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Anyone Nov 2018
That night in the park,
When I drank too much tequila,
We first became friends,
And I started to see her
Around much more.
Unlike others she didn't bore
Me into numbness.
Instead I started to notice
The genuine laugh
And guiltily pleased face
At my carefree jokes
And occasional poke.
She chose to fling around
Yet still enjoy the sound
Of my company
And conversation.
But a question mark formed
And hung like a far-off storm.
We both knew it, our friends guessed it.
But we never did address it.
Limbo is an okay place to be;
Lots to do, more to see.
But the idea of heaven
Overbears like a cloudy dream.
Not seven months later
At Halloween,
We watched a Harry Potter film,
One we'd already seen.
Under the blankets
Our knuckles brushed.
In a sinful rush, the ****
Drew each finger together;
Lacing over eachother;
Thumbs gliding the skin.

Going out on a limb
Was the closest we'd ever been.
But after that, nothing happened,
And soon she moved away.
I'm sure I'm forgotten
In a nonchalant way.
So I still wonder why
We didn't take off and fly,
Or at least never tried.
So here's the lie,
I didn't ever want her.
It's better that it was left like this.
A train you might want
Is much harder to catch
Than to miss.
Nyx Oct 2018
Time passes over quickly
Within the blink of an eye
Seasons are changing
Its summer again, I sigh

It brings back things
That I thought I had forgotten
Bottled up emotions
Forever left unspoken

I see the beauty of the sky
Crystal clear and blue
The yellow Daisy's return
How did it all come so soon?

People fading in and out
Some of them have left
Though thoughts of him
Have my heart beating out of my chest

Anxiety always flushes through me
At every mention of his name
The memories and feelings
Everything remains untamed

We talk briefly of a boy
Who was once here
That stood high on a pedestal
There are many rumours you'll hear

He abused his girlfriend
He used her for her body
He never loved her
He is a heartless *******


I can tell you as a fact
That he loved her more then life
When she broke up with him
It ripped through him like a knife

He played the bad guy to the world
Let the friends he had think he was evil
He doesn't care at all
I learnt that people can be quite lethal

Within me he found sanctuary
A place where his heart could rest
He cried a million tears each day
A side nobody would have guessed

A story that remains a secret
My love for him stays untold
Happiest I've ever been
Even if I was bring controlled

As I walk down the path
Certain area flooded by him
I can't replace his memory
He was my light when all was dim

Occasionally when his name comes up
Many have ask me of the boy
Who was he to you?
Trying not to be coy

Painting on that smile of mine
To which has been perfected over the years
A longing pain erupting within me
Pain I've kept hidden from all my peers

He's an old friend

I would tell them
As I glance over to the tree
Him and I laying in peace
Filling myself with bitter sweet glee

But its better for the both of us
Now we are both free
My precious summer love
Just another devotee

My old friend
and secret love
When i ****** my pen
to write this,
I wonder if you imagined
that i'm a poet
As i wake from another
disbanded sunrise,
I wonder if you screamed
me out of this pessimistic vision
Everytime i would pedal
my bike during the hot summer,
I still think if i ever breathed
the air that evaded your lips
and while i do that,
Each time you make coffee
for the weekends,
I wonder if you guessed that someday you will have to share it
with a familiar person
of the future
Whenever the eyes cry salty tears,
have you sailed your deepest
thoughts on a paperboat?
Like finding me in the ends
of the world after the
midst of calamities
I guessed both of us may wonder,
in a sea of strangers
at a broken
streetlight,
Will we recognize
each other?
Evan Stephens Jan 25
A child's recipe:
two crossed sticks
and yarn to bind them
hung in the window
to watch indolently
our blind dreams.

I couldn't have guessed
I would keep making these,
not with yarn
but barbed wire.
Not with twigs
but bones.
No dreams
but ghosts
that pile up
like snow drifts
against the window.
Mia Thompson Nov 2018
As Morning’s grow older
Night’s last longer
Sleeping wide awake
Thinking about which way to take
Should I have money or be poor
And as I open one door
The other comes to a close
When that happens a friend I’ve come to know
Taps my shoulder
So I close the door so the old one will open
And that’s just what my friend was hoping
And he just laughs at my face
Repeating I don’t have the strength
He reminds me of all the reasons not to
Most of all he reminds me to be scared
But today is different. I will not care
I will not care if this door will hurt me if I open it
Instead I will open this door so my friend will not fit
I’ll give him a taste of his own
And scare him to the bone
I’ve chosen to to be rich but poor
So I can learn to Love more
And my friend, fear will be no more
And as I open this door I am greeted
I am greeted with hope, Love, and forgiveness If only I hadn’t second guessed to begin with.
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2017
Raymond shifted his weight forward on the coffee
shop chair and leaned his cheekbone into the heel of
his palm. A childhood verse chided him in his
mother’s voice of over fifty years ago.

“Raymond, Raymond, if you’re able,
get your elbows off the table.
This is not a horse’s stable,
but your mother’s dining table.”


It didn’t immediately connect to any
pictures in his mind but he had heard it enough
to know it was real. An hour ago he had been
at his mother’s side in the palliative care ward.

She had appeared smaller than he liked to think of
her—had looked almost like he was seeing her at
a distance. She hadn’t greeted him, only closed
her eyes and said, “Feed the cats, will you.” It wasn’t

really a question. “Yes,” he answered, but the cats,
whoever they were, must have left or died years ago.
The only living thing she owned, he suspected,
was the small Christmas cactus someone had brought to

cheer her up. He looked at her again, waiting for
her eyes to open. They never did. Her jaw dropped
and that was that. Raymond hadn’t wanted to be
in the room when the nurses and orderly would

come to take her away. He stopped at the reception
desk to say that he’d be in the coffee shop
waiting for his brother and sister-in-law to
arrive. They were late and he was thankful to have

a few minutes to himself. From where he sat he
faced the open entrance of the café. There was
a couple sitting tiredly off to one side.
A man in a shapeless blue hospital gown and

slippers shuffled in pushing an IV pole ahead
of him. Raymond heard steps echo sharply down
the hallway. Here they are, he thought, hurrying
needlessly. Bill and Marijke had been fast asleep

at 2:30 am when Raymond’s first text message
came in. They never saw it until 5:00 when Bill
reached for his cell phone as he did every morning
right after Marijke turned off the alarm. “****,”

he said, “No time.” Bill, “William” on his realtor
business card, and Marijke, were used to demands
on their time from potential home buyers. But they
usually had early mornings to themselves—

breakfast, coffee, catch up on current events. Not
today. The text had said, “ASAP.” They hit the drive-
through at Starbucks on their way to the hospital.
“Hey Bill. Marijke,” Raymond said. Bill nodded. “Hey,”

he replied and paused to look at Raymond, to see
if he’d say something else, “Is she gone?” “Couple of
hours ago,” Raymond said. “Should we see her?” Bill asked.
“Can if you want, I suppose. Maybe later,"

Raymond said, "Did she have a cat? She mentioned cats.
I haven’t seen any for years. Did you take them?”
Mother might have mixed him up with Bill again.
Raymond looked at his brother who didn’t seem to

be listening and then at Marijke. "She used to
feed the neighborhood cats before she broke her hip,”
Marijke said. “That might be it.” It seemed odd that
Marijke knew more about his mother’s life than

her sons did. “Maybe you’re right,” Raymond said. “What’s next?”
“I’ll call her lawyer and get him on it,” Bill answered.
Raymond suddenly realized that his brother
had been listening. Marijke started to cry. 
 
