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Jess Fleming Jan 2016
How did we get here
where vitamin water turned into ***** and the power of innocence changed to the courage of
alcohol. The boys no longer opening car doors and the girls trading in t-shirts for crop tops that show off
what they were or weren’t wearing.
Where sneaking a soda after dinner turned into hiding a flask at the family party where we used to play games
like hip-scotch and dodge ball instead of drinking hard whisky and Jack.
The promises made in the D.A.R.E. program about not doing drugs or drinking
were traded in for drunk driving and “just one hit.”
How did we get here
where grape juice turned into white wine and a nervous kiss under the bleachers
at the Friday football game moved to steaming up the windows in the back seat of that car
at the party on Saturday night.
The knocking on your neighbor’s door for them to come out and play moved to texting
in the driveway and hanging out means sitting on your phone
while sitting on the couch next to someone else.
How did we get here,
where root beer turned to Busch lite and being home before dark
switched to struggling to be home before the sun came up.
The parents not knowing their innocent children are making children and kids being too drunk to remember
they promised to go to Church on Sunday morning.
Where asking for forgiveness overpowered asking for permission and sorrys turned into whiskey shots
and make up ***.
How did we get here
with a drink in one hand and the other around my waist while you lean into me too drunk
to stand on your own.
This is the first time we’ve spoken since that day last June and I can’t help but notice why.
How did we get here
where the power of innocence changed to the courage from alcohol?
Winter Frost Dec 2014
I am the shadow
I am the support wherever others go
I help them shine even if it makes me darker
As long as they shine for me, I will feel better

But I am the shadow
That can also stand alone
The shadow that also know
How to be the light in the dark tone

I am the support of other
But I can also stand alone
I may be one that is known
As the light that was overpowered by the shadow
Just a random poem.. sleeepeeeeey
Jon Tobias Sep 2012
Vera once told me Mickey Mouse used to be a bisexual
That she can’t have kids
That I should never get old
But if I do
Don’t get diabetes because
Sugar free chocolate doesn’t taste nice

Her hair has that blue hue
Almost purple
It brings out her eyes

Her voice
When it is not overpowered by her walker
Is smooth and sure
Like sandpaper on velvet
She talks like she is already a ghost

I had a dog when I was younger
And he got sick one day
Really he got old
Something about his liver
And he started to bleed out from the inside
I asked the vet if he was in pain
He said no
Basically he got really tired
So he thought it was time to take a nap
And he went to his place
And never woke up
That’s a nice way to die

She smiles at me
I give her change
For the diapers
And the sugar free chocolate
And the 16 ounce bottle of orange juice

I touch her hand
It feels like that one time
Paper tried to be human
And begged you to play along

