say it’s such a bore?
That pull-string doll you sadly have become;
You can tell us that you’re merry
But you look so very dumb,
Dum,
Dum,
Da-dum.
Dum,
Da,
Da-dum.

And we think you’re finally done,
When out again you come
With one that’s even more extremely dumb, so very dumb.
We’re struggling to believe
The stupid **** you say,
But still you’re talking without cease
With nothing much to say.
And you say it, like,
You know, well, like,
You know, like, what I mean?
So we nod and say “ah-hum”,
And then when you are done,
We try our best to clean
Our heads of words so ******* dumb.
You precede a racist comment
With an “I’m not racist, but…”
And it seems you’re quite content
With your swagger and your strut;
Saying ‘lol’ instead of laughing,
Looking out for ladies flashing
In your suit, so silky smashing,
Dressed to ****
And set to fill
Your tank with fish, there’s plenty in the sea,
And we know you’re always keen
Between your wobbly fights against
Those people that you meet
To practice ‘self defence’
On strangers standing in the street;
There’s a “come on buddy, what you got?”
And “what’s he got that I don’t got?”
To keep your girl at home;
You grilled her, checked her phone and fought
But when you left her on her own?
I guess she found there’s more to find
In minds a bit less dumb.
You can kick the odd behind
And call the beggars ****
But even they would fail to find,
Amongst the bums,
Someone so miraculously dumb.
With a brain of dripping jelly
Little larger than a berry
You were bound to go so young,
I read your small obituary
And your death was oh so very, very dumb,
Dum,
Dum,
Da-dum.
Dum,
Da,
Da-dum.
Da-death by dumb, dumb, dumb,
Da-dumb, so very dumb,
So very dumb, dumb, dumb.
Arke Nov 2018
I like to think about her pleasing you
the sloppy drunken kisses planted
her fingers hastily unzipping your pants
hands groping your naked hips
that she would kneel before you
as if pleging her allegiance to you
working her hardest to draw out
sunflowers in fauvist orange
her tongue spiraling around
edges of your handsome sweetness
I only wish you could've enjoyed it
felt easy enough to love others back
there is not enough of it in this world
let her take you in if you'd like
your pleasure and happiness comes first
all I love deserves to be shared and seen
there is no point to hidden artwork
or unheard music, no matter how gorgeous
love, too, ought to be shared
Musting have piled on makeup
In hopes his groping continues when I'm rancid.
Already happening. I drop out to care for granny.
He talks about me all the time. I'm not natural and my
natural mother is even uglier.

So much makeup I wear. Girls who don't have no Fairie.
I highlight to cover my true love for ****, but you can catch me sayin, ****** to be killer. I don't know what I am. I'm not consistent like my messed up matter.

Infected dreaming I have,
In consideration.
E li za Mar 2018
The cold prison bar is our legal boundary
Now that you left my character drenched in blood
Critics and juries virtually, invisible enemies
Stomping words in my face while groping my pride

Collecting flak in your pockets because they tell the truth
At least that's what you believe, and that's all
You need to hear their loathe in your dark room
Their laugh haunts you more than nightmares

No guns or bullets but they use to ****
As you turn your back, they stab, you kneel
They got the knife of deception and treachery
Wish you die like a blink yet they torture gradually

You always say, you're such a prey, a dupe
Who would believe when you're the willing one?
Stay in the cold prison bar where you belong
Grasp you hands 'til it warms, you're safe for now

All they know now is your shame penance
Cold prison bar, you were jailed for their crime
You died from all their stabs of criticisms and lies
Thinking are they enough, are they satisfied?

Wish you could tell them you're not a culprit
Who takes the blame of your offense or their offense
But a lawbreaker of her own pity constitution
Who put her ordinance behind to lavish their pride

Thought restrictions would drive you wild
But dark walls were painted of a free hand
Thought solitude will lose your mind
Yet you found the old self, your true friend

You've never been the same, never been better
Like a spy with filters in hands sifting hurtful words
That no matter how they abuse, damage or ******
Love makes you brand new to go overboard

Walking past through the hall of deliverance
Found golden keys to release your handcuffs
Your uniform now glitters changing in white dress
Only pure hearts can recognize your new price

At the end of the spectrum love is patient and waiting
It blinds you the moment it swallows your dark sides
Echoing something you've never heard of
"That when you die, you didn't lose. May you die all the time."