Raymond pulled some napkins from their holder and pressed
them hard against his eyes. Bill looked down and away.
Over the next few days life seemed to stop. Nothing
more than daily routines and only as long as

they didn’t require much effort or attention.
Coffee, whatever was in the fridge—dishes sat in
the sink. Gradually he began to feel alive
again. It was as though he had been wrapped in blankets,

hearing distant, mostly muffled voices, glimpsing
unfamiliar rooms and spaces when he closed his
eyes to sleep. Marijke had startled him this morning
when she called and said to the answering machine that

Bill and her were coming over with something from
the lawyer and hoped he would be in. She didn’t
wait for him to pick up. She’d have known he was at
the kitchen table. They arrived mid-afternoon.

No knock at the door. Bill was the older of the
two and was the most like their dad. And Dad had not
been the knocking sort. Not with Raymond anyway.
Bill and Marijke each carried a bag of groceries

which they placed on the kitchen counter. “Thought you might
need some things,” Marijke said. “Nice to see you, Ray.”
She took a bag of groceries and made room in the
fridge for its contents: milk, BBQ chicken and

eggs. She placed the bananas in a wooden bowl.
“Saw the lawyer yesterday,” Bill started. “He has
the will but it doesn’t amount to much except
for the house,” he paused, “The equity has mostly

been ****** out of it. God knows what for. And there’s this…”
Bill dropped a large manila envelope in front
of Raymond. “I’ve already opened it. There’s an
envelope for each of us in there. Marijke

says we should open them together because we’re
all the family we have now.” He tipped the envelope
on its end and let the two smaller envelopes
slip out. One each for William and Raymond. Bill picked

his up and tore the corner of the flap destroying
most of the envelope in the process and
extracted what appeared to be several sheets of
neat handwriting. “It’s just a letter,” Bill said. He

put it into the inside breast pocket of his
suit jacket. Raymond waited a moment then picked
up the other envelope, turned it over and nodded
almost imperceptibly. He stood, walked to the

shelf between the window and the back door where he
had made room for the Christmas cactus instead of
leaving it behind. Not sure about the light, he
thought, and leaned the unopened letter against the

earthenware ***. “Not you, too?” Marijke shook her
head. “It’ll be like…” Raymond said, he paused, looking
at her, “It’ll be like not hanging up the phone.”
Marijke understood—he’d never open it.

“I get it,” she said in a softer tone. Bill looked
blankly at his brother. And Raymond smiled a little
for the first time in a while. By six the next
morning Raymond was already dressed and brewing

coffee. Usually he would head down to Timmy’s
Donut Shop for his caffeine fix. “Double trouble,”
he’d say, meaning “Double double,” as he always
did at Timmy’s. It amused him and often made

his favorite server smile. “Too much trouble, you mean,”
she’d say. Human contact. Raymond guessed that some of
the guys at the corner table would be wondering
how he was doing. They’d know what had happened, of

course, but they’d ask just the same. He poured his first cup
and walked out onto the back porch. Still a bit cool
out here, he thought as he leaned against the railing,
sipping his coffee as his eyes wandered around

the yard. He’d have another cup in a while but
first he had something he needed to do. Raymond
sat down on the porch steps and slipped his feet into
an old pair of shoes. He tied them and flicked the loops

with his finger to see how the laces fell, to
make sure he had not tied them backwards and would not
work their way loose. Someone had taught him that a long
time ago when they had seen his laces come undone.

He stood up and walked across the yard to the back
lane and the narrow picket fence, missing a picket
here and there and much of its original coat
of white paint. Some boys had probably pulled the missing

pickets off decades ago and with galvanized
garbage can lids for shields spent a Saturday
morning sword fighting. The gate was leaning and half
open, held there by uncut grass, weeds and neglect.

He stepped out and onto the lane that led between
the two rows of houses that backed onto it. Raymond
looked at each fence, each set of stairs and window as
he passed them by. A block later he turned and headed

home satisfied that he had seen at least one cat,
maybe two. Another cup of coffee in hand,
Raymond sat on the top step. On his way out of
the kitchen and onto the porch he had stopped to

turn the cactus in the morning light, stepped outside
placing a saucer of fresh milk by the porch door,
and sat down.

THE END
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Ruby Nemo Nov 2018
you've stained me like a burn
a sizzling cyst that persists
tainted my perception through gore, imagine
twirling eternity between *******
oh love, how you've lost
and abandoned assuming good sides of me
a scratch unexpected
I never could have guessed it
don't speak, I am only a ghost
altered visuals because of your preference
don't push me, I'm high on the ground
through stammers and handshakes
I'd lose in the end
but honey, worry not for your misaligned friend
in a way, I'd have liked you to stay
so I could disappoint you everyday
that look locked on your face
it's fatal, humiliate
bring divinity into a life so uncommon
and tossed for the sake of desire.
11-03-18
Leah Jan 19
dead air hangs heaviest on phone calls cut short
the static hummed like an ancient hornets nest in my head
deep imprints left from landline buttons on my cheek
i thought if i pressed hard enough
i could pretend plastic resembled the feeling of his face against mine
i thought if i pressed hard enough
i could pretend the static sounded like his voice in my ear

he told me once that he liked my skin
but what he meant is that he liked it better on the floor
i would have never guessed how quickly hungry hands could eat me alive
but i wanted their starvation to be my salvation
i always knew i was a better window than a wall
but I didn’t know how easy it was to see through me

seven syllables like bee stings
my throat began to swell like his words themselves were anaphylactic
and as i began to see stars i pretended i was in shock
he left me like a bullet exits a body and i guess that’s what i get for loving a loaded gun
but I’ve always been known to be the first to pull the trigger
roulette was just a way to pass the time between waking and sleeping

i was a phantom of longing and lament
i missed his hands even when they were around my neck
i wasn’t a woman
i was shades of blue and violet and unwarrented violence

the perverse pleasure of pain
left like a malady in my mind that spread across my nervous system
and seeped its way into my bone marrow
the only chemo i could find were empty beds and dark rooms
indiscriminately i handed myself to the radiation of sterile hands and nameless faces
i wanted them to rearrange my molecules
or at least help me shed the skin he had liked so much

etched into my eyelids in glowing persistence were the words he left me with
i hung onto them, i gripped them tightly, white knuckled desperation i clung to the sound of your voice rattling like a chain link fence in my mind
“you will never be enough”
i wanted so badly for you to be the cure i made myself love-sick
**** and limerence felt like love even when the landline went dead
i realized that corpses have a funny way of staying just alive enough to get through the day
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/ although i'd love to go back to the cinema of, bell, book & candle from the 1950s in early technicolour... can i? don't think so... trapped the rekindled narrative of myth... i wish i could, do the supra-capitalist, drunk at 5 in the afternoon, and still pulling the strings... early nostalgia of what was late nostalgia of what was 19th century german concerning ancient greece... i chose 17th century france... because? because... why could it ever be england as primo optio?! am i either that daft, or as much stiff for waiting for eddie zee theerd?! well? well done, you guessed my thinking: write a fictive narrative, it'll last longer, like a photograph.