I played along

I don’t want her to die
But she’s 93
She’s cool with that

She tells good stories
And I know I won’t see her one day
I’m cool with that
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.
Valerie Shvetz Oct 2011
she was a dancer , her name never known ,
even to her lovers she was a mystery to societies curiosity
her actions were known throughout the world
her escapades publicized in the most provocative ways
her passions flowing , no one could fill one could reach beyond the surface
No one knew her outrageous thoughts, no one seeked out her pain
her words failing to the comparisons of her skin
her opinions drowned out by her flowing hair and glistening eyes
her love unsuspected due to her ***
she was a woman of no woman
the way she spoke shot shivers down one's spine
her walk was one that could stop disasters
she was free , but oh so captured,
all they could see was someone they could use
her frail thoughts
her discontent life , her restrictions
restrictions no man could see
she gave herself to all
but no one
she was an angry one not knowing why she was born herself
why she was alone , and why she couldn't help it with all
the physical , skin on skin , caressing
her soul was empty
her mind was full
no one would fill her , no one would reach beyond the surface
reach through her chest...
of her blood
the pumping vessels
no one could see the little sad girl
all they could see is the carnal urge
exploit  it for their own pleasure
someone that would unimaginably cater to their every need
she was a woman , of no woman
she was a misty memory of their days
not a lasting impression ,
just undeniably beautiful
she constantly wondered if she could live through the day
if anyone would see..
if anyone could be the one to save her ,
if anyone could just reach through her chest and rip out her beating heart
just to prove it had been there in the first place.
quite often she would lie in bed ,
dreaming of her prince
he had been a dark man ,
always in her thoughts,
he had brought her more insecurities then she could ever dream of
but for one reason or another she had wanted him
she had wanted his thoughts,
his breath ,
his words ,
his tone ,
she'd dream of it all down to the freckle,
she had imagined a man so unbelievably unrealistic...the one for her,
the only one she could think that could save her
she needed to be saved ,
she'd been overpowered by her imagination and fluid thoughts her entire life,
they had never come true, and this , this man , she knew wouldn't be any different .
she'd often think of herself , her big light brown eyes , her flowing long hair, her unchanged smile , her brilliant skin tone ,
and slit her self through and through ,
she would open her flesh and think ,
there had to be something more to her than just skin and bones.
but no matter how far she'd look
she could never find
what she was looking for ,
could not be found by her painful injections
her constant smoking ,
her bathing in pure water , she couldn't seem to find anything at all ,
and that's when she decided to stop
to end it all
with one fair day
one sunny day
she knew the day and looked for it in everyday there was
but it hadn't come yet.
but she was waiting.. patience my darling she kept saying
it will be over soon .
He was a man of no man
he was the one everyone looked to for anything at all
he was spiraling out of control
in his own excuses for his ceasing life
his own tormenting thoughts
he was a lonely boy since childhood
he was surrounded by people with their doubts and angst
teaching others to live ,
but had never lived a day in his life
he had sandy brown hair that any woman sweetly touched with ease,
he had light green eyes that any woman would be bewildered by ,
dark flawless skin that any woman would be glad to touch
the only thing a woman lacked for him ,
the one thing that he had longed for his entire life was forgiveness ,
forgiveness for his actions ,
forgiveness for his thoughts ,
forgiveness for his grief
understanding of that would make any woman the one for him ,
except that this quality was lost on the world
hard to find ,
he knew
he searched for years
and one day he gave up
gave up to find forgiveness
gave up looking for one that would grant him his everlasting wish
he had given up his life in all
there were no more excuses
he had decided
a gloomy day he thought to fit the occasion
shot gun to the head seemed plausible
and defiantly permanent.
he searched for that day in everyday he lived.
both crossed paths ,
she never knew this but he had seen her from long away
she was beautiful
she had the quality he knew it
sitting in the coffee shop he approached her
she smiled just like with any man
but he saw right through that smile of hers
he sat her with her speaking , laughing , drinking and he knew ,
she was the one to forgive him and he knew she needed this too
this exact connection they had
she saw him as just any other man ,
playing the field trying to taste her sweetness
but she also saw something odd about the way her looked at her
almost as if he was actually looking inside of her
trying to get to know her insides.
this was impossible she thought..
he took her contact,
told her he would call
she thought he was just trying to be polite
he went home with a big smile on his face .
the world was singing to him
the divine was giving him another chance at life
she was a gift, a gift that would fill his emptiness
he came home and called her straight away.
she answered and they planned another gathering.
he was on cloud nine , shooting for the moon
he set off the next morning to meet her ,
he had imagined the way she spoke the whole way
the way she looked ,
although he couldn't quite remember ,
but her essence stayed with him , her smell her softness,
he felt at bliss , utter happiness
when she woke up that morning , she saw an oddly sunny day
she knew this was the day , taking her own life wasn't hard ,
she threaded the noose around the shower rod ,
fit her head perfectly through the hole
stood on her tippy toes on the edge of the bath
let loose
her neck snapped instantly
she did not shed a tear ,
one thought hung in her mind right before she let go ..
what if he had been her prince...the one she was waiting for.
he sat in the coffee shop for hours waiting for her ,
minute by minute he saw people walking in and out of the building
excitement struck at almost every sighting ,
then followed by shear disappointment .
the afternoon turned dark ,
clouds hung around the city
rain poured down
the gloomy day he's been expecting had come ,
he had felt emptier than he'd ever felt before.
he walked home in the violent rain
stepped in the door of his home for the last time soaking wet
took the gun from his bedside table ,
placed it in his mouth and pulled the trigger
within the second
his last flailing thought was ..
why hadn't she saved me. ..
two lovers that would have been
died within their emptiness and doubt that day ,
never knowing why,
one hadn't saved the other
true love.
A fairy tale.
This story(poem) is very important to me and i'd like some notes because I'm submitting it for a writing contest.
Jazmine Moore Apr 2014
I lost my mind when you died
I don't remember the exact time you left,
but I remember how it felt..
and I promised myself I wouldn't speak of you again,
But today i found myself at your funeral.
Consumed with sorrow, I looked into your eyes'
and it was then I knew you were truly gone.
So lifeless and empty,
I was overpowered with grief,
You need a heart to survive;
and without you I lost half of my heart.
So, consider me half dead.
"For I will love you until we become dust, and I will continue until our dust becomes dust."
I don't know much about physics,
but I can assure you I am physically broken,
and if you looked into my eyes, you wouldn't see anything.
No hope.
All I want to do is feel again.
I am numb, and I can't take away the numbness.
I keep reaching for you and as soon as I get close enough to touch you,
You're gone again.
My last wish was to wake up, reach for you, and you be there laying next to me.
Holding me.
Kissing me.
Loving me.
For eternity.
Because I am eternally in love with you.
But you're dead..
and I'm not sure I can live with that.
I wrote this poem about the one boy who will forever hold my heart.  He is not literally dead, but his soul is gone. I don't know if I will ever hold him again, i pray that I do though.
Chrysta Ashlock Feb 2013
Things escalated immensely, which led to things that she wasn’t expecting to ever happen between the two of them again. Kissing had turned into foreplay which overall led to intimacy. Pain struck her immediately, then as quickly as it began it became uncontrollable pleasure.
It has been months since their bodies were last intertwined together with their heavy breathing and hearts pounding wildly. There is no mistaking the scratches she had left upon his back. Never before was it this intense. All of their ****** tension has been relieved from the both of them.
Only days before she had confessed her undying wanting of him, since they had departed from one another’s lives’. Though now they are just friends – friends whom share an intimate relation together. There was no passion, no romance in this single occasion. Nothing will come of this in the days to come.

Days have passed, and she sits wondering if he thinks any less of her for the things she had said to him. What he has yet to know, is that she wants him for more than his body, more than ***, she wants him for who he is. Lust is strong, but it has not overpowered her; he has rose high upon her and is controlling her very emotions. Every time he walks past, her breath is taken away with just a slight glance and her heart goes down into her stomach with a lip-biting flip-flop.
Thoughts flash back to when their bodies were intertwined and seemed to fit together as if they were to be one. ****** tension rises once again at the mere thought, and then fades away with the knowledge that was merely a one-night stand. Perhaps it was for the best to never happen again…

Insomnia has overcome her, and leaves her to be tortured by agonizing flashbacks. Memories of past lovers fill her head. There was so much lust and anger in those relations. All she can do is jot down her thoughts so they will possibly cease to return.

‘Oceans upon oceans of gigantic gusts of wind are constantly consuming my every emotion, every thought and memory. If only a black hole of darkness will swallow the memories completely, then I will finally be at peace with my life. Until then I will constantly be fighting the memories away, hoping they will fall at bay.
My ****** tension keeps building up, creating a mountain of frustration within me.’
this is not a poem.
written: 4.08
EJ Aghassi Oct 2013
i saw the ones i loved
or at least once knew
all in existential turmoil

permanent relief
was more accessible than ever
& people around the world
were standing in line
to lay themselves down

that the fear of death was
no longer an issue
only because it was overpowered
by severe loathing of living

first an old friend
standing in front of an empty grave
i don't think he even hesitated

then some women
i once knew
even more so now
time doesn't deteriorate all
it is kind to some
the wisdom and hardening of existence
the stress
creates a diamond
but they would never believe
if you told them
So full of self loathing
feeling worth less than coal or
some other common mineral
in a materialistic world
my heart ached for them
while their aching would end for good

and then, at last,
my own blood
my brother
out of place
a sore thumb in the fray of
pointed fingers
poisoned by his own doing
and giving up
not much older than I
but aged much in strife
& i pleaded
& reasoned
& promised
& reached
but i shed tears & tears that day

i blinded myself from the vivid images
i don't think
i want to open my eyes again
Of course, the one dream I can actually remember was a depressing one.
Evynne May 2013
A place in which I know nothing about, an unknown world
A world unlike any I have ever known to exist, an opposite of this reality
A place only to be traveled to by deep sleep or sweet reverie
A world of pure innocence and raw creativity, a world of adventure and fantasy
A place where you can fly into the cosmos
And soar through the universe until you become nothing but sparkling stardust

