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Alana Cartwright Jan 2018
I remember you as a dark figure, looming over me.
My repetition of "no" and "stop" was eventually absorbed into the background noise, ignored- As if I was not present to you, only my body.
Something about the way you overpowered me, until I had nothing left,
You stripped away every remnant of my worth.

Lifeless, with a broken heart, was how you left me.
You touched down in the banks of my hollowed soul,
Like an earthquake, shattered me down to my core.
Everything I built myself upon crumbled, and I was 6 feet underneath the rubble.
That was the last of me, the beginning of my end.

I lacked strength to face this reality, hiding from it instead.
Consumed by destructive habits to fill an ever-growing hole in my heart, I lost myself in a spiraling dark hole.

At the bottom of that hole, I with nothing left, surrendered myself to the One capable of healing.
After a long road of war waged on my soul, peace replaced my hopelessness.
The reality I hid from by using destructive habits to fill an ever growing void, I now face with a full heart, lifted on wings of praise by the Lord's grace.
My loss of self value was redeemed by faith. The scars on my heart, now bandaged, serve as a testimony to the power of God's healing.

Where I was once a slave to my grief, I have been liberated. Where my soul was once lost, has been found.
Written in response to a recent trigger of suppressed memories. Before publishing, I revisited this piece several times contemplating why I was writing it. Two years ago I was introduced to *** by ****, and it stripped me of everything. I've learned, sometimes some weeds have deeper roots than you expect, and occasionally they will sprout up in times you least expect. By the grace of God I have grown to be stronger because of it, but only because I rely on His strength above my own.
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh ****, he was asleep, this was a dream!

A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment, living a life of privilege.
Brenna Gracely Dec 2017
Last night I had a dream
In my arms was my beautiful newborn
but it kept throwing up
It couldn't stop.
I turned around for one moment
frantically looking for something, anything
to help my dying child
and just like that
it choked
and was gone.

The night before that
I was ***** by an acquaintance
No matter how hard I fought
He overpowered me
I begged him
pleaded with him
to at least use protection
He disregarded and continued.
All I wanted to do after
was warn the other woman who was there
But he wouldn't grant us any privacy.
Finally, a chance arose
and I told her:
"If you ever have a dream about someone you know,
if you have a dream they **** you,
heed your intuition.
Do not question.
Better safe than destroyed."
I woke up with a slight start
but blanketed in a strange sense of peace
bleeding, as only a woman can
grounded with Gaia.
Chloe Hunt Mar 2017
I am not frightened
by his voice anymore
I am not frightened by the dark
Not frightened by the silence anymore
silence that tore my insides apart
I am not frightened by the bruises anymore
bruises that are not kind
Not frightened of what my body encountered
when forced to make my body break
I am not frightened by the abuse i've encountered
but I am frightened
by the silence of god that overpowered
Nnaemeka Mokeme Aug 2018
On chain they did put me,
******* to the burglary protector,
handcuffed and battered.
Tortured and meant to be broken.
Poisoned but survived.
Marked for assassination,
and shot twice,
bullets flying around,
resilient and unflinching,
was ready to confront them.
Dead or alive I must choose one.
Must find a way out of this mess,
to escape was on my mind,
but how do I get out of here without
jeopardizing the lives of my family.
Courage summoned I revert to plan B,
the art of fighting without fighting.
Intelligence and wisdom must come into play.
Must outwit them to survive.
Cunning and craftiness must be used,
the uncanny ways of the spirit is amazing.
Become like water,
be flexible,
Yielding but still immovable.
Stealth in action but remain like the firefly.
Understanding their intent
and misdirected anger,
their aggression towards me was contained.
Tranquilized and overpowered,
their capture became imminent for
i am more than a conquerer,
for the greater one lives in me.
Today I stand here to testify of that victory against
the intruders and assassins with a grateful heart.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
How I escaped from the Kidnappers and assassins. Wounded but I survived.
Quotedbykayla Nov 2018
“Was thy loved ones’ existence still present
when she hassled an ***** position
to fulfil her responsibilities?
Where she endured multitudinous battles,
inhibiting every single darted tear
dying to transpire.
Her frame of mind wavering as she
suppressed her deadly psychosis,
stirring the emotions of her loved ones.
Unenlightened was thou
that as she rooted in their presence,
she nonchalantly decays within.
Her vehemence veiled into resisting mankind
fishing upon her burdens.
Insofar she is overpowered
by the mere evidence that she
cannot silence her sorrows."
Read pt.2 for the continuation!!!!
Kaylin Apr 2019
Brown mahogany skin rich like forbidden soil of  Africa

Deep colored pigment that drips melanin

Angels rub coconut oil on your skin and harmonize with songs of your ancestors radiating from your bones

Open wounds filled with blood is replaced with fertile soil that holds the caskets of the Sun lovers

Coffee black skin can't get no darker, the sun rays make love to your skin

Wearing chains to wearing gold,
You are gold,
you shine even though your country doesn't see how much value is under that dark brown skin you wear

The stripping away of each woman's self-being because of society doesn't even tear at the flesh of your skin

We don't tear our skins,
they have already tore when the white man whipped us on our backs,
difference is we are healed

We stand as the healing replica of our ancestors,
we stand as the freedom they spoke from their tongues