immigrant song, led zeppelin -

probably the only grand theatre
plus,

          of thor: rangarok;

i still don't know where those
M16s came from...
  and?
      given they used
a led zeppelin's song?

i honestly, don't want to know.

i was honestly going to favour
a black sabbath oeuvre,
using only solitude
   by the witches' congregation
ask, aspect,
or subsequent, marketing ponce
scheme.
Francisco O Jan 12
Hey Father where did you go
Don't you know
I've been traveling all alone
Kicking rocks on this lonely road
Tried calling mom
But even she doesn't know

So the kids keep making fun of me
Because they think it's kind of dumb of me
To lose a dad
Which kinda made me mad
Because I wish I had what they had
But what can i say
It's not like you cared anyways

Just wanted to let you know
I’m glad you had to go
Cause i’m a better man than you'll ever be
As you look in the mirror even you can see
I'm nothing close to your reflection
Wait hold on correction
We would need to first have a connection
Maybe throw a ball or two
For me to say I see a dad in you

Did I even matter
Or is that why you scatter
So eager to climb that ladder
Of success
Yup that's right forget the rest
Of us
To bad that ladder was only two feet tall
And you still managed to fall
But you're right the view up here
Makes it way to clear
And eliminates all my fears
I didn't need you now or ever
Because it was so much better
With you gone
Who would have guessed i'd come out number one
Questions Please
Put up a question please
Throw me a question please
Question, any question

Burning or sensational
big or small or silly
easy or tough or absurd
hypothetical or factual

All questions are invited.
Only and only questions
No Answers at all
As I already have answers

I have answers to all the questions
that ever existed, but ceased to exist today.
I have the answers to prevailing questions
that are making us crazy day by day

I even have the answers to the questions
which are still in the future's belly
waiting to be born one day
in this beautiful and **** world

Questions please
All sorts of questions
May be from geography or philosophy
Or from religion to defence studies

It may be from medical science or history
Or from space research too
Animal husbandry is no taboo
Questions on skydiving are also welcome

Politics is my all-time favourite
although I can answer sports or adventure
Questions on corruption are also solicited
You can ask on oceanography or calligraphy too

I know everything, literally everything
but neither I am 'Google' nor 'Bing'
I am not even 'Duck Duck Go'
nor I claim to be 'Baidu'

I guessed your question.
You are wondering – "Who am I?"
It's very-very simple Man!
I am a nasty spokesperson from the ruling party

I may be found mostly in television debates
as a panelist, as a debator, as a joker
as a disturbing element, as a liar
as a person making hue and cries

You may or may not like my answers,
but, please like me, please love me
Raise slogans for me, Praise me
Make me famous, make me a celebrity

But even if you dislike me
I don't care, I have my media
I have my own followers
I also own a troll army

I train them perfectly
I pay them heavily
I spend too much on
News media and Social media

I have my own trustworthy mob
who is always ready for violence
anytime and anywhere
at any cost whatsoever

Beware, I am from the ruling party
I inherit a complete readymade system
of Investigating agencies, Ready to book anyone
on false and frivolous grounds.

And it will take years to prove innocence
Innocence may be proved, may be disproved
This also depends on Money, Power and Links
Or the nasty arithmetic of alliance with us in future

So if you still chose to dislike me
It's your choice, but wait
I can still become a minister
Or even a prime minister

I have the quality to lure voters
I have the answers to all the questions
That ever existed or are existing
Or that are stilling waiting to be born.
I have all the answers  so please throw a question to me.
Cedric McClester Jul 2018
By:Cedric McClester

Another black man down,
Because of Stand Your Ground!
Examples do abound,
Allow me to expound
It’s a license to ****,
For those inclined, who will
Who have the requisite skill
Assured of no True bill

When push came to shove
He was disposed of
Wasn’t shown no love
The bullet lodged above
Somewhere in the chest
As he drew his last breath
In front of his bereft
They knew that his soul left

And can you believe,
He was turning to leave
When a gun was retrieved
From a pocket not a sleeve
As you might have guessed
The bullet hit his chest
I guess you know the rest,
There was no arrest!

How could there be?
When the law you see,
Lets the shooter go free
But here’s the key
If during the strife
He feared for his life
Then he had the legal right
To shoot him on sight


Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
Bo Tansky Oct 2018
I’m addicted to pain
Seems my epiphanius moment
Came a little late in the game
Just the same
What have I to gain
masochistically maintaining
Perpetual pain
Let’s see
I shut out out out everyone
Comforting like rain
Alone with my pain
Only I remain
Wrapped in the insane
Or is it just colorful choosing
Sorrowful musing so amusing
Drowning in pity
So pithy
Doesn’t do it justice
Poor, poor pitiful me
It’s plain to see
Nobody likes me
So I
Cry, cry, cry
Why
I remembered last night
The reason why
You’re going to die
The reason why
Is because
Crying said I with a sigh
always got me what I wanted
what a surprise
Guess, you guessed that
I said a little flat
So I continue to cry
And wonder why
Why isn’t this ******* working
Always worked in the past
And it was such a blast
What a shame
I’m such a crybaby
This is so personal
I think I’ll reversanal
Sounds like a pill
I’ll have two or three
Between you and me
If you know what I mean
My transparency’s my screen
Once I’ve said it
I can forget it
Put it down on paper
And it disappears
Inhaled vapor
Vapor paper
So, if you saw it
Or read it
I’ve already forgotten it
close to the cutting-edge
stretched out on a pledge
allegiance to who be
doobie, doobie do be
I’ll never fall over
That edge that I spoke of
Just a thought that I thought of
I’m no more attached to it
Than I’m attached to you
I know you believe me
Because only you see me
Through all my disguises
My mental gymnastics
Exercises
Only you see me
The lies and the *******
If you want to believe it
Go right ahead
You’ve ignored the warning signs
The tracks converged
And there’s danger up ahead
Only if you believe it
I saw the ending and I saw the beginning
Still can’t tell if I’m losing or winning.
I’m stuck, stuck, stuck
Seems only right that I repeat it
Since you can’t be stuck
If you don’t repeat it

It’s only a game if you think it is

Wishing something extreme
Before I scream
I need a push.
Who the **** am I talking to
Because nobody’s listening
But that doesn’t deter me
I see you before me
You know who you are
Anyone I want you to be
Doesn’t matter if you’re real
Only matters how I feel
You can’t stop me from loving you
Even if you don’t love me
I’ve been so alone
I rather like it like that
No mundane chitchat
******* will **** you
So if that’s what you’re offering
Better stay away
But god
I pray
May that day
Never come
And this is my prayer
That you’re real
Because until then
I can’t feel
Amen.
Terry Collett Dec 2018
You were sitting
in one of those
cafes in Paris,
outside on the street,
with Betty, James and Clark.