A realm where blood isn't pumping through your veins, but rather what flows through is stardust
A world within a world
A realm where physicalities are meaningless and existence lies within the cosmos
A world that causes you to question your own rendition of the word "reality"
A realm that both defines and illustrates the meaning of the word "fantasy"
And is inherently bigger than any one dream or reverie

Something like that of an endless reverie
A myriad of universes and ever-glowing stardust
Something like that of an endless fantasy
A myriad of imaginings and an ever-growing illusory world
Something like that of a castle in the sky, nothing like that of harsh reality
A myriad of thoughts that turn into pictures and skies that turn into the cosmos

Have you ever journeyed into the cosmos?
Through shut eyes and intense dreaming or through glassy eyes and pleasant reverie?
Have you ever left this reality?
Joined the entities of another realm, disintegrated into the galaxy and became stardust?
Have you ever traveled to another world?
Became another entity, fully embraced a potent fantasy?

I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the fantasy
I want to become one with the cosmos
And escape the physical world
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the reverie
I want to become one with the universe through the merging of our inner reaching stardust
And escape this tugging reality

Nothing is more terrifying or confining than what I know as reality
Nothing is more appealing or liberating than what I know as fantasy
I am a soul and I am stardust
I am the universe and I am the cosmos
I am a dream and a reverie
All within a world outside of a world

A place existing outside the lines of reality, a place within easy reach of the cosmos
A world born unto fantasy, a world fueled through reverie
A realm overpowered by stardust, a realm that is not of this world
Zulu Samperfas Dec 2012
Fatigue is setting in giving my affect a kind of relaxed
hereness, because there is very little energy for anything else
Tomorrow remains a mystery, but there will be a battle, I know
the forces will arrive, armed with ipads or paper or their phones
and their judgemental brains of varying sizes and capacities
I am tired, and I need to avoid the unecessary confrontation and most
especially desist from worrying about anything that isn't happening in the moment
the battery is low,  I have no grenades only a small shield and that's
not really enough to battle with, and really, I've always been out armed
and totally outnumbered and overpowered and yet somehow I'm still here
through sheer cleverness.  But I make mistakes and there is so little power left now at
the end that I must be shrewd and watch them like a lioness watching a herd of gazelles
W Delany Jan 2014
I believe I met the devil
And he tried to **** me
No horns did he have
In fact on the contrary
He was fine
And even better he was mine
Or so I thought

Cause love grew even after
Years of waiting and all the debating
Of whether or not
I should let him partake of the goodies

He seemed to have waited
And after all the begging
I gave in and became engulfed
****, I became a fiend for lied in between
It was like a dream and I readily shared myself
And shared all I had cause he was my man
Or so I believed

Even through years of tears
And extreme paranoia
I couldn't break free
There was such an overwhelming presence
That had a hold on me

The devil, a chameleon
Whose colors change as the wind blows
Creative liar and deceptive
Adaptable to playing games
Cause he learned how to be a
Master magician to survive

Enter I who had the nerve to believe
Simply because I conceived
Leopards would lose stripes and choose me

Depressed and stressed
And so disillusioned
But under a hypnotic spell
Trapped in a living hell of mental torment
A sick parody
Cause the reality is
I'd never let someone run over me
How could this be
Better yet, where's the real me

Lost and confused
Chest compressed ****, how can I be blessed
Awakened by visions of years of bad decisions
Made my heart stricken as I pant for breath
Cause images of famine and death
Was much more than I could fathom
Life passing me by became my anthem
The subtle whispers of despair was introduced to me
And seduced me effortlessly

Caught in a web of drama and demise
Soul so vexed look in my eyes
Yet steadily believing I was a prize
And to my surprise I was just entangled in the web
With many other victims

I began to pray and ask God
To get me away
Free me from hexes and magical powers
That apparently had overpowered me

He reached in and saved me
And separated me and gave me
Fresh wind, better visions
And a new friend
He gave me  provision and I made a decision to stay free
And truly do what's best for me
And finally I can breathe without toxic air
Depression, grief or hopeless despair

I look back and realize I met the devil
And he tried to **** me and **** my dreams
But God is so merciful
By him I'm redeemed
Harsh May 2013
When you looked me straight in the eye and said,
'The other night you were so drunk I thought,
"man, I could totally take advantage of her."
Could've gotten straight into your pants',
I was shocked.
I had been right all along.
All those times your eyes danced in amusement
whilst you forced your mouth to stop twitching
I already knew what was going through your mind.
But tonight thanks to half a dozen pints
you've said it all and there is no turning back.
I was shocked,
by my reaction, my immediate reply,
"so why didn't you?"
though not spoken out loud,
was clearly heard in my seductive smile.
When you put one arm around me forcing me into a hug
and tried to kiss me on the lips
I moved away.
When you grasped my wrists with your hands and pinned me down
leaving bruises in the shape of your fingers
I threatened to bite you.
When you squeezed the back of my neck with one hand
just to prove how big your palm was
I struggled to break free.
Reactions which felt were called for.
Reactions which were expected and appropriate.
part of me, **** that, all of me,
enjoyed the sensation
of that feeling of helplessness
as you slowly overpowered me
the playful manhandling
the alien sense of control and authority.
Even hours later
I'm stroking the bruises on my wrists wistfully.
The back of my neck is tingling whilst reminiscing.
A part of my soul darker than your skin has been unveiled
and I'm shocked.
I would like you to do all that to me again
one on one
in an empty place
and I think I will enjoy the gentle pain.
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 27/05/2013]
Juliet Escobar Sep 2014
"I've been told that to fix the problem, you must first find its root... But you can't fix something that's not broken. I am not broken, just slightly damaged. My mind is like a thousand year old oak tree, and my facade as fragile as porcelain. My emotions act as a wrecking ball and when the night hits I'm nothing but a decaying mask. I fear pain, so I don't welcome love. I turn it away; a ruthless rejection, and send it back to where it came from. It haunts me, and in the night my own demons become insomnia. To fix the problem, I must first find its root." 
Or perhaps I mustn't focus on finding the root, I think the real issue might be that I am conscious that there are monsters in my head and my insomnia is result to the ongoing battle I have with myself and those monsters. Weather to love them or hate them, I do not know.  They save me and protect me, yet they seclude me from the rush of risk and beauty of bewilderment. When I lay in my bed my body feels great fatigue but my mind and my eyes are wide awake; ready to run circles around the world if they could. I no longer think that the solution would be to find a root or a specific turning point, but to end the battle of contradiction with the monsters that have taken over my thoughts and stolen my sleep. So do I love them because they protect me and have made me a smarter person? Or Do I hate them because they are the bricks that make up the walls I have built and they are the guards holding the riffles at the top of the walls shooting every single beautiful daring soul in their attempt to reach the real me? I will hate them. Yes the souls that have hurt me right after gaining my trust are the reason to my hurt and the nutrition to the growth of my monsters, but the very own monsters themselves are the ones responsible for my inability to recover from the inevitable hurt. They have Inprisoned me in this constant dark and uttermost thick desolation. It is because of how overpowered I am by them that I fail every single time in my attempt to breath. They are suffocating me and burying me in a state so dark I fear the incapacity to  get myself out. It is a journey of endless work, the wounds i have will eventually heal, but there will always be scars. It's like an addiction, even after being clean and sober the want of the drug will always be as great as it was the first time. So the fragility of my scars is so great it is completely capable to revert me back into the dark whole if i get hurt or scared again. i need to realize and accept that these things are inevitable and not close myself but open myself even more for the next person. The final solution will be to accept that the mosters?they are their, acknowledge them, deal with them, and never let them take over and do what they want with me. Then and only then will I be able to sleep.
Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney.
Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks.
Our *****—the archetypal genital signal—
Are hidden from sight, &
****** wagging
Will get you arrested.
Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer.

Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio:
(As read by Don Pardo, postmortem).
“Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.”

Blessed are the
Underarm Sweat Removers,
A Labor cohort
Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . .
Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ... Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter.

And Andy Stern’s suggestion,
Probably the best for anyone
Searching for a new mate, or
Wanting to move up,
Move up to a new relationship plateau,
Move up to a higher class of ******?
Open your nostrils.
Take a deep breath.

Bio continues:
“Dr. Winifred Cutler
Founded the Athena Institute in 1986,
Selected that name
Signifying the mission;
Helping women increase
Wisdom and skill,
Relative to
Their Bodies,
Their Health,
Their Wellbeing.”

Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler?
Testimony follows:
“Pheromones magnify my mojo.
I wear the love potion that makes
The most gorgeous gal in the bar--
That kind of gorgeous gal,
Usually out of my league—
Makes her look my way.
Welcome, my fingers
Touch her siren shoulder.
She turns,
‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly.
‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage.
She grins, looks me
Up and down—
Mostly down—
And says, “Not really.”

The verdict?
Apparently, the scent of pheromones is
Still overpowered by nerves.
Let’s face it:
Women can smell fear.
JL Smith Jan 2019
My mind, madness
Overpowered by rhyme,
But no reason
Just emotions embedded
Beneath my surface
Exuding words
Written, not spoken
Dreaming in syllables
Replaying rhythm
Piecing poetry together
From what most keep hidden

© JL Smith
Mary Alexander Aug 2016
The moment those words sparked from your fingertips,
My heart simultaneously
Broke into billions of pieces
At your hand, one last time,
And my mind was filled with an indifference
That I could no longer control.
An indifference that my heart
Had previously overpowered,
But you see, now that my heart is scattered.
Like the ashes of a withered ancient woman
Over the sea, it can no longer remind
My stubborn mind of
The past, and what could be the present.
It's a curious thing-
Feeling nothing. After four long weeks
Of feeling everything
Despite remaining silent for my
Intense emotions were worthless.
Worthless emotions, worthless if expressed
In any form.
Eyes, arms, song, words spoken or recorded.
The pain of this knowledge.
The pain of love that I did not want but
Could no longer control.
But now
As I weave these words together,
My fingers clicking away
Drifting to a place far from my body.
But now,
The shards of my heart, swarming through space,
Desperately in search for one another,
I feel nothing.
It's no longer in my hands
Dorothy A Jan 2016
His mother thought he had the face of an angel, but his teachers and his schoolmates saw the demon in him. Many knew the real Logan, contrary to the darling boy image in his school picture.  His chunky, freckled face was obnoxious, not angelic. Instead of innocence, the look of deviousness came through in those shifty, light blue peepers of his.  His incisors were on the pointy side, like mini fangs, and whenever Logan smiled one thought of a rattlesnake. Sure, he was smart, and he had stellar grades, yet he used his wits to be sneaky, often trying to outwit everybody, appearing to be a prize student in the classroom while being the Class A **** on the playground.  

A big, stout boy, he used this physical advantage to torment his less advantaged peers. When no adults were in sight, he was always trying to corner others at school, pushing his weight around to abuse those smaller than he was, applauding his own one-boy-show of intimidation with raucous laughter and claps.

Indeed, the targets of Logan’s aggression were always the weaker ones, not the ones who would ever think twice about beating the crap out of him. He went to great lengths to terrorize others—tripping them up, pushing them around, getting up in someone’s face to tell that kid how ugly or how stupid that he was—anything that caused trouble. The victims were sometimes brought to tears, and Logan was quick to call them sissies and babies. A kid named Conner, a fellow six grader, was one of Logan's favorites to pick on. Sometimes, Logan attracted a small audience of bystanders, some of them egging him on while the rest were just watching.  So Logan had his partners-in-crime through either entertainment value or passivity—a great ego booster for such a bully as him.

Few kids tried to fight back, for they were quickly overpowered, and they all knew they were no match for the likes of such a creep.  For fear of retaliation—not wanting to be branded as a snitch—most of Logan’s victims were too scared to tell anyone, the teacher or their parents. Once in a while, a protector, a fellow student, would tell the teacher on their behalf.

Logan hated snitches because it would land him in the classroom during plenty of recess times, or in the principal's office. It also brought him a day of suspension, here and there, with his mother threatening to sue the school. A small number of parents were banding together, wanting Logan out of that school, and Conner's mom was one of them.  Conner might as well have worn a target on his back saying, "Come and get me!"    