Like a dying tree in front yard that is too sick to save
Left unmoved could **** other surrounding trees
So in cold prison bar, they planted your roots to die
But from that safe place your roots reached their soil of disgrace

Victims learn from mistakes but you never did
They hunt you again this time now in your white dress
You flew with your butterfly wings to soar in the sky
Above those hunters, above the cold prison bar
#cold  #prison  #bar  #criticisms
elle Sep 2018
like bathing, all of this waiting
stillness, silence
a pin submerged in water

or a wide-eyed boy scanning the sidewalks for his father
groping the dark

an abstract art

the effortlessness in the breaking of this vase
fine wrinkles in its maker’s hands, deep creases in his face
his pain disintegrates
a million pieces on linoleum 

that beautiful vase.

silence,
golden
then suddenly
broken
becoming a chorus
of chaos and moaning

this waiting,
this hayride
my swollen balloon

it’s lifetime is numbered
in pieces of you.
Book One
(∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞)
The Precursor's Psalm I-V

To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine.

(I) ―En Fortissimo

1 Tender with sentimentality,
I fathom you,
2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment,
Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace,
3 That your towering arms
May aegis these benighted bones.

4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be
Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity,
5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously,
―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix:
6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically
Before by romance, we touched erringly.

(Se'lah)

(II) Celestial Communion

1 O, Star Child,
May your beckoning
2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony
Festering in my faith,
3 (A besmirched hope)
Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt.


4 O Minstrel of Manumission,
Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong?
5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed,
The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream,
6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn
For the Arbiter of Fates.

(Se'lah)

(III) Song of Wishes

1 Velleity speaks,
It whispers,
2 In the twinkling of the stars.
When shall it end,
3 When
It has yet to begin?

4 Be still― and become one with all things,
As time fades, consciousness begins,
5 The Experiential Cascade:
All that was, all that is, & all that shall be,
6 Circular & Cycling,
Forevermore.

7 Know that there is a reason,
Know that there is a place,
8 Know that there is a person,
In this world for you.
9 Open up your heart and see,
All you were meant to see.

(Se'lah).

(IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future)

1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence
The Dreamscape glistens,
2 A Redolent Reverie wafts
The Tenuous Air amidst
3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves
& Crystalline Pulsations.

4 Ardently I pine,
For thine visage, groping for a rhyme,
5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine
Countenance sublime,
6 All desperations been defied,
For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times.

(Se'lah)

(V) Bastion Heart

1 The agony in existentiality
Unravels undying piety
2 And
Cloistered in cadence of solitude,
3 I, the Somnolent One,
Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance.

4 In wanting, there is life,
In desirelessness, wanting still,
5 Know thine Power,
Indomitable Will:
6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit
Are immortal.

(Se'lah)
Let the
Light of the Stars
Illumine
The Stygian Shadows
Of Thine Heart
Until Fulminous with Hope.

       Enclaved within this text are the mystical writings. In gestalt, the holistic framework of this piece is known as the Precursor's Psalms. This particular piece is the Psalm of the Star Child which encompasses Chapters I-V of the Book of The Precursor's Psalms.
      
The narrative behind the Book of The Star Child is one of romance. I yearn for a soul with which to forge a connubial communion. Though the moment has yet to arrive, I await Eos's Dawn of Lovelit Life upon the Horizon of mine Mind's Sky.
      
       The conceptualization behind this body of works involves a 21st-century take on the book of Psalms. This is a segment of the ecclesiastical writings. I believe that art takes on the essence of sacrality whence utilized for edificational purposes. I yearn to propagate spiritual enlightenment and inspiration; therefore, I am forging my insignia upon the Parchment of the Ages.
      
       Hitherto, I’ve written without a clear sense of direction. Aforetime, I see poetry as a means of chronicling sentiments, thoughts, ideas, images, et al. through the personalized utilization of words, rhythm, and rhyme. I want the oppressed coals of my trials and tribulations to forge creative diamonds; moreover, I want my faith in the Sovereign of Songbirds to unveil Himself in the lovely bones of my work.
    
      My morning ritual consists of reading the Bible Book of The Psalms. Specifically, I read Psalms 1, 5, 15, 23, 25, 26, 27, 42, 51, 55, 91, and 119; therefore, it is quite apt to create a piece that resembles this poetic book in its ineffable magistry. It is my objective to encourage others to pen their sentiments. I write for the sake of the Poetic Posterity.
      
      Here lies the nascent phase of The Precursor's Psalms. Let the inspiration unfurl in a poetic paradigm. Let the Experiential Cascade weave a tale that carries the Burdened Anima unto the Peaks of Transcendence. From my heart to yours, may you effloresce in the Aeonic Light of The Empyrean One.