You were all drinking,
smoking and talking,
or in your case listening.

Betty’s voice
was loud and brash:
I said to him,
lay your hand
on my **** again
and I’ll break
your **** fingers off.

Clark gazed at her
with his sleepy
looking eyes:
What did he say to that?

Said nothing, the ****;
I know his type;
think they have a right
to touch women uninvited.

You watched her talk;
she had scarey eyes,
dark and penetrating,
and a cruel mouth
with bright red lipstick.

Clark was broad
and had charming eyes,
but appeared at times
to be half asleep.

James was shorter,
but his eyes stared
at people as they spoke,
weighing them up,
gauging the underlying theme.

Some dames like
being touched,
James said,
it reminds them
of their power
over men;
not that any dame
has power over me.

James was your husband;
he stared at you
when you spoke
which made you
reluctant to speak.

Any woman who doesn’t
mind a man
touching her uninvited
needs her head examined,
Betty said loudly.

Others nearby
looked over
from their tables;
some whispered
amongst themselves.

Betty didn’t care;
she had her say.

But you didn’t
like scenes;
it made you
feel vulnerable,
and frightened.

Betty said you
were a lamb
amongst wolves
when you were in
the ladies lavatory earlier.

Whether she guessed
you were beat up
by James or not
you didn’t know;
the bruises were always
out of sight;
never on your face.

Bet you were
the kind, Jane,
to wet yourself
if your teacher said
boo to you at school,
she had said.

You smiled
and said probably.

You admired
her strength
and courage,
but it also
frightened you.

If she knew what
James did to you,
she’d break his nose,
so you said nothing
to give it away,
just put on the mask
and that smile.

We’re all different,
Clark said,
some of us just want
to get on with our lives
unhindered.

He was Betty’s husband;
I bet he didn’t go
unhindered.

There’s sheep and wolves,
she said,
and I ain’t no sheep.

James eyed her
and smoked his cigar:
Clark sipped his wine,
and I looked
at the pale moon
and drank mine.
Four people in Paris in 1938
zebra Sep 2018
PHD
People ask me why I always write disgusting sexually explicit poetry

well the truth is

after being carted off to the ****** bin repeatedly
for fertilizing eggs at the supermarket
i realized my true calling
was to scream out fuzzy wuzzy in public
as i  fertilized everything insight

i guess i just have an egg fetish
and like babies

i decided to learn everything i could about the subject
so for those who may read my stuff and
find it's flavor not to their taste
like my new poetic extravaganza yet to be published
" if aint painal it aint ****"
please forgive and understand
this is simply the thing I know the most about
and feel obsessively compelled
to share it through my poetry

yes
you guessed it
i'm one of the worlds leading sexperts
and hold a  
PHD
from
Copulation University
in 
INTERNATIONAL CLITERATURE

after years of in depth hands on research
courses in clitanomics, clitologic
social and clitural humanities
the great take away is this

"shove it
where you love it"
livin the dream
poetryaccident Dec 2018
I was waiting until the time
that purpose stated why it was
that people walked into my life

a question mark is applied
to the intention that god planned
when hello asks for more

each mystery is then guessed
with assumptions incorrect
for the bulk of faces met

with the span of ‘hate’ to ‘love’
each emotion possible
with some preferred nonetheless

thus every journey is begun
without knowing the outcome
when relations are resolved

still the wheel will have its laugh
a chuckle found at my expense
denying knowledge that I may find

when each person I may meet
a panoply of consequence
will be all things in due time.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181206.
The poem “People Walked” was inspired by a meme that contained the words,  “I was waiting for you without knowing it.  I’ve waited for you for years.”
Alice Dec 2018
Sparkling eyes and tender flesh are shielded
From the world in a tight hug.
A photograph captures my father’s love.
Gentle waves come home to shore, sloshing against the sand,
A constant in this changing land.

A sunset paints the azure sky,
And its fiery orb disappears into cool gray water.
A paradise in a different world,
Away from troubles and danger,
During innocent days I can no longer remember.

Blue balloons and princess gowns and smiles from ear to ear.
A sprightly girl, I put on shows for all to see.
My mom’s Elly May, and my dad’s Brown Eyed Girl;
He’d take me dancing in the living room and give me a good twirl.
These are the days I’ve come to miss,
And I wish I’d taken two bags of Oreos rather than one.

Friday night crime shows, or perhaps a girl with ruby shoes
My parents would welcome me into their arms for a movie or two.
Easy Sunday mornings and breakfast at noon
From the radio floats the constant loop
That is my dad’s signature tune.

I couldn’t wait to be older and live on my own,
Like the adults in the shows that I came to know.
I was always too busy, I was always too tired,
I put in more effort than was required.

Mistakes found me by the dozen, relationships suffered,
I wish I had swiped left before there was no more of me to offer.
Unsatisfied and hungry, ready for more,
I jumped on new freedoms when I saw the open door.

Now that I’ve grown in many a way,
I look back and think and wish I could stay
In one of those times where the horizon was clear
And decisions about college wouldn’t come up the next year.

I take bigger portions, I dress in my own style,
Who would’ve guessed beauty standards would grow
Far more than a mile.

I fear for my future, and I fear for my now.
I know I’d get through it if someone told me how.
My parents astound me in so many ways;
They do the unfathomable each and every day.
For a girl who can barely find her way home,
The world is a shark, looming with the unknown.

What lies in the future, no one can tell.
Before it gets better, it’s sure to be ****.
I don’t think I’m ready, and there’s so much at stake.
Perhaps I should be left in the oven to bake.

Everyone’s getting older; I wish it would stop.
I’d pay millions to the man who could turn back the clock.
I long for the good times, I long for simple days,
Yet I know no matter how many stars I wish on,
The now is here to stay.