Conner knew where he stood—as a member of the group of unpopular kids. He was one of the smallest of his classmates, and with his bright red hair and crooked teeth he was a splendid target for Logan’s juvenile jollies. He avoided Logan any chance he got, staying close to the classroom during recess or walking a much longer route home from school, often delaying going home but feeling all the more alone and vulnerable. His few friends all told him the things they wanted him do to Logan, things they wouldn't dare do, themselves.

Kick him in the nuts!

Jump him from behind and gouge his eyes out!

Tie him up and shove Ex-lax down his mouth!

Wear boots with spikes so you can wrestle him to the ground and stomp all over him!

Conner, you should take up Karate and Kung Foo the **** out of him!!!

Well, Conner would have loved to have given Logan a taste of his own medicine, but never believed it could happen. One day, though, he had enough. For sure, he never even planned to do it, but it happened, nonetheless. When Logan fell back flat back on the school sidewalk, Conner couldn't even believe the big boy landed there. And it happened because of him! Logan couldn't believe it, either, sitting on his rear end with the most dazed expression on his face. Conner clocked him right in the jaw!  Conner was David, and Logan was Goliath, and it was awesome!

Conner just had a perfect shot, with perfect timing and aim. Logan was long overdue to get the result of someone’s wrath, and it was about time someone stuck it to him. Yet Conner never meant this to be a statement for all of Logan's victims. He just was tired of being afraid, of being humiliated.  For the thousandth time, Logan was waiting for him outside of class, blocking his path, and there was just no avoiding things.

Conner truly wanted to fight his own battles—dreamed of it, imagined it—but never in a million years did he think he’d ever really do it!  His mom couldn't be there to defend his every step. Nobody could.  

And there was Logan, so embarrassed as a few other kids gasped and pointed. Some were now applauding and cheering at what Conner just did, even the hypocrites who once cheered on Logan’s bullying. Now the bully was reduced to tears, for a change, as the small crowd jeered and yelled out such things as "Karma!", "Crybaby!", "Way to go, Conner!" and "Kick Logan’s ***!"

Conner actually started to feel sorry for the kid as he stumbled up off the ground and ran off. Other kids came along the scene, and soon Conner was bombarded with congratulatory measures, questions, and wonderment at his great accomplishment. Chalk one up for him! He was the unlikely defender, the kid who had the guts to give it back to the one who made his life miserable. This event would become the talk of his peers for quite some time, something of school legend.

So Logan never bothered Conner anymore. He still was an obnoxious kid, but others took Conner's lead and stood their ground more. Logan slowly learned to back down, still reeling from that one, single and swift defeat. Though he only grew an inch or two that year, Conner felt seven feet tall, and was treated with respect, free to come and go where he pleased. He still had his same nerdy friends—nothing changed in that department—but life was good.
Ambika Jois Oct 2016
Every time we argue
I shut myself off outside
Overpowered by my own reticence
Trapped away by my own pride

You fell in love with the fire
I'm flaming and burning out here and there
You only speak of the one in my belly
I feel the damaging aftermath everywhere

I love us the way we are
Fights, arguments, the regular LQ
We form the hurt, we form the surrender
It's perfect as it is, thanks to the MU.

Love hurts - I disagree.
Words do. Actions do.
Love can heal and unite everything.
Undoubtedly, even me and you.
LQ - Lovers' Quarrel; MU - Mutual Understanding
K Balachandran Apr 2013
Formidable in flow and essence,
beauty is her power, cascading like her dark hair,
an invading army of one,
a natural seductress, at ease,
under the red banner of amour,
held out in front, she advances;
all impregnable forts willingly fall.
Her amatory machinations are
perfectly crafted.
                           She is a strategist,
when each of his senses advances,
towards her, she retreats,
when they frenetically chase her,
she stuns with her soft power,
the scent of this woman, makes him weak,
loose his bearing,
                            even when his senses are overpowered,
he poses like the victor of her passionate heart.
His every weakness she knows better than him,
but each  moment covers up to make him reassured.

She is a colonizer,
glib talk, kind acts, a heart glittering like gold.
Oh how well she reigns over his heart!
She essays divide and rule,
each of his senses has
their way of seeking gratification from her.
Once he is perfectly under her control,
she transforms in to a whirlwind of love,
lifts him like a leaf,
and send him flying in pursuit,
of the high point,
consciousness can reach at the present state-
that feels like death,  in a  miniature form.
Dorothy A Jul 2010
The barn door creaked open, and I faced it like a scared rabbit, my breath panting, short and rapidly.

The silhouette figure of Jim stood there, his strong, distinctive voice calling out, "Mary?"

I couldn't respond like I wanted to. Maybe I should of just stood there and hid in the darkness and he would leave. I felt so cowardly and so ashamed of myself.

"Mary! Are you in in here?"

"Yes, I'm here", I replied nervously, my voice shaky. I couldn't stop my lip from quivering, even though the darkness of the night hid it from full view. Trying to look brave, I quickly asked Jim, "You got a smoke?"

Where did that come from? I never smoked before, even when Sue and all her friends did it. How they used to make fun of me for refusing a cigarette! Now here I was blutting out things that never would have come out of my mouth before.

Firm and steady, Jim held the match to my cigarette, but my hand shook so badly that he looked at me intensely. Soon, I feared that I would faint if he did not look away.  In the warmth of the flame, he eyes flickered, and I felt goose bumps rise upon my skin.

He steadied my hand for me, and I took a weak puff upon my Lucky Strike. "What's the matter?", he asked "You look like you saw a ghost. You're shaking from head to toe!"

"I'm just cold", I lied.

In a flash, Jim wrapped his jacket around me, and in another flash, his reassuring arms were folded around my waist as he pulled me close to himself.

Now my knees were really ready to give way. Thank God that he had me in his grip, for I would have fallen for sure. I looked out into the darkness, it nearly pitch black if not for the tip of my burning cigarette.

Sue stood there, hands on her hips in her cocky way. "Don't be such a baby!", she warned. "Relax, or it'gs going to hurt a lot worse!"

I shuddered. Why did I have to think of her! My sister!

Reluctantly, I asked her for advice this morning. She was the only one who knew where I really was tonight. Oddly enough, she was the only one I could trust to keep her mouth shut. To Sue, snitching was something only weaklings and losers did, and she was neither. We were not close sisters, but I realized if anybody knew anything about anything, it was Sue.