Bitter dark chocolate turned sweet,
our body is displayed with authority,
this is what the white woman is now trying to be

Your Thick hair, thick thighs, curvy waist, black is the beauty of you no longer afraid to hide

Every single shed of brown skin was ripped away from our mother land,
We are in a land that's someone else's mother land

Our bodies reside in a uninvited place where we play house

Brown faces all over known magazines,
It's our season

They say the times are over of picking cotton seeds,
whenever a black baby is born another black body is hanged off a poplar tree

Our skin may be black but we still shine in the dark

One day the soil will cradle our skins and bones ripped and passed from our ancestors

We will be sent to a place where ears will be filled with Whitney Houston and Karyn White

Where the smells of cocoa butter will dance in our nose

Where the amount of black skin releases so much melanin that the white man is overpowered

Where coffee black skin won't be kissed by the sun because the light is already radiating from us

We will be in a place where our mahogany black skin isn't forbidden
Mae Jan 2019
"You look fine"
That's what they say.
but I wake up every morning with a heavy feeling in my chest.
"You look fine" ,
But you don't know what's on my mind,
My mind is filled with dark thoughts.
And that dark thoughts became suicidal thoughts.
My sadness has overpowered my soul
My anxiety makes feel like a prisoner inside my own head.
A prisoner that can't get out .
My depression drags me to my bed.
Until my body makes me feel like I'm dead.
My heart is like a sponge squeezing by the dishwasher.
and it feels like every second I breathe makes me feel weaker.
They don't understand.
They don't know my pain.
A pain that won't end.
Because of this Chronic condition that doesn't have an end.
Mind Matterer Mar 2019
Standing there,
on the cold, damp sand
in the open air.

Hearing the gush of the waves
Crash against the rocks
and roll onto the shore
-Gently kissing your feet.
The Coldness is overpowered
by the emotions and relief within.

The light finally begins to rise,
The skies grow a blissful blue-
in contrast to the regular, deeply darkened grey;
mirroring the colour within your mind.

Feeling your hair ****** forward
along with the black crow-
The long residing and awaiting crow.

The final release,
Resulting in the return of
light, tranquility, and peace.

The final release
of this Dead Weight
-constantly on your shoulder,
Weighing down on your chest,
and fluttering throughout your mind.


The final release
freeing you from this
Godawful, hell of a disease.
Steve Page Feb 2019
'Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.'

Though one runner may stumble,
two can steady themselves.
A team of three athletes is not easily overtaken.

Though a single note may fade,
two can harmonise in concert.
A song of three chords is not quickly forgotten.

Though a regent may lose his way,
two can guide one another.
A caravan of three kings is not easily distracted.

Though a child may feel alone,
two will laugh with mischief.
A gang of three children is not quickly bored.

Though one musketeer may fall,
two can stand together.
A band of three inseparables is not easily defeated.

Though one disciple may tire,
two can support one another.
A prayer triplet is not quickly discouraged.
Ecclesiastes 4 - worth a read.  It's about collaboration and team work.
You charm around the crowd
They start branding you,

You sparkle in brilliance
They start cornering you,

You shine among the people
They start breaking you,

You listen to them more
The more they weaken you,

You change for them more
The more they tame you,

You begin to understand them
They start manipulating you,

You start feeling yourself worthless
They start being generous with you,

You embrace the thought of dependency
They begin to treat you like Royalty,

You start enjoying being pampered
They start criticizing you,

You start accepting bullying
They start torturing you,

You speak their language
They call you foolish,

You shrink in wisdom
They brand you invalid,

You changed your perception,
They thought you were dumb.

This is a life of women,
Don't let this happen to you,

Don't change your thinking,
Overpowered by anyone,
Listen to all but,
Speak as you want,
Don't give back but,
don't listen harsh

You have a brain of yourself,
You always had,
Use it harder.

Women, you are half of the world,
The better world holds you strong,

Don't wait for anyone to
Your beautiful presence on PLANET.