I’ll smile and laugh about the future.
I’ll even put on a brave face,
But not for a second should you doubt
I’d rather be some other place.
I think the realization that you've grown up is something that is completely stupefying. For me, though, it's something that I've actively thought about for as long as I can remember. Humans are creatures of habit, and I'm sadly no exception. I wanted to share my struggle with my impeding independence with the world because I think that it is something that may resonate with a lot of people. We're all afraid to grow up and be on our own.
Cedric McClester Sep 2018
By: Cedric McClester

I didn’t talk
About it for years
Brushed aside
Intermittent tears
Did my best
To allay my fears
But I’m sharing now
So here it is

Though you might not
Have guessed it
I was often times
Molested
It’s only now
That I’ve confessed it
From a very early age
Through my adolescent stage

See it’s difficult
To begin
Letting out
What I’ve held in
About how I’ve
Experienced men
But I want to
Now that I can

It’s only now
I realize
That although
I was victimized
And the memory
Never dies
I survived
To became wise




Cedric McClester,Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
This poem is based on a female's account of having been molested. It is written in her voice.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
We get better as we get better

Mneuromorphicmeme makers
Sapiens augmentatious, that's us

Who could argue against us. AI don't know

Smell that smell,
Suffer, wait, wait wait
let patience have her perfect work

wait to see the whites of the eyes,
what am I seeing?

Why the shades at night, are you cross eyed?
Are you lookin' at me?
What are you lookin' at?

Shame on you, who can see what I see
I look at you
do you see what I see? nope,
similar, right

watch my eyes, see the whites,
ninoculate bi noc u late

see the angle point 123
see
the point I see from my aiming vector,

see my point from the angle of your POV
see

Pretend you do, and walk a mile with me,
help me with my load,
you know any stories told 'round here?

Life history strategies, those they conserve,
per haps a cultural system,
like pickling, or fermenting, or culturing
gut-felt tales of gods and monsters?

Guts, good god, Maudie, come see
a-fore-al-flusher, disgusting
turds taken for golden nuggets,
we missed in the dust
dancing in the golden sun shone
through a tiny hole in the roof
through which rain may drip, someday we may remember

Camera obscura, who first saw the truth in one of those?

"what you diggin' fo down there, Gold?", she giggled,

Gold dust sprinkled fine as fine can be,
breathe this
Deep in the tunnel,
the last highest part of the dust of the earth,
the dust of many men drifting in the wind,
radiates, dis integrit-ified, trans mogr ified known,

No, I would not have guessed.
I should have learned and
did, did you? Is war your

right and my wrong?
Warrior,
can you imagine
following a peace? Bliss? Nirvana? The
rest that remains for the people of God?

Is this real? Is real. AI affirm ifative

Warfare is thinkified, just-ified, never done.
The doing of evil at this level of living is imaginable
only, not re-alizable.

We remain mortal. These peaces we put together are
for mortal moments.
We remember learnings we recall from gatherings together,

Familiar things, whence we seen the source whither
haps in my favor may be found
in the next round
after, ever after

I find a way back to the light where I saw
dancers in a blue moon beam,
blue light, not calendar man made myth of two full moons
in a single cycle of the moon,
we know better,
set your timer with the solstice,
let the seasons roll.

Precision, close enough, field-ish, an ion cat ion sort of,  

the safer it gets, the safer we need it to be,
let patience have her perfect work,

safe liberty needs broad horizons,
not high walls.

Enemies are ideas wishing to be im-portentious,
as if forever is a game to be won.

Contention is single source. Pride.

So, you, passerby, can you make proud, or pride
weigh more than the peace I made?
Want to trade?
I take your pride and flush it, wipe your own
stench away, but trust your gut,

a peace-filled gut wins every single time,
incident after incedent, pre-dictable as forever
in any direction,
going on.

Does this smell digestible or does my gut go
NONONO yech onomatopoeic retch

finger down the throat, you know, the secret sign,
in a word,
*******. Don’t swallow any more. Spit it out.

Why not? The dog eats it.
It's disgusting.
But, watch, the dog rolls in it, then she sneaks up
on the skunk, oh
****, I ruined her hunt, she had that skunk,

Until I yelled, "Macy, no!" She froze, the skunk fired,
on my exclamatory point.

Right there, see. What is aimed at,
wait to see the whites of their eyes,

shoot 'em.
Sniff, nose gnostic vapours settled by dew
soak into the mulch maker's realm,
de cay, de cawl, draw back your cowl and scowl

in the mirror,
or was that in a movie? The camera was you, you
saw the blood swirldownthedrain, you
saw thy evil mother,
locked away,
NULL-ified for as long as I live. Okeh.

******-drama scenario. This is the game? No rules?
You lie. Lying is allowed here, it is a skill
we conserve, we conserve the
sacred liberality ification
manifested in the
leavened sons
of God's sons.

Truth, be known, has one foe. Pride that makes the lie.

-------
Magical transfer, dis gust, take yo breath away,

congenital liar, natural nurturerer,
teller of tales of the mighty hunter,

the hunter of might,
might he be a hunter of darker

theory of mind, begins with the first lie

I may remember mine, do you?

The green man? Yeah, spiderwoman's caretaker.
Lacto, make some cheese,

we offer the milk mixed with the smoke
from the mushrooms grown on
the darkside of *******.

Leadership, lead away. Followers,
this way, down or
up.
It's POV, you see,
Ya'll are the beta testers. If people as smart as you don't tell me I am mad, to try, I shall continue to pay close attention as time, per se, parses out.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.how similar does the braille N(⠝) represent the Hebrai lamed (ל), fascinating, the, similarity, isn't it?

it just so happens that i enjoy music too much, to listen to the anglophone arguments of existential-Darwinism... the whole Hitchens "thing" concerning eternity only being experienced via the passing of genes... sure, sure... no problem... English existentialism is so... so... pish-*******-poor that i don't know whether to abrupt myself of sanity by wetting myself, or take another drink... i guess the whole, French, cafe culture... and what, with the English pub... Darwinism has a reality, in science... applied-Darwinism, or rather, an over-bearing presence of Darwinism in the humanities? monkey say, in braille: ⠃⠕⠗⠊⠝⠛    ⠁⠎        ⠋⠥⠉⠅.