So maybe I was a baby, just a step away from dolls as far as my sister was concerned. Yet here I was, on the edge of a fate that was supposed to make me a woman, that made me desirable to a full-grown man. Who cared about Sue now anyway? I imagined her just slipping away, becoming smaller and smaller.

Jim's comforting arms, his wondrous touch--I felt his warm breath against my cheek, his fingers work magic upon my back.

But someting was terribly wrong.

I was pulled into it too fast. It was not me standing there as his deep kisses engulfed me into my make-believe fantasy. As Jim overpowered me, I should have been on the top of the world. I should have felt beautiful, felt like I meant something.

I tried to stop, to pull away, to refuse to go any further. All along I thought of what I should tell him.  I don't want to do this! Stop! I can't stay here with you. I really like you, but I can't! Will you let me just go back home, please?"

Instead, I could not find my voice, or my footing. He was going too far. It was all going too fast, on a runaway freight train which I had no way to jump off from . I felt too weak, too overwhelmed, embarassed just to push him away. Blood rushing into my temples, I felt myself spinning as the room was spinning, spinning out of control like that crazy, old iron rooster skating about in the wind on top of the barn.

Jim lay me down so easily as he placed himself on top of me. For that awkward moment, I did not want to be there, so I removed myself from the situation the best that I could. In the remaining time we were together, fear ruled as I shut my eyes and expected the worst.

Finally, I did find my voice. My scream was so piercing, lough enough to knock that rooster off its bearings from up above. It was as if my soul had been pierced too, torn right down past the flesh and through a writhing pain of guilt and sorrow.

Like a woman in heavy labor,  at last I knew what my sister was talking about. The rip and tear of my innocence seemed so gone away from me. Just like that.

All I could do was wimper like a puppy, the illusion of what love was shattered before my eyes. Pulling away from me, I swore that Jim  gave me a look of suspicion and anger, one that I would never forget.

From the gaps in the roof came enough exposure to shed a few rays of moonlight. I lay there as Jim harshly grabbed me by the shoulders.

"How old are you!?, he demanded

"Fifteen", I admitted, meekly.

For a moment, he just sat there, stunned. The moment felt like a lifetime to me. What was he going to do? Slowly, he bagan to shake his head in disbelief.

Then abruptly he rose up. "You're bad news!", he concluded. He grabbed his jacket, took off, and left me with words that would hurt and sting far more than our encounter together.

What occurred after that seemed like slow motion. The night seemed to last and last, in punitive judgment, as it took me a while to leave that spot, my knees curled up to my chest in a fetal position.

Eventually, I did rise up, fix myself up and headed for home--only because my stomach was growling.

But I did not feel hungry.

I tried to imagine what Sue would say after she pulled the truth out of me. You know you are still a ****** if you couldn't go through with it! She'd have that superior, smug look on her face. And ****** if I was going to feel small in her presence!

I went through the kitchen door of my house. The dawn barely breaking after the dark hours, so punishing and so long.

To my surprise, there was my father's voice from behind his favorite armchair. "You came home from Janey's house sooner than you said", he commented, startling me back to reality. "Much earlier than I expected", he added, almost as if to say, "It's nice one of you girls listens to your dear, old dad".

That was enough to bring about a true confession, a flood of repentant tears. But turning around, as I made my way upstairs, I forced a weak smile.

Yet, what I really wanted to do was turn around and run right into his lap and pour out my heart. That would be the fantasy of a child, and I fought off the urge .

I did not know what I was anymore. Still a girl? A sucker? At that moment, I felt like I did not even exist, numb and shocked to the core.

Sue met me in the hallway and started to ask me in eager whipsers, "Ok, did you do it? How was he?"

I shoved her down on the floor so quickly that she couldn't believe it. "I couldn't get enough!" , I sneered at her, my fist curled up, ready for another comment from her. Our eyes met, and mine were so steely that her reaction shocked me.

Sue never saw me this way, and lay there before me, speechless.
I got away and made it to my seclusion. Before the bathroom mirror, at last I was safe. The tears fianlly came as I studied myself closely. There was no sound, only silent, long, wet tears.

Who now stood before me was different than who she was before, and I mourned the loss of my innoence.
copywrited..............integrity....What's mine is mine.
Joshua Adam Jul 2015
God made every single creature for a reason!

It happened many years ago, an average day at work
when I was employed as nothing more, just a simple clerk
Heaven sent me a lesson, they saw fit that I learn
sent through the smallest of creatures, knowing I would discern

My first instinct was simple, to one all could relate
a desire to crush this cockroach, I could not wait
As I raised my foot, making sure my aim was set
knowing that he'd be finished, with nothing to regret

I was overpowered by a thought, a simple thought to consider
why should this ugly creature, cause me to be bitter?
With great plan and purpose, was this cockroach surely made
but where was born this eagerness to ****, or for me to be afraid?

With great difficulty going against my nature, I did then dare
no more justifications were acceptable to me, for I was now aware
Although small and ugly was my limited perception, I could still care
With this cockroach, nothing would stop me, and would I now spare

Lessons throughout life, does our Creator continually teach
empowering us with free choice, and potential growth that we reach
By contemplating our thoughts, and their true meaning that we may find
a change of heart in our actions, and a true desire to be kind
A short but True Poem (story) I wrote of one of the very great lessons I received from the smallest of creatures
Thomas Newlove Jun 2012
It approaches swiftly.
A monsoon of rain readily setting off
Naive natives and their tiresome routines.
Shutters shroud the windows with irrational security,
Sandbags too are placed; it must be a big one!
Clouds roll and tumble into position.
A sunset evaporates quickly,
Yellow to orange to red and BANG,
As quick as a flash of lightning it blackens.
Pure darkness, but for humanity’s scars.
Another scar takes their places
As a deafening crash collapses the eardrums,
Seconds after its divine light pierces the sky,
The soul and that artificial light.
Darkness now, but for lightning,
Blinding flashlights and candles.