Excelsior Forevermore,

Sanders Maurice Foulke III
The Precursor’s Psalms
Book Two
Chapters VI- X: Ragnarök

A sacred parcel to the soul who looks to ―raptured firmaments for their salvific benison. Se'lah.

VI: The Paean of Lovelight (The Paean of Lovelit Life)

1 Every particle in the soil of my epidermis roves for its emanation,
Its musicality, vibrating in pulsing fuchsia shockwaves,
This melodic energy is the Paean of Lovelit Life.
2 It reverberates the remittance in reminiscence;
yes, the Circle of Life breathes through the conduit,
it peregrinates
The ephemerality, even, the eternity in all entity.
(For in us exist dichotomies)

3 In a moment of self-revelation
I know naught but the vagary of the self;
still, the pain remains,
In the benighted truth of epiphany;
4 Yes, even,
Upon the Visage of Creation
All existence groans in groping
For its Nirvanic Pulse, ―like a wraith.

5 Finding meaning in all that I am,
all that I see, all there will be, and all that is,
I understand the fallacy in knowing, the bane in consciousness:
6 In an instant, one must forget

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all they have learned, all they feel, all they sense,
in the diminution of a moment
lest the soul relinquish that which does seamlessly transmit itself through
The Streams of Tempus Fugit.

VII: The Virescent Masquerade

1 Forsake all sorrows of the morrow, for
Beneath the Masquerader’s Virescently Butterfly-Winged Mask, there is a beckoning;
2 O, even amidst foible for which you long to be assoiled, excogitations do roil;
A tremulous heart: eventualities do saunter past, present,
future, and in communing you examine the finitude & the frailty
(Will their Exodus, my Exodus,
Come before I am ready?)
Of those in the Land of the Living.

VIII: Hierarchy of Sacrality

1 Wisdom
Is a cosmos,
2 Love,
―Invictus Dei,
3 Power,
The Cradle of Cosmogenesis,
4 Justizia,
Universal Scales through which Edicts of the Cosmogonist unfurl.

IX: Vagrant Story

1 Profundities lie in our vagrancies,
And in these there lie Faiths;
The faithful hunger for
―Virtue
For through these, we find a Savior.  

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2 Our Deiform-Apotheosis is ordained by of the Arbiter of Fates,
3 He Is Our Nexus to Transcendence,
The Empyrean whom carnal perdition hast braved


X: Nelumbo Nucifera (Sacred Lotus)

1 ―O, Jah,
The Sovereign of Songbirds,
Sing in the Key of Elysium,
The Requiem of Our Swansong;
2 Beseech the Earthen Womb
Of the Terraqueous Mother
To conceive us anew that
We partake of an elemental legacy.

3 O, then
Might we re-alight,
Upon an aforetime wearied land,
―Nelumbo Nucifera: The Impregnable Sacred Lotus
4 Whose aegis’d petals through
Dusk, Dawn, Midday, Twilight, and Eve
Might effloresce
In the Aeonic Light of The Empyrean One.

(Se’lah).

Written on
Monday
May 20th, 2019

Page | 3
The Book of 1st John
Chapter 3,
Verses 18 -24

(Verse 18)

“Little children, we should love, not in word or with the tongue, but in deed and truth.”

(Verse 19)

“By this we will know that we originate with the truth, and we will assure our hearts before him”

(Verse 20)

“regarding whatever our hearts may condemn us in, because God is greater than our hearts and knows all things.”

(Verse 21)

“Beloved ones, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have freeness of speech toward God;”

(Verse 22)

“and whatever we ask we receive from him, because we are observing his commandments and doing what is pleasing in his eyes.”

(Verse 23)

“Indeed, this is his commandment: that we have faith in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he gave us a commandment.”

(Verse 24)

“Moreover, the one who observes his commandments remains in union with him, and he in union with such one. And by the spirit that he gave us, we know that he remains in union with us."

Page | 4

Hearken unto
the
Resplendent Sol,

The Twilight draweth nigh,
Whence erupts from Sundered skies
Arcadia
In
Aeonic Light

Let ye soul
Transcend
By
The Great Apothecary;
His Panacea of Healing Love.

Though
I am a Loveless
Blight, worn, of Earthly Denizens,
I bid you
Immortal heartsease.

Borne of the Father:
Who
forms
all
things.

Page | 5

Sired by the Son:
Who
Conceives
All
Truth.

Begotten by the Spirit:
That
Burgeons in
(our)
―dreams.

The Grand Creator's
Magnum Opera:
Loom
Within
All of us.


Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III.

Page | 6
Melanie May 12
Trigger Warning: ****** Assault

There were five minutes until we had to be in the lights
when you dragged me backstage,
covered my mouth,
and used my deepest fears against me.