in the good old days of
the Catholic Reneissance...
what?!
  so now i'm supposed to listen
to these pampered western european
*******...
telling me...
  i need to watch the only
***** available...
which includes making fun of
the size of my *****?
while she ***** a black guy?
you sure... sure you you want
to tread these waters?
can i compliment the *******
armchair of an ***
attached to a black woman's
spine?
  like cedric of wessex stated:
we don't mix with these
women...
why am i supposed to sit
out through this ordeal
like some cockload *******
spank face?
****... you're on your own
from here, (as a *** might
say) darling...
the star in my starless night sky!
****...
and people thought that
the Catholic restrictions were bad...
um um um...
nail-biting moment:
and the secular feminists
do not employ a more fervor imbued
reinterpretation of ***,
via secular feminism?!
no?!
        just give me access to
a Bulgarian ******* twice
a year and £220 skim...
     which includes no worry
about S.T.D.s...
             given, we're latex friendly,
and ****** prone...
i never imagined an S.T.D.
as being ingested via oral ***...
****... £10 extra... make that £240 a year...
two ***** and happy and a *******
flock of seagulls... hey presto!
- but there's no *******...
         i ****, i leave, suave perfume
of a woman's flesh...
i skip taking a shower for about
three days...
             life becomes rosy as ****
on steroids...
          back in the day...
the Catholics...
    jeez! the guilt from fornication...
but now? now?!
now is worse...
              i have to sit through a lecture
course about how white western women
prefer a big fat black ****...
   a B.F.B.B. -
   well... better than what jerking off
probably feels like doing ****:
i.e. banging the ******* hole
   (B.B.B.H.) -
               whatever...
              you know... the white guys who
engage in this sort of ****...
i wouldn't touch someone
with a ******* fetish...
   but these *******?
              i'm licking a shaving razor
and thinking of ******...
western women...
          and their little carousel run of things...
they ****** monologues and
their ***** windmills...
   like **** me reproducing with them...
i entertain the presence of
prostitutes: so am i bothered about
promiscuity?! no!
            but when you read
some Marquis de Sade...
      you spot the sadists, and the masochists...
personally?
    i once deemed it necessary to
put out four cigarettes on the tips of
my knuckles...
  well... i was never into tattoos...
i guessed... if i punch someone with my
left arm... they might be punched
with a lesson in arithmetic to boot!
honey, hush...
   i'm not your daddy...
feel free... enjoy...
            but i'm not going to have anything
of worth, having to associate with you...
hey... they weren't wrong
in the movie get out...
         i look at it as...
"migrant crisis"... crisis?!
      NO!
         it's an army of marching ******!
but no... you don't begin your
command of argument...
elevating the original Catholic guilt
concerning ***...
   no chance, in ****... oh... wait...
this is ****...given that Catholicism has
been translated into
a secular most-modernist  (here comes
the verbiage) feminist "theory"...
so basically nuns 'r' us...
                     you do whatever the ****
you want with your ******* feminist males...
hard-on slaps in the face...
last time i heard...
the ancient Greeks thought that
enlarged phallus end-to-ends-meat...
(yeah yeah, no, not EE via a ******'s...
"floral" pattern!)
                  were a sign of barbarism...
wait... could it possibly be that
i write... but can't read?!
               my my...
      frustrated?
   i take out my frustration on
a bottle of bourbon, *** or whiskey,
or *****...
      after a while...
            it all sounds the same:
   a swift return toward a sweet,
                                                          ­  lullaby.

p.s. i didn't say that Darwinism was
wrong... but after you've read
some French existentialism,
   or esp. German existentialism...
you've already accepted the facts...
and move... forward...
             the encompassing mantra of
yes, yes, no....
    the no... arising from post-modernism...
or whatever the scholastic term
is...
     all of a sudden people
are focusing on the usage of both
nouns, and pronouns...
     just two, just two grammatical
categories of words...
              apparently language has
become a pancake reality,
squashed... and it didn't even require
a dictator to perform this "magic trick"...
and i was considered mad
about 10 years ago...
        i'm not about to join
this ******* circus...
   no acrobats, no lions,
no clowns...
               n'ah...
                                i think i'll pass.
Jedda Sep 2018
Today, I came face to face with the person that ruined me.

It’s been a long time coming but after all these years, I can finally see.

You were always there but I would’ve never of guessed it was you.

I was so oblivious to your presence. God, I wish I knew.

And I’m still questioning, why wasn’t my vision clearer

The person that ruined me was standing right there in the mirror.
Leia Spencer Feb 6
Nobody would’ve guessed
That the girl crying in the garden
Would grow the most beautiful flowers
Watered by her tears
They grew to protect the girl
Pricking anyone who came too close
Making sure their princess
Was never hurt again
-she was, but the plants aren’t to know that
You can hurt and still be brave. Don’t be afraid to be hurt again. You will come out stronger for it
Kathryn Hallee Aug 2018
Have you heard of the little girl
Who chased cute boys around the playground
Writing love notes
Asking if they liked her?
This girl who imagined herself a mermaid princess
With the heart of a wolf
Just to have fun
With her friends on the playground
Never thinking a second thought
Past how cute the boy on the swings was?

How about the girl in a new school
Where people are bigger than her
In more than one sense?
Walking through the halls
Looking at how well the girls grew
And she guessed the boys did too.
The girl who thought looking at both
Was what everyone did?
It didn't take long for her to realize
It wasn't.

Ever heard of the girl
Who saw her best friend in a new way
That she never saw before
That lasted years?
The girl who then entered another school
One with faces old and new
Some adults that felt more like brothers and sisters
With new faces of girls who were even more grown
Than any she had seen in a while
Oh, and a couple cool guys walking by?

Have you ever heard of the girl
Who tried to convince herself
That she was normal
Like every other girl she walked by,
But couldn't help but stare
At those passing girls?
This same girl
Who refused to believe
That she wasn't anything like what she saw around her
That she was still that same girl
Who chased cute boys around the playground,
But couldn't keep hiding
That in her head
She was chasing beautiful girls around the playground?

There's this girl
Who spent her whole life
Wishing to be normal,
But found herself happiest
Hand in hand
With her same kind.
No matter when, who, or why, love is love. It's not something that you can control so embrace who you are. Because you are perfect.
Kelly Bitangcol Aug 2018
“Pepsi employee killed in Hawkins car crash.”
“Maine Vice Mayor Deaver killed in car accident in Castle Rock.”
“Woman ‘dead’ after car crash found alive in morgue.”

The news reports on radio echoed through her whole car as she indulged her third bottle of Russian Standard. Weird, she thought; she has been hearing news about road collisions all day. She was sure that the alcohol wasn’t intoxicating her mind to hear different things, she knew she was still sober. Everybody knew she always had low alcohol tolerance, even herself knew that; now she couldn’t even taste the bitterness of the liquor, she feels it inside of her. Drinking was the thing her mother told her to never do, perhaps because it turns her father into a monster with a closed fist as a weapon.

She looked at her rear-view mirror and realised she was travelling alone on an empty road. People had told her before to never travel alone in Derry Road or else something might happen. She wasn’t travelling; she was running away. It fits her, she thought, she and the road were the same; they were both empty.

She heard an unfamiliar noise, like the sound of a steel colliding with another steel. She had realized that her car engine died while she was driving. “Seriously?” she said to herself, “Is everything I own dead now? Like me?”

She stepped outside of her car and walked to find any gasoline stations or houses that could help her. There is no luck for any signs of functioning establishments on an empty road like this, she thought. However, a place filled with buried muscle cars, abandoned pickup trucks, and old bulldozers caught her attention. It’s an empty road. How is there supposed to be a car junkyard? She thought to herself. What’s even stranger is, she didn’t see it while she was driving.

