"permission" poems
Recalling your name;
as each letter of your name
slips and slides off my tongue
the seductive visuals of
getting you off have begun
touching your venus fly trap
with my taste bud
making your goosebumps bud
until your river runs
and your floodgates flood.
Won’t even say your name
just sound it out -- until you are overcome.
Submit to my strength; of my passion
with my permission.
applying pressure;
until you are well-cum.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
You are beautiful
No matter your size, skin color, religion or sexuality
Don't ever let anyone doubt that
Life would be boring without diversity
You are beautiful
and the lenght of your dress tonight doesn't justify anyone calling you a **** nor gives them permission to grab your tight
Only you can give them consent
And remember to say no is your right
You are beautiful
wear those strechmarks with pride
They are perfectly normal and natural
Don't look at them as flaws
Your body is a miracle that you don't need to hide
You are beautiful
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
I want
To fall in love with someones smile
To swoon under their gaze
To become dizzy with their touch
I want
To crave someone like an addiction
To nestle up to their warmth
To get an adrenaline rush from their scent
I want
To hold them and never let go
To tell them how much I love them everyday
To keep discovering them like it's my personal quest
I want
To give them my heart
To love them for all that they are
To keep them from the tainted world
I want
But what can I do with these contaminated hands?
How dare I try to hold them close with these hands of mine flowing thick with lies?
To tell them sweet nothings with my corrupted tongue?
My love
Is like a wildfire
Sudden, quick, and innocent
Without my permission my little spark turned into a flame
And consumed everything that contained a letter in your name
My love
Is like a wildfire
Untamed, ephemeral, and dangerous
It destroys all it touches,
Breaking barriers, burning bridges
It envelopes everyone in its warmth leaving no option but to run or turn to ash
Beware of my wildfire love
You cannot leave unscathed
I leave a scar
Beware of my wildfire, love
Because I'll burn enough for us both
I'll keep you warm on cold nights and dry on rainy days
I will set your heart ablaze and love you with all the force of my wildfire
Beware of my love,
It can't be forgotten nor replaced
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.
I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.
I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.
I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.
I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.
I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.
I don't mean to cramp your style...
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Meeting you gave me the permission
I sought in myself.
To get out & explore in a sense
that it feels like home.
Being with you, the best idea yet.
Small petite buildings, towering
buildings.
Everyday feels brand new
I don't feel the need to stay cooped
up inside a room.
With you I want to get out &
explore and sleep when there is
time.
I've never been to a place like
this before.
I've never tasted food this good
before & for once,
There are no distractions, no other
place to be.
The lights that shine from your eyes
The thoughts that travel fast like cars.
I've never been to a city like this
before, the best idea yet.
When people ask me where I've been
I call your name.
When friends ask me where I'm going
I call your name.
And I can't wait until I get back there
Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 6:33 PM UTC
My hands have betrayed me.
Once the means to write pages,
Now my hands are only dead weight.
My hands won't pick up a pen.
Or even type short,
Choppy sentences.
They dangle at my sides
And find refuge in my hair,
Leaving me bleeding.
Like my hands,
My mouth has declared itself
My enemy.
Once the passageway for words
To explain myself,
My mouth is now as useful as a broken bridge.
With nothing of value to say,
It talks
And sings anyway.
It opens without my permission
But stays closed whenever I try
To scream meaning.
The inability to illustrate
Or translate my mind
And my soul
Is not an unfamiliar ordeal.
But it's lonely on the outside
And frustrating looking in.
It seems I'll always feel like an alien.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
Be kind to yourself.
You have come so far.
Each emotion you feel tattooed
to your skin
the seasons wash away like chalk.
Be kind to yourself.
You are braver than you thought.
No longer scared of what lies
beneath your bed
but what awaits when you wake up.
Be kind to yourself.
You are worthy of love.
Only you give permission
for forked tongues
to leave passing words as lasting scars.
Only you can adopt old failures
and stack them as obstacles
upon each new path.
You cannot dictate what will be
only – who you are.
Be kind to yourself.
You are doing enough.
You cannot always be switched on.
Sometimes you have to lay down
and breathe –
it is not greed.
If you are always exhausted
you cannot help anybody.
Be kind to yourself.
You did not grow
from a single cell
born from a dying star
in order to feel so small.
You did not close the door
on friends when you expected
more from them.