Sparkle In Wisdom
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
.at this point, in this particular instance, Kant's philosophy doesn't really matter, but it does matter for whatever particulars are left within it for the individual, rather than: labour freely, come and be bed entertainment compulsively sort of man... you can really listen of a psychologist talk, a philosopher will not talk, a psychiatrist will such listen and spoon you with pharma beige and bitter pills... or if you're lucky? porcelain and pale daffodil powder... never mind... the priest will spew his usual *******... the ******* will just construct an idea of a conversation with an O, an Oh-nomotopoeia... every woman is beautiful with eyes closed experiencing an ******... but these days Kantian philosophy isn't pop, thanks to Nietzsche calling the great sage of Königsberg an idiot... i never liked psychology... it was always too sophistry-riddled... rhetoric after rhetorical after rhetoric after rhetorical, yadda yadda yadda... regrets to fans of Nietzsche... i quiet like the the königsberg clock - disciplined man - people would wind their clocks when they saw him pass... and he went as far as 40 miles outside of königsberg... that's dedication... that's discipline... so watching this commando "vs." jordan peterson video... the "warrior-philosopher" mentality: sure... ever get taught martial arts by being kicked in the genitals by your tutor? oh yeah... that really makes you engaged in continuing the classes... a martial arts tutor kicks you in the *******: you become as much an enthusiast of the martial arts classes as a sumo wrestler would become on a vegan diet... "warrior-philosopher"... socrates pulled it off, but he was the one asking the question, not bloated in self-"awareness": the monologue... but socrates is a debate worth... or was he just lucky to have survived to ask the right questions? homer saw the battle of troy... and he was... a ***** poet... warrior-philosopher my ***... what are these, "current" wars about? they're about proxy... proxy wars are not worth fighting... iraq? proxy war. afghanistan? proxy war. libya? proxy war. one proxy after another... warrior at the gym... the actual warriors? on the other side? yeah: they don't gym bro... and they're not custard pie in the face mince meat cuddled together for a bicep... when wars made, sense... you'd get conscripted... but this current pro army classes, coming back into civilian class... oh what tales they must speak... warrior-philosopher mentalities gravitating their egos for a perfect psychology lunch... warrior in a proxy war? dog in a kennel... KA-GA-NIEC (muzzle - chomąto - horse collar - klapki - horse blinders)... i too might have been a... co-mann-do'h... kick in the ***** when learning martial arts? and no sorry? lying in a foetal position? women do that... i heard one story that a woman killed a policeman by kicking him in the testicles... but when a man does to a 15 year old? what martial art is there to learn? well there's only one "martial art"... kick every man in the testicles... for a man to do such to another man... the art became worthless in terms of a learning credibility... even in boxing there are rules about: below the belt... ******* western teachers of eastern combat... so i chose Kant... promenade of perfected timing... orientating himself like a shy sun to each and everyday... mind you: want to lose weight? two options... bicycle or swimming... or the gym: if you want to partake in plastic surgery from the excesses of skin... but exercise is so, so ******* mundane... you'd be better off chopping a tree down or mawing the lawn.

i don't want love to guide my way,
i've seen love being prophetic
concerning man,
and fill man with extinction,
but when i've seen the other card dealing
and have it filled with fear,
i felt a wizened presence of
either my self or god, and i don't
want love to guide my way:
i want fear to guide my treading missing
hoof trot, i want fear to guide me,
whether a fear of god or a fear of loneliness,
i want fear to empower me, for fear will,
i will not ask love for slaughter on the crucifix
i will not ask love for strength when love
gives nil, i will ask fear for all my coordinate
double denial strengths,
that whatever love comes my way
fears me not, even if i should be proud to deny it,
even if i fear it, make love not my guardian
my beacon, not my lighthouse or mountain,
let my guardian and beacon be the fear of constantly
wavering waves of the seas in the ***** of a hurricane:
and my halo will then replicate your ego
concerned with love, simplified by love unfelt
by me in your ideal of love thought: best expressed
by poetics of your kept gentle knees never knelt on.
Kant represented:        0 = negation,
ergo?              1 = sanction
   binary: yes no yes no no yes yes yes no no yes...
how simple: if not beside a coin-flip?
and the man isn't even recited that often
in modern talking points...
good: that gives me a head starts...
like a tortoise being chased by an Achilles...
i appreciate the fact that he's so under-represented,
denied access to a future (reading)
of his work...
  i love the sycophancy surrounding
Nietzsche: it appears that readings of certain
works have reached a cul de sac moment
of saturation, that...
what remains? are pedagogy rubrics of
regurgitation alligned to synthesis a priori etc.,
good to know, really good to know...
but now the intellectual output is not as
important as what the intellectual output
coincides with... i.e. the lived experience
of the thinger... the asceticism that
overpowered the aesthetic...
or rather... how a life dedicated to an asceticism
bore the fruit of an intellectual aesthetic
mostly associated with Kant.
Kiara Plummer Aug 2019
The one I look to for strength,
His eyes like shining blue crystals.
A noble and honest Man;
One who's as loud as a speaker .

Not afraid to tell you the truth,
Or be my knight in armor-
My rock, salvation and my downfall;
This man, my angelic demon.

His nobility controlled me-
Overpowered was I,
I had no strength against him;
I knew he was The One.
Squid Dec 2019
The purest moments
Sitting on that bus with two and three
Standing in the cold with a constant ringing rhythm in my wrist
Nodding to strangers
Frigid air freezing lip smiles in place
Coins colliding with other coins
And stuck dollar bills
Rewarded by thank yous
Overpowered by the ever-ringing bell
Feet hopping from step to step
And stiff limbs doing a dance
Gentle banter with the cross brothers
Followed by the budding romance of the dimly lit bus
The near crushed dreams of next weak
The realization that all these experiences are temporary
The most pure moments
How I wish they could last forever
Though the thought itself is a piece of that same bittersweet purity
I've written like three poems about this boy now. I am screaming. But you know the sonnet thing. Maybe I just like poetry? Or maybe I like him a little. To be fair I've literally had a week to think about this day. And I've had an entire day of being with my thoughts so forgive me if I had a bunch of poem drafts about a guy in my head
Cold-blooded, I am an ectotherm
Relying on the heat surrounding me
To survive the dropping temperatures
Of the desert plains I live in

Like Kal the bearded dragon
That makes his home by my bed
I am closer now to American
Alligator than the Sapien I was born

My eyes translate the world into
Landscapes of twisting reds and blues,
Showing me pathways invisible to
The untrained eye but there all I can see

My brain's limbic system shut down,
No need to fall trap to the emotional
Ups and downs of these mammals
That I share an appearance with