“Well this day couldn’t get any weirder,” she said. First she couldn’t get drunk after drinking three bottles, then she kept on hearing news about car crashes, and now she suddenly saw a car junkyard out of the blue? She opened her hood and a massive smoke appeared, causing her to inhale it. She was coughing while staring at the oils leaking. She didn’t know what to do. She had no choice but to look for people who could help her with her car. She didn’t know anything about it, she didn’t even know what the problem of her car was. She glanced at the sky and saw the sun was slowly setting as well as her hope in what’s happening. She thought to herself, maybe this creepy car junkyard could actually help her.

She walked towards the old car junkyard and the sight of it surprised her. Her eyes widened when she saw people hanging out, beer bottles everywhere, and some couples having the time of their lives.

“May I help you?” A long haired guy who was wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt appeared by her side. She was having second thoughts in answering him back, but she really needed help, especially if she reeks of alcohol on an empty road.

“Yes, actually I was driving and then my car suddenly stopped. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but a smoke appeared and the oils were leaking. I figured you can help me.”

“You think we know everything about cars just because we’re hanging out in a car junkyard?” He asked while laughing. Her embarrassment was overflowing at that moment which caused her to look down, she was still hearing the guy’s chuckles.

“I just guessed. I think.” She said this while looking at the ground since she was too humiliated to look at him. Much to her surprise, his laughter was no longer heard. “Thank God.” She whispered to herself.

“We’ll see what we can do. At the moment, why won’t you just join us?” Join them? Like hang out with people who are in this creepy junk yard? She stood still while ruminating on what she should do. She was feeling a little scared that maybe these people are actually killers or ghosts but there wasn’t really anything to lose for her. This is the place she'd rather be than her house where her mistakes and failures are always included in their dinner conversations.

She walked towards people who were about her age. Girls with vibrant hair colours looked at her from head to toe, some of them smiled at her that caused her to smile too.

“Your car died?” asked a short haired girl holding a beer bottle.

“Yes. This day couldn’t get any worse. Life couldn’t get any worse, from losing everything you have to people you trusted betraying you. My life is as worthless as my rotten car.” she uttered. One problem she has always had was the inability to control her mouth. People tried to cut her tongue before, unbeknownst to them it’s a far more dangerous weapon than their sharp objects.

“If that ain’t the truth.” said the short haired girl while taking a sip of her beer. Seeing people drink their beer bottles triggered her, she was fighting the urge to go back to her car and finish the remaining bottles of her Russian Standard.

“You want one?” the short haired girl asked while giving her the beer bottle. She just shrugged and shook her head, she was never a fan of beers.

The people in the car junk yard continued to hang out and drink their beers. They talked to her and even told some stories, she was enjoying their company. Epiphany suddenly hit her when this one thought crossed her mind; people there talked to her and asked her questions, but they never asked for her name. She never knew even a single name. Abandoned cars, unusual but enthusiastic people, and a junkyard in the middle of an empty road. She was starting to think she visited the labyrinth of lost people with broken cars.

“I hope you guys don’t mind me asking but, who are you and what do you do here?” curiosity was evident in her voice. For the first time, she was starting to care about things.

“We live here.” A husky and deep voice replied, which sent shivers up and down her spine.

“You live here? Like you sleep inside the cars?” Her voice was filled with wonder and a little bit of fear. She has never heard of a lifestyle like this. What about their food? Their money? Their family? These questions surrounded the confused mind of hers.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’m sorry if I ask too many questions but how did you guys meet? Like, were you all friends before or did you just meet here?”

“We all met because of one thing, our cars suddenly died. Actually, two things; our cars mysteriously stopped and we all had the desire to walk away from life.”

She immediately felt tiny little bumps over her skin. She thought this was actually a nonexistent place but she was right all along. She was feeling a combination of terror and nonchalance, like a person who is on the verge of death but has already accepted the fate that the heavens had stored for her. People already had their eyes closed while some are still staring at the constellations in the sky, wondering why their lives didn’t shine as bright in the dark as them. She’d rather sleep than look at the stars, for she knows her life would be much better with her eyes closed.

“Are you sure with your decision?” a soft but eager whisper awakened her from her thoughts. She saw the long haired guy staring at her, waiting for her answer.

“What decision?”

“Are you sure you want to walk away from everything already?”

She looked at the guy with annoyance mixed with sarcasm. “What? I’m just sleeping. When my car miraculously work again, I’ll leave immediately.”

“You’re enjoying here, aren’t you?” She didn’t try to utter some words, she knew inside of her that he already knows the answer.

“I was like that too, you know? I thought this was the place where I can finally be free. I finally walked away from my problems, I don’t have to deal with never ending problems and challenges anymore.” He paused, which caused her to look at him and wait for his reply. “But that’s only what I thought.” He said this with a broken voice that she was sure she would never forget.

“But isn’t this junkyard truly for us? For people who failed, for people whose lives don’t deserve to continue anymore. Maybe our cars stopped for a reason, maybe our engines were never meant to be fixed. Maybe we were never meant to be fixed.” She felt tears slowly streaming down her face. She remembered the sight of her lover with the person she trusted the most, she remembered the bathroom floor filled with her own blood, she remembered the bruises on her face after the night her father got drunk.

“At first it was. It felt good. Until I realised that walking away from everything isn’t the solution. It doesn’t make things right, it actually makes them worse. The fact that you didn’t even try to fight is the worst thing.” She felt it. She felt his pain. She didn’t even know who this person was but one thing is for sure, she felt everything this guy had been through.

“But I tried, you know? I tried everything and life still gives me the same, eternal problems that I will never find solutions to.”

She could see his hazelnut eyes travel around her. Her blue eyes that were filled with tears looked at the boy who told her more meaningful words than her own father ever could. “I was like that. I was dumb to think life will always be easy, that I can surround myself with happiness and positivity. But life isn’t like that. Your life will not always be like the rising sun because most of the time it’s a thunderstorm. But I was more dumb to think that the best decision was to run away. I heard all about this place ever since before. I drove all the way from my place to here, thinking I could escape it all. That’s not the right decision. There isn’t a day here when I don’t think of my mother crying while I was in the hospital bed, wondering what she did wrong. I gave up on life when the people in it didn’t give up on me. I was ****** for thinking that I could reach my destination immediately without having a journey. I was ****** to think that I can just drive for 1 kilometre and be at the place I want. It doesn’t work that way, life doesn’t work like that. There will always be a journey, a journey where your car’s engine will be dead in the middle of an empty road, but you will find a way to fix it and drive again.”

“So did you regret your decision?”

“Let’s just say I was too late.” She couldn’t find the right words, she didn’t know what to say. She lets him do all the talking for she knows he can never say these words again.

“Look, I don’t want to be the one who decides for you. Maybe you’re so fed up of everything, I get it. But I’m just asking you to think about it, before everything is too late. And piece of advice, if you decide to leave here, please, don’t ever look back.” Blue meets hazelnut, in that one occurrence, they knew their car engines aren’t the only ones they have in common.