Why beat yourself up
for who you were before?
Be kind to yourself.
A faltering dancer who gets up
again and again
draws the loudest applause
at the curtain call.
A person who spent half their life
at war with themselves
knows the value of peace,
the feat of getting out the house;
the measure of good mental health.
Be kind to yourself.
You have come so far.
They say ten thousand hours
is the time it takes
to master an art.
You spent so much longer than that
learning the patterns of your heart.
You can pull at those common threads
that keep you together
even when you are falling apart.
Be kind to yourself.
You are stronger than you thought.
Like Leonard says,
“there’s a crack of light in everything. “
You do not have to be perfect.
You do not have to live in the dark.
Be kind to yourself.
Make sure you get to the end.
Do not worry
how you stumbled at the start.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
Mom makes you smile for a picture in front of the bus
on your very first day of school,
"You only have one first day of kindergarten!" she says.
But every time you hear the scratching of leather seats,
You are back to that day
When tears rolled off your tiny pink cheeks,
onto the front of your Lion King tee shirt
The first time you ever had to be afraid that you
would never see her again.
Brother tells you not to worry about the boy that bothered you,
the impact of a fist on his right eye is a warning
that guarantees he'll never disrespect a girl again.
But every time you step in the pebbles on a playground,
You're still struggling to run just slow enough not to slip
yet fast enough to keep from being caught and held captive
by the first boy to ever kiss you without permission.
Grandma tells you to "appreciate today" every day
because you'll never get it back.
But every time you hear the crash of waves against a shoreline,
You're there with her in your favorite place in the world.
And the sun is overhead with looks of never coming down,
But you'd be okay if it did because you swear these colors of
the sunset don't exist when you see it from anywhere else
And you never feel so close to God as you feel right here.
Dad is sad when you're growing up
because you'll only be little once.
But every time you get the surprising scent of metal and grease,
You're five years old again and dad is getting home from work
and he lifts you up in a hug and you bury your face in his shirt and breathe in,
And you're confident that he will carry you to bed later that night
on that same shoulder when you fall asleep on the couch.
You're told over and over to forgive
and your mother keeps trying, too.
But every time a green van passes by,
you're a vulnerable twelve-year-old with a record that says easy prey
and you're back at that police station and you're both still crying
and forgiveness still seems so far away.
Everyone tells you that "first love"
is something you only feel once.
But every time September rolls around,
You're still staring back into the first eyes to look at you in awe,
His palms feel sweaty in yours but you don't mind.
And you can still taste his lips and smell the sweet mint Stride on his breath
and you feel everything.
It’s strange how they promise that you can't turn back time,
yesterday is gone,
today will only happen once.
Because I go back all the time;
And I still feel everything.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
I am Christian. I believe in the
Trinity of the Holy God, The Son, and The Spirit,
I believe that Jesus is the Son of God and the savior of mankind
I own more than three Bibles
I teach Sunday School every week and
I pray every night.
I am Christian,
And as such I
Hate queer....
Phobia. I can not stand intolerance
And I cry at hatred,
Blood running in the streets,
Fear running in veins,
Running away from the truth.
I am Christian, yet
There are bloodstains in my Bible
And the prayers on my lips
Are for forgiveness for who I am.
The entire story of ***** is
Crossed out, blacked out angrily
In the dead of night
In all 4 versions,
Leviticus is blurred,
Wrinkled with my tears,
Soaked with my pain.
I am Christian
And I am not homophobic.
I know my church won't recognize
Non cis-het marriages,
Leaving entire worlds of rainbows in the dark
The higher-ups insist
Weddings are white, shiny, husband-and-wife, happily-ever-after affairs
That shove me and my friends, my family, my lovers,
Into closets of heavenly wrath and
Fire and brimstone sermons,
Locked into personal hells of shame
And confusion.
I am Christian
And I am not straight.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He loves me because I try not to hate.
So to the homophobic Christians, I ask:
Who is your God?
Who is your God that supposedly condemns people He has created in his own image?
Your rainbow picket signs are nothing but a cruel mockery of a covenant
Not truly shared by you.
Your tongues are no better than the viper's who called Adam and Eve to sin,
You are the vipers of my world.
Do you think you avoid judgement
When trans teens are killed
By the bullets you spit with your words?
Who is your God,
That tells you to picket the funerals
Of those you hate?