Dewy droplets descend into view,
Dripping hopelessly through a silver fork.
Frightened faces too are seen,
Made more frightening by flashlight.
Rain, lightning and thunder
Can’t silence children’s cries
But can still awaken the waves –
Serfs turned warriors in an instant,
Harassing the horrified sandbags,
Overpowered and silenced.
The satanic storm battles on
Callously battering a weary world.
The sickening sun shines into the eye
And a torn green turtle begins to cry.
About a bad thunder and lightning storm that pre-empted a hurricane. The Turtle in question refers to the turtle on the flag of the Cayman Islands.
The Noose Nov 2013
This independence they speak of seems like a myth
I dipped my toes  into the vast waters of the reality of life
Only to be overpowered by the immensity
Making me retreat back into this place
Where I have remained
Incarcerated inside of myself

Just a conglomerate of disorders
Inhibited by chemical imbalances
Needing constant reassurance
Like a child

My desire for nothing less than perfection outside of this unreality
making me cling on to apron strings
That should have been severed many a moon ago
MonsterInsideMe Dec 2014
The pieces have been put together
the tears have been repaired
the blanket enwraps us once again
now stronger
out of the city's reach
away from the hurricane
its beauty pierces through the hurricane
making all the gray turn to pure white fabric
which is sewn into the blanket
the city watches in horror
as the blanket becomes larger
even more magnificent than before
the angels sing
the wedding bells ring
as we inter twine ourselves withen the blanket
letting each other know
that we have overcome the city
overpowered the hurricane
and now can bond as one
as the kiss is shared
we may be a part of the blanket
permanately bringing sunshine to the city
the city fights but the blanket,
the blanket is too overwhelming and beautiful
love marriage together overpowering beautiful
Alone simmering rejected by the system
made to live without supervision.
Changes made to save the money
suppoesed to be on medical guidance.
Though not taken for over a week
somebody's life will soon be bleak.

Roaming the streets bored and confused
lack of medication beginning to tell.
In his pocket a knife he liked so much
no medical staff had made a visit.
Agitation growing he walked in a daze
a girl talking turned him out of phase.

Nobody knew what was about to happen
this young man charged knife in hand.
Slashuing and thrusting people scattered
disbelief screams and cries of pain.
Seconds passed the man overpowered
on the pavement the policeman towered.

Amazing seriously hurt but alive the victims
rushed urgently to the local hospital.
The man hancuffed taken into custody
even now he was fighting so petrified
scared and lacking his medical control
the failing system had taken its toll.

How many more are there with no support
and another avoidable tragedy to report?

The Foureyed Poet.
Trying to save money on mental health issues has caused serious problems.
Alyssa Yu May 2013
There once was a girl
Who hid herself from the world
She put on mask after mask
And faked every smile

But at sunset
She would unwrap the layers of her chrysalis
And sprint to the window
Looking frantically for that first glimmer of light
Wishing, hoping, praying on its dim sparkle

And she’d spend the rest of the night
Gazing into the evening sky
Drowning in the expanse of galaxies
Tracing imaginary constellations with her fingers
Searching desperately for a little star of her own

She lost herself many times
Pursuing the twinkling specks in the distance
Until she finally met the sun
A boy who reminded her that one star burns brighter than all the rest
He overpowered the twilight of her heart
And ignited fire from the ashes in her veins

Now she spends her nights
Eagerly awaiting the dawn instead

And when the hands on the clock move too slow
The minutes stretching into weeks
His reflection in the imperfect moon is her comfort
Like the brush of his hand gently kissing her cheek
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
the art of repetition they say, be ashamed of it they say... but it still resonates, why should i feel ashamed of repeating myself when physicists are trapped in revising the big bang theory; it's not exactly repetition, it's revision, i'm revising but at the same time moving on, with these scenarios still intact, like that time i wrote that frost on cars when walking past them resembled paparazzi camera flashes on the red carpet at a film premier.

my two maine ***** are weird,
the large ginger one (male),
quarus, thinks he's a window-cleaner,
he pretends to be running
rubbing his paws against windows,
****** weird,
weighs as much as an adult fox
~10 kilograms,
i should know, i was desperate for
beer and a sleeping pills concoction
and was about to travel a few miles
to an off-license next to the brothel
i went a few times to buy them,
lo and behold and dead fox on the pavement,
backing up to empty two bin-liners
i put the fox in them, had to witnesses
at 5a.m., started walking home,
would have taken a selfie, but i thought
a bit of the occult and bringing a dead
animal house into the house would
cause me bad luck, so i brought the scales
out and measured the poor ******* weight,
like i said, ~10 kilograms,
~115 kilograms of me, plus the fox,
walked into a field of shrubbery and
threw the poor ****** into the shrubbery,
didn't buy the beer, but then i created
a shamanic relationship with foxes,
one time i lay on a green patch at night
(because foxes only come out at night
in suburbia for their thievery),
drank a can of beer while the fox nibbled
at the parasites on its skin,
i admit, none jumped ship and jumped on me...
anyway, so this one maine **** of mine
pretends to be window-cleaner,
when it fact he smudges his paw-prints on
the other little one, the female,
veronica, does something similar,
but she doesn't think she's a window-cleaner,
she paupers with her paws as if nodding,
she puts them together and does a motion
like a gesticulation to prayer, when she wants food,
and she squirms her eyes in a pleading way
akin to, what shakespeare might have
said about two hands clasping...
and yes quarus has these furry extensions
on his ears like a lynx...
and yes veronica is long-haired
which makes all mongrel cats look a bit small
even though she's small herself...
but one's a window-cleaner pretender
and the other is a devotee in some weird
association with a buddhist ritual...
i'll never get the hang of this -
but yeah, a mature fox weighs ~10 kilograms...
god i almost puked sniffing out the blood
coming from his snout in the cold winter air.
i got it! the cat thinks the window-cleaners
are mimes, that they're miming some sort of representation
of seeing the invisible, well, ok, see-through,
but it's like the cat is telling window-cleaners
something akin to atheists telling the vigilant prayer-mat
hopefuls whether they know if god's east, or west, or north...
that's a cat, bewildered by window-cleaners imitating
them, and i wish i could explain it to him,
but how is he to mould more sounds other than
meow with his crude symphony of teeth that tear into
raw flesh? i can eat a stake tartar with an egg yoke onions
and gherkins... but i wouldn't eat raw chicken,
ok, fair enough, sushi is raw fish... but like that scare
over salmonella that prevents you from whipping up
egg yokes and adding sugar for *kogiel mogiel