She knew that if she walked away, she was never going to see him again. It seemed impossible that he would tell her his name, but she still took the risk and ask him for it. “Before I go, can I please know your name?”

“My name’s Kevin. Kevin Parks.” His face was filled with regret and sadness. Maybe saying his own name was a struggle for him, he knew he would never hear his loved ones say it again.

She nodded and smiled at him, it’s been too long since she put a smile on her face.

“I’m Rosa.” She said. He smiled, knowing she still has the chance to let the world know her name.

“Tell my mom I’m sorry.” And just like that, he disappeared. She was left alone with the chaotic mind of hers. This was everything she wanted, to finally walk away from everything.

She looked around all the abandoned cars and abandoned souls, this is the place she’s supposed to walk away from. The darkness, the surrendering, the giving up. The people disappeared and the smell of beer and cigarettes were no longer there. Silence was her only companion, and it was the most riveting thing she has ever stumbled upon.

She went inside the rotten car of hers and inserted her key in the ignition when her engine miraculously turned on. Hearing her father’s drunken shouts, covering her scars with bracelets, and seeing people who shattered her are the things she knew she will experience again; this reality lead to Rosa’s hesitance in leaving the car junk yard. However, she thought that maybe she could visit Kevin’s mother and talk about him when he was still not aware of this place. This place, this car junkyard filled with abandoned cars and souls unexpectedly shed a light to the road towards whatever destination she was meant for. For the first time in many years, the sun finally set in her direction again. The rear-view mirror was very tempting to look at, yet she gathered all her courage to put her foot on the gas.
Penguin Poems Sep 2018
my habits have been away as long as you have
i don't pick or bite my nails in half
seeing as you've been a goner
i don't bounce my leg any longer
ever since you beat it
i stopped stress eating
because you shattered my heart in my chest
i'm on my phone much less

and you claimed it was all for the best
at the time, i never would have guessed.
not completely true. but true enough.
kasia Nov 2018
the feminine body, the feminine aura
was glorious. and she wanted to be glorious.
she could see it real in her mind's eye,
          feel it there in her body's soul.
the ***** of Her spine as She arches Her back
the curve of Her hips
the softness of Her touch...

          and men...
well, she never did see men as glorious.
          never could, it wasn't so.
there was a certain admiration, she supposed,
          one could hold
                    for their figure,
the magnificence of the human body.
but that gloriousness,
          the kind found in the tenderness of Her kiss,
                                      in the strength of Her self,
          that, they lacked.

so that's not why she envied them,
          but envy she did.
the way their clothes fit,
          the way they could move,
                    the way she could not.
they held convenience, she guessed.
she guessed.
          is that what she wanted?
          just a body so convenient?

the body of Woman
          still surely was not
          surely it was not
          surely not on her.
it was imperfect on her,
its beauty dimmed down.
a costume ill-fitted that she couldn't tear off.
and convenient masculinity
a disguise too well made,
an impression ill-suited that wouldn't wear off.

she was wrong, she was wrong!
          boy, girl, what?
was she wrong?
she wanted to be beautiful!
          it was Woman she admired.
she was not, they called her "boy"
          but of that role, she'd long tired.
help!
what happens if you never find a place to stick?
acutely aware
that nothing will ever fit
someone, please, make a box
          and shove her into it.
agahdjfasdfaskks
some ******* abt what the **** i feel abt my gender and how i look n ****,,,, tl;dr, ****** hate myself and dont know anything .
Why am I nervous?
Walking down the street
Getting into my car
Walking down the isle in a grocery store
Remember always, don’t ever park far
You know you’re the kind of girl men will adore
Martial arts, spend the money
Promise dad I’ll try but you know
Nothing will change men’s hunger for honey
It’s not just the boys that call out from their cars
Or the old men that stumble home from the bars
It’s the man who asks for help with a plan for the night
And steps into the elevator, a situation just right
It’s an old friend who you just knew you could trust
And never would have guessed that family love to be ****
It’s the tutor that had stuck by you for years
That taught you to learn and to conquer your fears
Who says wow you’ve grown, you’re more full than before, and your clothes fit much tighter
Again that was four years before
Ironic when it turns out the final lesson he taught
Was to never assume a man to be who you thought
This poem is based on real life situations, however I do not believe all men are the same or that they all have bad intentions. This is specifically about a woman’s lifestyle and being aware of the danger there is in the world.
Cedric McClester Sep 2018
By: Cedric McClester

How come she didn’t
Speak out then?
The answer’s simple,
It’s because of men
She knew  
She would be denigrated
Second guessed
As well as hated

It doesn’t mean
She wasn’t hurt
Or that she wasn’t
Made to feel like dirt
Was it worth the price
She’d have to pay,
In order to publicly
Have her say?

Men in general
Have no idea
What it’s like to live
In that kind of fear
Of being shamed
Or exposed
To the whole world
So everybody knows

Those who are guilty
Of the act
Are so reluctant
To retract
Their counter narrative
Of the facts
In attempt to cover
Their own backs






Cedric McClester, Copyrights © 2018.  All rights reserved.
Kassandra Sep 2018
I am a gemini so i must have two faces
And i guess that is true
Smile now cry later they say
I’ll cry later in my room.

Pretty faces all around dont let them see,
I cry in front of the mirror as my other face leaves with my makeup wipe.

Im sad but you must have guessed that now.
You know cause ive made it blantly clear,
Yet my family and friends dont suspect a thing.
They dont see that im as fake as can be.

Its not ones fault but mine, cause no one wants a pretty girl with a dark side.
Smile now cry later they said.
I guess thats how it’ll be
Im sorry for all the sad poems i just need to write.
CE Green Nov 2018
For a series of seconds at a time
I catch myself.
Do you catch yourself counting?
mulling over innocuous extravaganza?
Pardoned on proverbial Main Street while adding raindrops to puddles?
Carrying the 3 and wondering so many things!
But mostly
Who turns the lights back on?
When one is swept away.
When we are busy wrapping our most precious belongings and tucking them away for unprecedented purposes.

Now, I can't imagine you've guessed who keeps the lights on.
After all, they were gone before you could blink and Netflix was an afterthought in your dream riddled head.
***** and provocative her wool socks turning you on inhaling burned sage, department store perfume so perfectly autumnal.
More rainfall obliterates electrical transformers, everybody's famed ******.
But who turns the lights back on?
Lost Dec 2018
I cannot bear the sun.
It makes me sing
and pierce my lungs.
We're left with all the kings but one.

The ballroom has no door,
the windows tall,
stars claim the floor.
I should have guessed they'd ask for more.

I take of it and eat.
I need not search.
Nor take a seat.
For human meat lies at our feet.

There was no room to dance.
They ask for more
with sideward glance,
then claw the floor with paws and hands

Their overcoats are torn.
The blue turns red
the hunger fed.
And roses break the stone with thorns.

I cannot bear the sun.
For dare it rise
we might realize
that no one in this room has won

— The End —