Who is your God,
That refuses to let you open your heart to differentness?
I am Christian,
And I don't need your permission to
Love my God.
Take my scars and tear-stained Bibles,
Listen to my fervent prayers,
Watch my lips tremble when
I listen to my pastor.
I don't need your permission
To love who I want,
In fact I don't want it.
Take my midnight screaming and fear of coming out,
Listen to my frantic pleading for a hand to hold,
Watch my eyes linger on her chest.
I am Christian.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He hates you who refuse to love
While you carry His name, if
Not his blessing.
So I ask again
Who is your God?
Because mine loves all of me,
All 5'6" of queer pride.
Who is your God?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
***Crossing the room in slow motion
She watches his muscles move in the moonlight
Oh how they glisten in anticipation
Sit my pet, in a whisper
At her feet he waits with bated breath
So pleased at his obedience
Proceed
Such a simple command
He inches closer
His eagerness evident in his silence
In his omission of a proper response
An outfaced palm and he stops short
Sitting back on his feet, hands in lap, eyes to the floor
I'm sorry Ma'am, he says
That is evident by his failure to respond
He knows what is coming
Grabbing the back of his hair she forces his eyes to hers
Position, she says disgustedly
She leans back in the armchair as he pulls her hips to the edge
He lifts one leg and gently places it over the arm
Then he positions the other in the same manner
Sitting back on his feet, facing the floor
His arousal is evident, as is his moist anticipation
Respire.
The word is grunted through gritted teeth
He leans into heaven
Hovering an inch away
Slow deep breaths
He breathes in her essence wanting nothing more
Than to bridge the gap with his tongue
White satin and peekaboo lace
She runs down the rules of his punishment
Will you touch the Goddess
No Ma'am
Will you drool on the Goddess
No Ma'am
Will you move without permission
No Ma'am
How long will you hold your position
As long as my Goddess sees fit...Ma'am
Good boy
His breath is slow, deliberate, and heavy
The heat of it permeates the thin fabric
She runs her hand over the object of desire
Accentuating the outlines of what lies beneath
An accidental whimper
Silence!
A gruff command
Followed implicitly
In a slow and graceful motion
A hand slips under the fabric
Opening her flower releasing a hint of nectar
The scent grows exponentially upon the unfurling of petals
A glistening finger touches him just above his lip
Is that what you want?
It's a rhetorical question
Yes please
What will you do to get it
Such a simple question with but one answer
Anything you please, Goddess
Stick out your tongue
He does so in silence, careful that he does not touch her
She uses his wet flesh to wipe her finger clean
Closer she whispers
Now, within a half inch he breathes her in deeply
Mesmerized by the dewy goodness held behind the smooth satin
Watching desire grow in painfully slow motion
He blows out on the growing dampness
As he waits for her next command***
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
the sounds are there, they come through walls
right around the corner
they're not visual, they're miserable and in need
they're equal opportunity exhibitionists
lovers of a family get together, taking everything in
parasitic and aware, destitute and stuck
but they're also there at the wrong time
the wrong time for the person who's alone
the wrong time for a person who's disconnected
because they want to be enjoying peace and quiet
alone
by themselves in an old house
with summer outside making its noises, crickets
trees rustling under a jeweled sky, the pinnacle of up high
breathing in the home air of cannibus, lotion and food
being disturbed is far from a thought, but unavoidable
simultaneously
because the house has a strange history
the basement floods, and the machinery kicks in
the mind ponders as the constellations wander
the nights grow and shrink, the body is dry, bone dry
the shower is turned on, soap, shampoo
lost in the mind on autopilot
until the spine stiffens
its without a doubt that I'm not alone now
a minute ago i was the master of this house
a minute ago I was naked in the hallway, smoking a cigar
now I've been usurped and I just want to barricade myself
in this house that I've live in for 15 years, now i beg for permission
to stay just one more night
I beg because how could I possibly fight
It's my conscious or the pontius pilate
I hope it's the former, because if not, blowout the pilot light
There's little hope for re-ignition or stellar recognition
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news, printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
the feelings of hurting i've been
having since you told me the way you work
are not the worst that i've felt all
my life. it bothers me that you've gone,
and it bothers me that i'm only bothered,
not dying.
i loved you in a way i've never
loved another soul. i loved you to your core.