My reptillian brain overpowered
My neo-cortex sometime in two-thousand
Sixteen when I realized I wasn't
The same species as my fellow-kind

And if I wanted to outlive them
I needed to adapt to the new world
To survive on instincts and perpetual
Strategic, calculations ran by a lizard brain

Not even thinking in the same sense
I just act, moving when my body says
Move, my nervous system in control
I am thoughtless, cold-blooded now
My wife
Bought a bearded
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
comedians coming
from Bris.... tol...
oh my...
who wouldn't
    give that **** up!

wonk... wonk...
  i so must h'own
the owership
of succumbing
to the 'outhern 'n'key...

  southern comedians,
esp. from Bristol...
and poets...
coming from Newcastle...
i've never visited

you, me, where,
and when,
you, me,
now and whenever...
cameo the michael
and yes...
queen elizabeth
also did the ****

          i heave my furthered
with having to succumb
to a headache...
for a worth of tomorrow...

ugly ******...
ugly surname,
name as any...

    but he really
the ruling class,
didn't he?
and that's the
problematic emblem of
his rule...
isn't it?

                      the little
man who make broke
the ruling chess pieces
of kings and queens
            of this world...

that's the problem,
isn't it?
the working class
the... "rasputin"
who overpowered
the king, basis,
and overpowered
the lasting trust
in allowing the sentencing

             but ****** was all
since... only kings
are allowed to do all
and in all, but good...

              only kings
can do good...
and people who arise
from the worker's coup...
are of no worth of sight...
only kings....
heaving pastures
of a past....
and men and men
turned into emblem...
making it necessary
to retort...

as long as the hierarchy
of the pyramid stands...
and there is no
adventure-ridden plateau
to... move...

   akin to the collective
of a worth of people...

as i throw my boxing gloves
into the fire...
i expect...
to be given
my knuckles
and clenched fists back...

Sorin Lascu Jan 2019
All my life I searched for someone to follow,
Which left me feeling a bit hollow.

I long searched for a leader,
One who will not throw away life that is eager,
But like ever-growing  weeds,
Those who know of me, will change their creeds,
And they will give me a taste of power,
Then my ****** mind will be overpowered.

Sooner or later, a partisan I will become,
A small token,  ready to be thrown,
At a poker table of those with power,
Am I brave, or am I a coward?

I share no such ideal,
Nor any desire of power.
As long as wine will be made,
And I have a mouth to drink it,
I want to listen to the birds sing,
And observe as the world is baptized in fire.
A poem about false creeds and false leaders.
R B M 12h
Sorry this is so long, I just wanted to lay the big problems out there*

I. Forgetting

Why am I forgetting things when I’m only fifteen?
Like, I get being ditsy, and forgetting minor things
But this is different
This causes me to have to make lists of things I can’t forget
(But what if I forget something that needs to go on the Forget List?)
And instead of practicing my dances
Just once every week, like the rest of my team
I have to practice every night
Or I’ll forget
And I can’t remember lyrics for the songs we have to sing
So I have to sing my songs over and over
Or I’ll forget
I just don’t get it
My memory is slipping and I’m only fifteen

II. Anxious

I can’t just sit in a car calmly
Because when we are a car away from the car ahead
It’s too close, we’re gonna crash
And from that crash, I can imagine all the ways I will die
If I get an F on this next test
That F will stand for everything
I’ll fail at life
And from that F, I can imagine all the ways I will die stupid
If I don’t talk in this conversation
No one will like me
And if I do talk they won’t like me either
And from this do or do not, I can imagine all the ways I will die stupid and alone
I don’t need a reason why, or how
But I can imagine all the ways I will die

III. Stressed

I don’t want to go home
Because my family is awful, and they don’t want me anyway
So I don’t go home
At least, I postpone it
I add to the list of things to do
Add show choir, add oral interpretation
Add play, add study buddy, add random projects
Just to keep me out of the house
And then add more complications
Like, I’m bisexual, and have only come out to my friends
Like, I’m pretty sure my sister is a gender specific homophobe
Like, I have to figure out when to fit my dad’s house to my schedule
Like, my dad has been awful to me here lately anyway
Like, my friends all have drama
Like, they always expect me to solve it
Like, everyone thinks I am perfect
Like, I think I need to convince them that they’re right
It keeps adding
And adding
And adding some more

IV. Sad

I’m always sad
Some mornings I wake up and can’t get out of bed
Not because I can’t physically get out of bed
It’s just that I can’t mentally get out of bed
Because I’m always sad
And I have all these happy moments
That are all masked by this sadness
And this sadness is all masked by this happy face
Because the second someone even thinks for a minute
That Perfect Reagan is broken
Is the same second that the people who do want me, won’t want me
Perfect Reagan is dysfunctional
And cracked in many spots
Because Perfect Reagan
Is also Sad Reagan
And she can’t escape it
So she hides behind her domino
And when that fails
All she has to do is make a new one
So yes, Perfect Reagan has happy moments
But they are hidden away, overpowered, and shut down by sadness
And the sadness is hidden away, overpowered, and shut down by the mask
It just takes a while to get the false face to work
Like painting red walls white
The red is bound to bleed through
Just like the sadness is bound to seep through
Did you know that stress, anxiety and depression can cause forgetfulness, confusion, difficulty concentrating and other problems that disrupt daily activities? I found this out because I am forgetting too many important things that I normally always remember, so I looked up why I'm having memory issues as a teen. Low and behold, I have all three of those, mystery solved!
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
too many fictional stories have congregated,
into what was once a three-dimensional
space, new age agism (joke)...