(oh irish coffee is great with this stuff,
it's a heat insulating membrane,
whiskey and black coffee and this stuff that's
like a yellow runny yellow meringue on top -
contradictory, but no light is involved,
so out goes the truth about black attracting
light and warming you up, this is pure sunshine
afloat - this stuff acts like an insulator -
it's a colour concoction that absorbs
heat, a reversal of what light is, because in
colour theory the colour black absorbs light
which ensures you feel warmer,
this kogiel mogiel of raw egg beaten to a certain
thickness with added sugar is like a return
journey to the sun, where light is reminded
of its heating properties, rather than visuals
akin to photosynthesis and phototropism -
in a rush i probably explained it wrong,
but then the taste of the stuff overpowered me),
marine life can be hosts of much larger tapeworms -
those long lost descendent of squid -
mm flappy flappy flappy; at least octopuses
provide an ink-well, natural post-modernists in the waters:
spank a splatter... and then... run! well, tense up
the stationary wriggle and imitate what in an
atmosphere is a jump.
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.
Madelin Nov 2012
This is the stuff of pamphlets,
Stories books and magazines tell
(But always about people who aren't you)
About the girls who walked alone --
Drank too much --
Not me.
Me -- athletic, fit.
Even feisty, some might say.
I'm not me now, though.
I'm less than a person.
I think of things that can't move --
Garbage bags, hotel pillows.
Me -- quick-witted, smart.
I think of things that can't think.
Can't breathe. I can't.
I wish I couldn't hear.
Choking on my own digust --
With who?
I am not a person.
Elizabeth Oct 2013
When she comes out too early, is she hoping for attention?
She does not get it, nobody ever says "the moonrise is so beautiful this evening"
She is overpowered by her rival everyday. Every evening, every morning.

Sometimes she puts on makeup, an orange hue
An attention getter, these are the only nights we talk about her, create gossip of her rare beauty

There is a side we do not know, she holds mysteries the world may never discover
And her secrets, dark and alluring
Yet she attracts no visitors, the era of investigation dead and gone

Will she ever feel the love that her dear mother receives?

Does she cry when she is gone?

Would we even notice her absence?
She can't even look away from her ignorance, always facing her demising audience
If only people would pay more attention. Someday she may just disappear to gain revenge

And then what?
Nikki Longmuir Jul 2013
I was as young as air is fresh on the first spring day
I roamed around my tired, empty house,
With only the crackling of the radiator for conversation
A combination of boredom and thirst
Motivates me as I waltzed into the kitchen

Purple faded headphones blasted
A spice girls song from around my neck
I stretched my arm out as far as I could
to **** open the refrigerator
The last water bottle in front of me
I took without a second thought

Eager for the cool comfort of crisp consolation
I tilted my head back, allowing a delicate stream to enter
In a brief, abrupt moment, a cigarette
**** meets the tip of my tongue
Immediately I spat out the uninvited guest
my knees embraced the ground
With weak knees and glistening eyes
I begged my toothbrush for alleviation

my teeth were clean, yet the taste evidently remained
It lingered like chalky autumn air
Tasting like rain soaked leaves
It was building a home on the back of my tongue

Desperate I lunged for the freezer
and greedily snatched an ice pop
My trembling hands fumbled with the wrapper,
As smooth saliva slithered down my chin
The first chilling bite sent me into a
cloudburst of algid winter bliss

the foul taste in my mouth
began to tenderly dissolve
Knowing limited time was left,
it clung as if my tongue was a cliff
my hero overpowered the chalky bitterness,
just like that it was gone
I joyfully squealed as the corners of my lips
met my flushed cheeks
the rest of my hours were spent eating Popsicles,
Ecstatic with freedom from a terrible villain
And although it was cold outside,
I felt like a warm summer night
Brandon Webb Jun 2013
Incense smoke billows into the rays of fading sunlight
from the nostrils of the stone Buddha head
sitting on the wooden bookcase
which sits in front of the only downstairs window
that looks into the cul-de-sac

I stand in the spreading fog
listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers
over the radio static
on knock-off studio headphones.

My cousins are outside, breaking up dirt to be shoveled in the morning
and I can hear the dull thudding
of the *** against the large rocks
above both the calm silence of the house
and the semi-gurgled music playing in my left ear.

I turn around to look at the kitchen;
the counters are clean
so are the dishes
and a small plate of freshly baked cookies
is sitting in the middle of the island.

I walk from the carpet of the living room
to the warm tile of the kitchen
and the scents around  me change;
The overpowering smell of the swirling mist
being overpowered by chocolate chip cookies
fresh baked bread
and homemade spaghetti sauce.

I smile as I stand in the middle of the house
kenzo Jul 2014
monarch butterflies and drunken teenagers
dancing around the burning, heavenly, crackling flame of the bonfire releasing their inner wild animal
teenage lovers so deep in affection, lust or whatever, skin to skin, kissing and falling off the mossy logs giggling for they had too much to drink
my oblivious self sat alone, head in the clouds, listening to a guy in glasses talk about astrology and point up towards the constellations
Who knew the laughs would soon be interrupted by violent screaming escaping through people's throats
Who knew the aroma of *****, **** and alcohol would be replaced with the aroma of burnt rubber
i pull up my sunflower crop top up, heartbeat seizing in my throat
Who knew that sunflower crop top would be drenched in blood
as his shallow breathing overpowered any other noise to me
that the tears dripping down his cheeks and blood from his mouth as the only thing he were able to do was blink up at me would be the result of reoccurring nightmares, years of counseling and 5 different types of medication
Who knew I'd ever have to hold my brothers head up in my lap
my fingers through his hair
I saw the fear in his eyes, so I told him to close them.
telling him that I'm here, telling him that I love him and not to be scared
repeating "I'm here." over and over and over
as he lays there helpless and dying because someone thought they were sober enough to drive
Who knew?
Only God.
Only God, right?
In my eyes, that makes him the Devil.
C S Cizek Apr 2014
I knelt next to the bed and rested my elbows
on her pale thighs. Before I prayed, I pulled
a rosary from between my ******* and wrapped Jesus'
crown of thorns around my knuckles. My babygirl's
chewed nails massaged my parted lips, and the Sharpie
on her hand overpowered her lilac perfume.
I dropped to the blankets when she spread her legs
and the scent of impatient desire filled me. I eased two
fingers into her and begged Jesus for forgiveness.
This is for you, you little ******.

— The End —