i loved you as a being in a faulty body.
i loved your past life's symptoms...
still do.
i feel overly sensitive
to the sun - just by rays and not
by warmth. i can soak in the warmth, i can
feel reborn if i keep my eyes closed.
i can see the blood red, begin
again. i open my eyes and i'm all
blood red and even my breath
hurts my skin.
you told me you were akin to disease,
like your own, but toward me,
and i should have made it more clear
how well i would handle the word "terminal"
if it was you who directed it at me.
to be honest i would love nothing more
than being restricted to bedrest,
afflicted with you.
you have every permission to
eat at my brain like a poison.
burn my heart with equal parts fire and acid.
i'm asking you for it. i'm asking for you.
i'm calling for you and you hear me. we see
each other, stare. you don't answer.
you wanted to clean me up, dust the
dirt of you off me, wipe the mud from my eyes
that you think surely must be keeping me
from seeing clearly. but there is no mud, just
my own dark circles. i am clean
though i stand in the deepest hole i've
ever dug. still you scrub. my skin goes
numb.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
I don’t think you understand,
because I don’t, this wasn’t what I planned.
So I’m wondering how you can understand, when I don’t.
I won’t lose myself loving you, I won’t.
You’ve got me feeling too many different things,
got me contemplating cutting our tethered strings.
Falling in love has me tripping
over my own two feet? Maybe. All I know is I’m slipping
face first into this tangled mess
and now guilt eats at me as I slip from your arms half dressed
in the mornings when all I want is to escape,
wishing I was Wonder Woman with that red cape.
I slip away, but it hurts-
but I’ve seen it; my family, we’re cursed.
Concerning love, we’ve had no luck
I can’t lose you, so I’m labeling us a causal ****
I hear you yelling now that you know my reasons,
promising our love could survive even the coldest season.
But how can he be so sure?
Doubts plague me as I slip toward his front door,
because love didn’t come with a brochure.
I hear you figuring aloud that I don’t love you enough.
You come to the conclusion,
“if this is how you feel, then I’ll set you free”
I got in my car, driving around till the clouds were dark and the clock said three.
Your words had been like knives,
but then I started thinking about my dad’s four wives.
My brain’s all jumbled,
it’s like there was one second left, I was on the one yard line, and I fumbled.
Is the risk worth it?
Could my heart even take the hit?
When I got home, in the dark I saw you standing
my heart was demanding
that I make my way over to you
but my brain said these feelings needed to be subdued.
I heard you say “I love you too much to set you free”
It was then when I looked in your eyes, love was all I could truly see.
My scalp tingled in realization,
as I floated toward you with some type of natural gravitation.
My heart had already taken the risk, without permission
and that’s when I mumbled my belated admission;
“I love you too and I’ll take my chances,”
My brain finally conceded to your romantic advances.
But really, truth was, I’d been under an illusion
because our love had always been a foregone conclusion.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing,
as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness
surrenders very reluctantly,
full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use,
keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat -
a big difference
through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm,
my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken
and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed
whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence
and other such mental knottings
my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape,
coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot,
which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady
stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary
but atheist-acceptable to her
morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the
physical and physics theorems
funny how some prayers,
where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine,
uttered without any contemplation are yet
deep comforting for their inherency,
so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body,
well hid neath a summer coverlet,
wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission
I comfort her,
above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet,
till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot,
my praying reaches the end of its rope,
where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution
no longer needed,
but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping,
not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice
my comfort is her extra comforter,
an offering of coffee my reward,
for my daily work has begun,
and I have many more poems stillborn
that require coaxing stroking
to become
witnesses to living
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
If you want my heart you must ask my curves for permission first.
Convince them you will be the one to adore them, no matter their width or depth.
Let your hands do the talking.
Touch me so soft I tremble and you break the code.
Only then will they allow my chest to open and my heart will be yours to keep.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
Frozen in the darkness silence peacefully shrouds me
hoping that I am breathless, praying he wont see,
this sublime sorrow I am gasping in the pain
swallowing bitter tears seconds from insane.
Defining the emotion each and every time
trying not to echo, balancing on the line,
silence is a killer but not my reason to die
hearing in this deafness will always make me cry.
The shadows over take me, speak the unspoken curse
just as well I am dying can't bear to smell this hearse.