Four minutes when I tried to push you away,
but you didn't budge, instead whispering
"Just let it happen," while lifting my shirt
and pushing me down on your thigh.

Three minutes when your moans filled my ear,
you forgot about my chest,
groping your way down to my inner thigh.

Two minutes when I gave up fighting,
the tears being blocked by the dam of
your hand meaning nothing to you.

One minute when I shuffled to left stage,
every bit of me trembling in fear, disgust,
straightening out my clothes
and wiping my tears.

It's been five years since you
touched me in the worst way possible.
Through nightmares and flashbacks,
I remember it like it was five minutes ago.
Mikaila Aug 2018
Blue stage lights on skin
The curve of a jaw
Eyes glittering in the dark,
Raw and human.
Something swells with the silence
A truth never spoken
Like a ****** of music only half heard,
Barely remembered but achingly lovely.
Some marriage of sweetness and savagery
Courses beneath the shadows of this place,
An intimate wound
It scrapes at the hollow parts of hearts and lungs
Demanding
Purchase,
Demanding breath-
Famished in its brevity.
It is made here and it dies here,
Witnessed, at least, if not inhabited.
Every other face- white as bone and as hard-
Stares, blank,
And they do not understand
But sometimes,
They feel.

Fairy lights
The trees glow and fade
Shadows stretch long, reaching for feet that scuttle back
Afraid to let light soak them
Because here it has substance.
Others bathe in it
Nourished
Faces bared to the blue and the red
Upturned as to rain after a long and bitter drought.
They know it as water
Hold it as water- it slides away from them,
A thought half formed, a memory half loved
A step toward
God
That falls into a stumble.

I am always afraid that nobody treasures this place.
Always sad, somehow, to suspect that many don’t.
They say the magic will fade with time.
They do not know magic.

Hands, gentle,
The hands of a stranger
But known, known as water
As light.
Contained within one fragile touch, the idea that hands are not weapons
The cautious testing of fingers against flesh
Innocent, a connection between beings
Who were born of blood and will turn to dust within seconds
And who only just now have become aware
That their palms are miracles.

Safety- a contract,
A careful consent  
To reveal,
To be vulnerable for a moment-
If the moment is scripted and choreographed,
The bow and curtsy of a dance both partners know,
The permission a mask gives
To tell the truth.

It is eyes which cut deep, not hands
Wounds that last for years
Resurfacing as prayer.
Silent in the mirror of another's eyes,
A vision of what we could be
If we shed our disguises as Ordinary People and rose to our forgotten grace,
If we let others in not as lovers or as owners but as fragments of the soul we all share.

That loneliness- the grief of contact- crescendos in the corners of this place.
It is loud
Louder than music,
Louder than shouts and screams.
It grows by the moment, reaching its fingers along the walls behind footsteps, digging its heels into the fragile fabric of whispers, wrapping its ghostly arms around shoulders and tracing collarbones with cold tenderness.
It is the grief of closeness, and the grief of isolation.
It breathes here, unsmothered by the roar of subway cars, the murmur of smalltalk, or the burn of a liquor that tastes like forgetting.
This is the feeling of remembering, of being, of a truth long lost but not quite gone-
Something far away enough to be painful
But close enough to be
Unsettling.

That is why people laugh here
Why they grab what is not theirs
Why they run.
That is why they shut the door and don’t return, content to float above the surface,
Desperate to,
Terrified that if they sink even an inch
They will fall forever into themselves
And, groping for an edge
Find none.
(Terrified to realize
In becoming endless
That they always have been.)
They turn away, and call it nonsense,
Begging to remain small inside.

Not me.
I could sew my heart into the shadows of this place and not be close enough to the world it holds.
Instead I press my palms against the walls, hoping to take some of it with me each day when I leave.

They say the magic will fade with time.

They do not know magic.
Dear Him,
I hope someone terrifies you.

I hope you have nightmares
That wake you up
Screaming.

I hope that you won’t be able
To wear clothes
Without thinking twice.

I hope that standing next to men
Gives you
A panic attack.

I hope you’re always
Afraid of seeing
The person from your nightmares
Behind you.

I hope people ask you
What you did to deserve it.

I hope your loved ones
Call you a liar.

I hope you cry when you finally tell your mom
After years of silently living with it.

I hope you blame yourself.

But,
I hope it never
Actually happens to you.

I hope you never
Have to live through
The ****,
The molesting,
The groping...
None of it.

I hope no one ever does to you
What you did to us.