      but... whenever three dimensions exist,
with a frequented present,
a nostalgia for the past,
and an imagination for the future...

  doesn't it bother, anyone,
that too many fictional stories have overpowered
the rarity of the reality narrative?
  just me then?

         sole idiot, just the only Robinson Crusoe
idiot around these parts,
of: the rediscovery of the world?
just me? no Friday?!
just me...
good good... good to know...

well then... i've achieved the stature of
paying due concerns to a *******,
rather than repenting before
a crucifix with... what... what...
deaf people gesticulate...
         no... i couldn't go blind...
i'd have to have tender skin...
as any blind man would need...
to read Braille... tender skin...
that sort of arithmetic?
you're kidding me...
you're not expected to have the hands
of an aristocratic courtesan,
compared to the hard, thick
layered buck of a guitar player,
or some hammer yielding "minotaur"?!

then i'm thinking...
perhaps all aristocrats should be blinded...
   we could cater for their bodies
in light of their embodied souls
as twins... dualistic...
           save the hindered body,
with what becomes the unhindered
body of what becomes:
an unhinged soul...

              but i am but a fool...
who could suspend such architecture...
and succeed in asking for success
of the originating of the said construct...
Edward the Confessor?
  he put you up to it?!

            such great mammoths of the worth
of man have died...
and the world...
    the world...
                assured itself neither day
gained not day lost...
assured itself neither blink lost,
or blink gained...

just like god said...
           i can't be bothered with what
has become too intricate...
too personal...
too free-willed...
     no... i can't do it...
even running the marathon,
i cannot introduce myself
into this affair a second time...
i "thought" it a great idea the first time

            second time....
let them assure themselves in icon,
and the subsequent iconoclasm of
the anti-thesis of dyslexia...

   all?                         ah...
good to know...
      all of them?             ah.... elaboration
of the sigh...

                                but i can't...
you know i can't...
we drink up north to keep warm,
or. "fool" ourselves in keeping warm...

  ******* with your coffee and baklava!
take your caffeine addiction
and your diabetics...
out of this place!

the sign reads: NOT WELCOME!
no... no Martin Luther King Jr.
speech at the University
of Newcastle...

     no! no! nein! nein! nein!
up yours.

the people in question pushed
the wrong buttons,
and the people who pushed the wrong
buttons unconsciously...

i'll be the last of my people
to leave these isles, on a boat
charged with the gravitas of

             believe me...
    i'm thankful that i didn't **** your women;
i was accused of ****?!
                              not once;
ha ha...
    they still think they won the cold war...
ha ha!
ah ha ha ha ha ha!
the war where there was no war,
and, rather,
    colonization imploded upon itself?
Tiny legs
And tiny hands,
And the thick crop of black hair on your head
Small little nose
And cute red lips
You were born with loaded sweetness...
Twinkling eyes
And twitching ears..
You were born with loaded passion and possession..

The day I saw you ..
I got entangled..
In your beauty and shine...

With day one of your birth
My sweet doll,
You have assassinated the whole me....!!!

Again came the day one,
When you went to nursery..
Cute little legs walking on its own
Smile turned in crying
Twinkling eyes briming with tears
The first good bye I can't forget..
The first good bye you never did...
The Splendid Care School where you and me
Together we learnt our phonics & abc's..

With your journey of nursery,
I repeated my basics too

With the first year of nursery
My dear,
You have overpowered the whole me..!!

Today again is the day one ..
When you start your primary school...
Bright white shirt, green checked skirt...
And shining in a deep green Blazer...
You set the whole school ablaze...
You dazzle with your charm
You smile and run along...
Happy yet again with
Twinkle in your eyes..
You turned around to be so mesmerizing charm...
Spreading laughter and warmth .....

I will wait to write yet another ' day one' when you enter secondary School ...
Till then my dear one you bedazzle me with your magic...

With your first day in primary
My enchantress,
You have entrapped the whole me..!!!

Sparkle In Wisdom
Sep 2018.
My daughter's first day's in various life stages.
Brianna Duffin Jan 2019
I still search for you in the boys
I mistake for bandages,
The delicate deer I mistake for lions,
The ones with eyes almost the same shade of you,
With hair just like you lips resounding your laughter,
Resembling a wisp of your smile, but they aren't you.
I don’t think about them the way I think about you
And they don’t look at me the way you looked at me.
Look at me like a piece of dead meat for the chomping.
Sometimes I pretend you're dead,
Fantacise about all the deaths you could die
Because it's so much less painful
Than the alternative you left me with.
You left me to deal with all that’s happened.
My mom laid the blame at your feet
for everything that happened that awful year.
She was on the outside the whole time-
What a luxury, don’t you think?
A luxury like melancholy poetry.
Did you know I love Sylvia Plath?
Especially that really smart poem
Where she talks about expectations
And disappointments. Disappointing.
You'll never know that even now I think
Most of us are so selfish, we can’t help but
Always, eventually, go down Plath’s path.
Even you. Eventually you. Especially you.
Every version of you except the one I know.
I don't know if you still think of me
But, boy, I sure hope you do
Because God knows I remember you--
You’re insist on dominating everywhere I go
And you turn everything your shade of blue.
That blue haunts me in everything, everyone.
It's useless, no matter how much I try to forget.
No matter how much I just want to forget.
And the pieces of me so desperately want to forget you.
But how could I forget you?
When forgetting means forsaking
And I’m not sure it’ll be you that’s forsaken
Because erasing you might mean
Accidentally actually erasing me.
Because the worst part is I lost where we stop and end.
I was so afraid of you that I gave everything
Trying to make you happy, to satisfy that appetite for blood,
Hoping in response you wouldn’t hurt me so badly
But you burned the empty pieces of my soul
And you desecrated the ashes.
Did you forget me when the room went dark?
Because that’s when I think of you the most.
Because when I go blind is when I see it all
When I can’t see a thing through my tears is when I hear you
I can see you sitting there while I bathe in my tears
Your Cheshire grin and sick laugh bordering my thoughts…  
While I grimaced and wondered if I had yet died
Your deadly force overpowered all of my NOs like a joke,
Your army all prepped and primed and ready for the show
You made yourself the atom bomb, renamed me Hiroshima
So even now I'm up all night, licking wounds, crying myself to sleep
The will in my days no longer mine to have or to hold these nights-
I wake up in the middle of the night, you know,
Gasping for air and I can never seem to breathe.
The sound of your voice, the sound of your grunt,
The smell of your sweat, the smell of your hair,
The look in your eyes, the look of your mouth
They say time is this grand solution, but I haven’t been solved.
But this is not the way to heal, not the way to be whole,
Not the way to get revenge, not the way to get justice.  
Because something horrific happened and ignoring it can’t lessen the imprint
Because lo and behold, after all this, I’m still stuck here knowing how sickly
Your friends enjoyed the show, in fear. So stupid I can’t get it out of my head.
I wish I wasn’t, how you say, “just a stupid girl”,
Wish I wasn’t a ball your grins could toss back and forth
Until it comes time to- Stop, drop, and move on
I should have shut up, listened to the song of my dying heart
You all wanted to play and you all wanted to touch
But you don’t get to use me as stomping grounds
Even though you seemed to think NO wasn’t enough
Another moment closed are my sunken eyes
As the tears gracefully crawl down my face
My body is a deflated puddle of numbness
All it knows is the inkblot of mascara tears
On my skin- and surprise, what do you know-
It’s just enough to paint a dancing mask over
The scratch running dryly down my chest,
And- oh look- it complements the purple
Of the scattered map drawn through bruises
And to top it off, red paint decorates the scene
With a knot full of knots, I fantasize about
Swallowing just enough pills
To make my pain as numb as my (everything else).
I lost my mind as I lost that war over and over
You desecrated and disintegrated the fibers of my soul
Over and over as you forced your poisons deeper inside
The world slowly went dark from the fighting and pain
And still, I scream like the wind and cry like the rain.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
even a week is sometimes
     not enough to recuperate
from a novel -
    something has borrowed too much
time and expects its worth a miracle of
a penny found on the road of
the eternal walker:
long the road toward a majesty
of the riches...

          whatever novel it might be -
and with it,
   a paralyzing ****** of doubts -
whether sober or intoxicated,
not even when: wine and music
and a book of poetry suffices...

just like now:
Beethoven, kalimotxo,
and the preferred gems by
Frank O'Hara to suit the music...
chez jane and blocks...
if ever there is something
missing in terms of
Beethoven: it's a voice reading
a poem,
  but not reading it,
not like a Beatnik who would
read in the furore of jazz
in the past century...
   anything more than what
is still not a whisper...

and like some farce of
the sword of Damocles...
the pen of Dickens...
        not the labours of a novel,
no... not the month's long
journey into the labyrinth...
music and drinking
simultaneously with a novel
will never work...

but a poem can...
my god... some wine some
classical music and... words...

   when there's music and wine
who needs words like
labyrinths when:
  just on the tip of the hour's
passing: a bird in the form
of a poem...

all i can say in the most mundane
   but i have capitulated
all prior to thrill and audacity
for a novel...
   a month's labour:
and silence...

   a soul in such hiding...
feels hardly a thought necessary
to reinvent itself in its prior
   an mingling of wine
and music and words: come and go...

like all novels:
  as much an accomplishment
of the writer, as an "accomplishment"
of the reader...
and is it so wrong
to not be agitated with emotion
that: a month's worth of
base arithmetic sentences -
the logic of: once upon a time
               as the logic: the end...

sanctity of prose:
  that sensible nature of that
sensible afternoon
  of that sensible life,
   of that: unlived crucifix
      of a shadow's confiscate;
routine and sitting
akimbo on some far removed
  of a sea knocking
on the door of earth -
seeking rhythm -
                          or a heart.

as mundane as this language:
i'm not going
to find a different language
to change this evening,
even though not awe:
or relief... but a paralyzing
doubt has overpowered me...
and, come to think of it:
that's still much more
than a heart's worth of
sitting's comforts in
        the armchair of apathy.
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.
Jude kyrie Jan 2019
It was the lilacs
Yes of course the lilacs
How can the spring of youth
resist them
I know we could not.