Because no one,
NO
ONE,
deserves that.
With the Lust of the Flesh, and Eyes...
And with the Pride of Life, come lies!
But masquerading sin’s disguise...
Leaves those deceived, with groping sighs!
When, at last, their grieving soul dies...
Within Hell’s flame, eternal cries!
Meredith Ann Jun 7
The extra split second of suspense
waiting for  fingers to be release
held captive by soda-stained keys
the familiar rhythm uncomfortably disturbed

The echoing strain,
as eyes feel the magnetic pull
towards an airplane TV
endlessly searching for dialogue gone MIA

Shredded fingers and cracked lips
wind-burned lungs and throbbing eardrums
pulsating temples
the familiar ache

Peeling t-shirts off of backs
making sense of childhood love
soaking in tri-colored LEDs
questioning validity

Past stages feeling like distant memories
old therapy now feeling like a chore
memories linger out of habit instead of desire
assumptions of immaturity mask diluted longing

stringy hair from groping fingers
shattered nailbeds from shameful sabotage
magenta stains covering past identities
nighttime risks saturating your pace

silence fills your ear at night
isolation creaks around your fingers
slow beating heart serves as singular passage of time
as hot summer nights slowly tick by
The Sensations of Waiting
G S Dec 2018
I am a monstrosity in idle pursuit of the unconscious aesthetic. A fabrication groping wildly, desperately, for something. Anything.

If you don’t exist, someone should invent you.

I am a smudged sketch of a human being searching for the safety of definition, for the concreteness of a reality that has made a game of eluding me. We play hide and seek, pushing and pulling. I tug and am sent careening backwards into obscurity.

If you don’t exist, someone should invent you.

I am Atlas, but I do not hold the sky upon my shoulders. I am instead crushed by its weight. My soul--what is a soul, truly?-- is a wet mollusk thing, hollow and easily overpowered. It fades to the nothing from whence it came.

If you don’t exist, someone should invent you.

I am a cavity in a saccharine society. These are the words of a social mutation, a symptom of the sticky decay that lies at the center of everything. The words of someone who has nothing to write and, thus, writes of nothing.

If you don’t exist, someone should invent you.

I am a faded doll in search of a sunbeam. Dusty and ***** and broken and unwanted, left to slowly wear and unravel at the cruel hands of the merciless wind. These are the words of no one at all.

If you exist, you should invent yourself. Over and over, each momentary iteration approaching, but never quite reaching, actualization. The final form is forever held at arm's length.
I know this isn't very good poetry, or even very good free verse, but I'd love commentary. I've read it over so many times I can't analyze it anymore.
M-E Sep 2018
Inside this empty tank
The world is voiceless, so was me
The notes are blank
There is no Do. No Re. No Mi

Life is a walk, in labyrinthian halls
As if I’m weightless in black
Groping the walls
Going forth, going back

Screams are gone with the wind
As soon as it comes out of this tongueless mouth
Some phrases are broken and some are bend
And many words refused to go out

I wanted to write a cheering poem
I thought of gloomy one, darker than dark
In a dark place I lost control on the steering wheel
My ship of thoughts in the sea of tears embarked
But here I am, I hear, I see, I speak and feel
Miranda May 8
Why don’t you love me?
I asked my former lover
as I recall how he abused me
and pressured me into things
for his own amusement.
Why don’t you love me?
I asked my former lover
as I remember how scared I was
when he trapped me inside my car
and inside an unwanted embrace
and during every unwanted touch.
Why don’t you love me?
I asked my former lover
after pushing down the memories
of him trying to **** me
and groping my bear chest
as I pretended to be asleep
all before we even dated.

Why don’t you love me?
I ask my closest friends
whom I considered my family
as they continued to remain friends
with my abuser.
Why don’t you love me?
I ask my closest friends
as they ignore my pain and stay silent
avoiding the things that are hard to talk about.
Why don’t you love me?
I ask my closest friends
as they dismiss my pain
every single time I express it
because he’s a “good” guy.

Why don’t you love me?
I ask my mother
as she dismisses my pain
like she’s always dismissed her own.
Why don’t you love me?
I ask my mother
as she tells me I have to just move on
and get over it.
Why don’t you love me?
I ask my mother
as I’m hurting so deeply
and I only need her comfort and support
but I’m supposed to be strong.

Why don’t you love me?
I ask myself
as I recall the events
and realize how used and disgusting I feel.
Why don’t you love me?
I ask myself
as I harm my own body
as others have harmed me
emotionally and physically.
Why don’t you love me?
I ask myself
as I fall deeper and deeper
into this self hatred.

Why don’t you love me?

— The End —