He was too young for me
Too handsome
His hair too long and blonde
His eyes too blue.

But the lilacs
Their fragrance as heavy
As dew.
My heart overpowered
At an age when love
has surely passed me by.
But he came into the lilacs fragrance.
Running down the country road all alone
I was answering my cell phone
a business call
Then the accident the noise on the car
The sight of him flying in the air
The silence.

All I had thought about
was money success
Spoiled getting all I wanted.
But he was lay there in the road.
I cradled him to my breast
he was so beautiful.

Are you an angel
he said am I in heaven.
From the road the wild lilacs
sang their sweet song
No not in heaven
you are here on earth.

Can I stay here forever
You are beautiful don't leave me
Let me breathe your lilacs
At the hospital he was treated
He is in bad shape the doctors said
he's pretty broken up
I doubt he will walk again.

Can he stay here I asked
not really he has no insurance,
He will be moved to county asap.
Don't do that I will pay she said.

He went into a coma
for seven weeks
I Sat with him every night
When he awoke
he looked at me with his
Beautiful piercing blue eyes.

You are my angel
he whispered.
You saved me
I belong to you now.

He learned how to walk again
I helped him regain his strength
Then he got well
And I realised
I was going to miss him
So very much.

I asked him what he wanted
I would buy it for him.
He said only you and the lilacs
I said you are too young for me.
You will not want me when I get older..
But he countered  
I want you now my angel

A year later
I just gave birth to our child
She is beautiful
Born in the late spring
When the Lilacs bloom.
Happy accidents  happen
ღ ღ ღ

I. The Song-bird

I can but dream of yester-year,
Thy voice a song-bird singing;
With every morn I woke to thee,
And friendship just beginning.

ღ ღ ღ

Crept up upon, and stole away,
Love claimed me when I found thee;
Thy dawn, thy noon, thy evening's set,
Thy crimson locks around me.

ღ ღ ღ

Please fare thee well my song-bird,
Though I know I shan't be near thee;
Thy melody still somewhere sings,
Though I no longer hear thee.

II. Your Garden, I

You but walk past the apple tree each morning
And blossoms fall that they may settle on your breast,
Lie and faint against your silk, I wish to God could I...
That chance you'd pluck this fruit and in me find your rest.

ღ ღ ღ

Would He but let me live amongst the thorny roses
That reach to kiss as you float gently past,
Upon that lowest branch, 'tis me, a bud un-closing;
Though I be trodden underfoot, and crushed at last.

ღ ღ ღ

Without regret or second thought I'd bear thee,
Content to lie beneath the baby's breath,
'Tis still my home in peace to dwell forever,
Tread underfoot, pressed even unto death.

III. Awake Thee 'Fore The Dawn

To pluck the day, its budding life,
Is thus to chance belong,
For blossoms still alive today
May be to-morrow gone.

ღ ღ ღ

To float up to the skies today,
And touch sun 'fore his leaving,
Is chance to dream, though now awake,
And never cease believing
(Hold on to that feeeallliiinnnn')

ღ ღ ღ

Though life in morning's most alive,
And in thy veins runs warmer,
Still tarry not, or thou may miss
What waits thee round the corner.

ღ ღ ღ

Though shyness is allure, my love,
Silence can love entomb;
Some blossoms once they've closed, my dear,
Cannot again re-bloom.

ღ ღ ღ

Please heed this all from he who knows,
And learned with such a cost,
For once I slept in past the dawn,
And, thus, her love I lost.

Carpe diem: Etymology; Latin ('to pluck the day')

iv. icarus

reason (racing)
isolation (self-imposed)
sweet symphony (yet un-composed)
wishes come (a curse with each)
this longed-for one (just out of reach)

ღ ღ ღ

myself, to her, will not belong
(with all my last words taken wrong)
cry with me, mourn this deepest sleep,
the seeds i plant, she cannot reap,
our kiss will never come to pass

(no room tonight for this romance)

ღ ღ ღ

what of the heart that cries tonight,
what of the song it sings?
if i could, i'd fly to you
if not for broken wings

v. think of me fondly

i can be needless
i can be like a stone
as hard as the leshan buddha
we all have that skill inside of us
but i think i need to be more than
a carving on a remote mountain
or a piece of malleable clay
shapeless until molded
by another's hand
i fumble
the unknowable
what exactly is the
future anyways?
think of the
next moment
and already
it is here
want to
reach out
but i won't
though i feel
parts of me are
slowly dying
and maybe
my love
can only
fade slowly
as hers does
for even now
in this silence
my heart can't
stop feeling hers
beating alongside
asking please,
jessica, please;
think of me
fondly, or
think of
me not
at all

vi. dreams

the very second
we wake from them,
they can be so very, very
far away; the harder
we try to hold, the
cruelly quicker
seems their

the gulf left,
       so unbridgeable,
            so enormous,
                 so peculiar
when only so brief
a moment ago it was
       so close,
            so familiar,
                 so a part of us.

ღ ღ ღ

can a person
truly love more
than one other at
the very same time?

trying to find the answer
to that question is like
trying to remember a
dream upon waking...

though i've discovered
there is just enough room
in this one man's chest for
both our broken hearts.

vii. of string and sustain

The memory of your crimson locks
cascading down around, a framing
of such rapture as your emerald eyes at play;
it plucks my heart with subtle quill,
a note so frail, al niente, it rings, then fades away.

ღ ღ ღ

The memory of your troubled soul
revealed before me, bare; sometimes beside
me, sometimes not, but always wild and free,
strikes at my heart, dal niente, a chord that plays,
reverberates... and echos still in me.

(Al niente is from the Italian musical term meaning to fade to nothing, where convexly dal niente mean to arrive from nowhere. I like how a single letter completely flips the meaning).

viii. petals

i close my eyes
and i am there as
my soul leaves me
brought to this place by
a perfect love song sung by
a choir of every songbird that
lives (or has ever lived), wordlessly
singing to beckon me to visit a while
filled, overpowered almost,
by the unrefraining fragrance
of these perfectly unmade beds
of unearthly coloured blossoms
living and lifted by perfumed mists
falling mildly from clear, azure skies
through breezes that gust so slightly
blowing rapturous sunshine against me
and in me through my mouth and my eyes
as all that beautiful light and heat gather
together in my rising, falling chest
and i am so completely whole
in one moment that is all yours
as we are so lost, and so found
in this morning's daydream
at the end of our endless
days that end tonight

ღ ღ ღ

as your breathing labours
your freckled, trembling fingers
separate yourself, and your eyes urge
me to push so strongly against and into
your most secret hungers that i so ache as well
to feed as i savour and stroll down the ever
twisting and turning paths of your
heavenly garden that come
tomorrow's light
shall forever remain
in my dreams yet again...

ღ ღ ღ

i want to stroll forever
searching vainly for our worth
much too fragrant for my world,
far too fragile for your earth

ix. from across the sea

as from a very distant star
whose light seeps under tight-locked doors
your light had traveled very far
from Éire's ever-dreaming shores

ღ ღ ღ

awaiting here impatiently
i was at least before i saw
'twas my heart being shaped for thee
as ice is shaped by spring-time's thaw

ღ ღ ღ

your light unfaded by the years,
a blue sphere burning bright,
that mixes now with my own rays
revealing paths within shared sight

ღ ღ ღ

no images of stars that died
remain within your heart or mine
as all those heartaches on the way
were leading us to what we'd find

ღ ღ ღ

and now two separate yearnings dove
at ending of a long, dark night
perchance a chance at lasting love
lifting two souls aloft in flight

X. Every Verse For You

As I gaze upon your picture,
Though your beauty knows no bounds,
Its your subtler of charms
                           that I adore;

But when I think of touching you,
Pressing my lips against your skin,
More base desires start moving
                           to the fore;

I want to fill you up with me,
I want to set your passion free,
I want to be the wave that crashes
                           on your shore;

But then I see who's next to me,
And I'm overcome with shame,
For it's more than just myself
                           I'm fending for;

Life used to be so black and white,
Do this it's wrong, do that it's right,
But now I'm feeling things I've
                           never felt before;

And as I write another verse,
It sounds so awkward and contrived,
Searching for some elusive words
                           you're looking for;

And if these phrases sound all wrong,
Maybe the night's just been too long,
For it's from a heart that's true
                           that they do pour;

Or maybe it's just déjà vu
That I'm trying to sell to you,
For it's been too long I've lingered
                           at your door;

But if I cannot have your kiss,
Could you at least please grant me this?
Please don't forget me (not just yet)
                           I do implore;

And as your picture fades to black,
I take a very long look back,
And as I look into your eyes
                           they underscore:

                           ღ ღ ღ

There is nothing I could say
That could make you start to love me...

As there is nothing you could do
That could make me love you more...

xi. goodbye flutterby

ღ ღ ღ

                 of light wings
             & pretty things
             & stops & starts
             & heavy hearts

ღ ღ ღ

Not quite day-time, not yet quite night,
Is when we'd meet in briefest flight,
I, but dull moth, thoust, butterfly,
Under curt shadows of twilight.

ღ ღ ღ

Thou would'st trade yellows, blacks, and blues,
For dusty monotones of grey,
Acting aloof, yet, with such ease,
Thy shades would give thee quick away.

ღ ღ ღ

With such stressed seasons 'tween us now,
Surrounds me, life, and all it brings...
Yet doleful thoughts haunt noticing
Thy fading colours on my wings.

ღ ღ ღ

Ah, but to fly now even still,
(Wish setting sun could ever stay),
Ah, but to have yet one more chance,
(Wish we could wish ourselves away).

ღ ღ ღ

Forget me not, my Swallowtail,
Under thy body feel my air,
Through aether let my love reach thee,
Whisp'ring, My sweet, know I yet care...

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

Though it's far better now you've gone,
For I knew well 'twas never right,
For thee to lose such 'lucent hues,
Turning a creature of the night.

ღ ღ ღ

an  ode to papilio troilus

ღ ღ ღ

Tonight, just for tonight,
When we both go to sleep
With such distance and so
Many lives apart from one
Another, I still reach out,
I am stretching to you,
Asking with a long-distance
Whisper in your ear, please,
Let us say to each other
Just for one night
And only in dreams,
We are butterflies...
let us fly together,
and see the world

ღ ღ ღ

Running to Stand Still

ღ ღ ღ
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