Weighed down by lost tomorrows my memory finally broke,
why is it always my own hands gripped to make me choke?
His hug comforts my stomach blindly in his sleep
not knowing in this darkness my eyes can't help but weep,
obscurity plays around me tries to steal my breath
every time I close my eyes I know I’m close to death.
Panic underestimates the power the black withholds
carving me so gently, painless as it moulds
I sweat out my reaction cause words can't find a voice,
helplessly devoted to lay I have no choice.
Everything suffocates can't bear to close my eyes
repeated optimism as I see how everyone dies,
my mind is there to haunt me it never gives me peace
all the pills digested at will, still wont make it cease.
Night is a blur now confused by chemical reaction
convulsions rage as death excels performing its extraction,
in the mix I see his face traumatised by my choice, it's made
but time has gone his actions futile as sight begins to fade,
regret stabs flesh repentantly too late to change effect
I know he’ll cry forever at his failure to correct.
My selfish, vengeful actions will speak louder than my word
he never seen the suicide…do you think he finally heard?
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC
When you no no want eat Lemmon
'cause it no no not taste sweet
You should not have sugar candy
It's not healthy as can be...Now!
There are new Thai Fruits discovered, in the Tropic Jungle heat!
All them lovely Thailand Fruits! Make you mouth say" Tutti Fruit, Ah!"
All exotic and delicious.. at first one is so suspicious... cause it taste so crazy wild
But, even good for baby child...
Big banana grow for monkey Yes, Thai Fruits tastes so fun funky!
Mango for Bangkok street dancing, All Thai Fruit best for romancing...
GrapeFruit great for big-big ape! Thai Fruit, in my my milk-shake!
Grow head hairy with Strawberry! Dandy Fruit lovely big Cherry!
Melon make wild man go yell... Thai Fruit put you in love spell
Guava flavor in coffee Java yes, Thai Tree found in Bahama!
Now, we eat up all da fruit, lovely-lovely Melon Fruit!
cuase it makes sweet-nectar juice! Cleanse your Healthy body loose!
There are new Thai Fruits we eat discover deep in Jungle heat!
We love spicy Thailand Fruit! Make you mouth feel Tutti Fruit!
"Yum Yum" sez baby child...
Get Fruity Now! Sweet & Sour! Hep Hep Hurray!
Thai Fruit, yum yum yum!
Don't need no *** *** ***
Feeling Fruity all over, sensation of all flavor...
a brand new taste I now savor .... Mmmmmmmm Deeelicious!
Thailand Fruit is now: what we all Favor !!!!
Thai Fruit Taste, the one we love...
All the many are so nice...
Like Mangosteen herb spice
We all want Thai Fruit now, is the flavor in our mouth...Sugar Chocolate Candy can go south... '
'cause dem no don't tastes as sweet...
Theres the new Thai Fruit we discover in the Jungle fill with heat!
It is the lovely Thai Thai Fruit! Make you go go Tutti Fruit!
It is exotic and delicious.. Now no one is suspicious... cause it taste so yummy wild
We feel like baby child... Yep, it make all go hog WILD!!!
(c) 2009 David Wayne Clare all rights reserved in perpetuity - Intellectual Property use by permission
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Crying is not a sign of weakness.
It’s a sign of strength.
It’s a sign of letting yourself go
and not holding yourself back.
It’s a form of expression
a silent expression
an emotional expression
a vulnerable expression
a brave and strong expression
letting everyone know that you can’t
take it anymore.
Small drops of water
coming from your visual peripherals
come tumbling down
the sides of your face
like an overflowing waterfall
From eye to chin
each watery teardrop
represents and symbolizes
you breaking free
from the pain you experienced
in the past.
No matter what pain
you’ve gone through,
every time you cry
you let your past
stay in the past.
You don’t let it go to the present
nor to the future.
You let it stay in the past.
What I’m trying to say
that it’s OK
to let it go.
It’s OK to
break free
and be free.
It’s OK to come alive.
It’s OK to create
your own personal
overflowing waterfall
all over your beautiful face.
It’s OK to cry.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
weak, a baby, or a crybaby
for that matter.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
hopeless, worthless,
or that you are
not good enough
for them.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
never going to make it
through life
no matter how hard
or how many times
you try.
Instead, show them.
Show them that you’re
just a regular
human being
and prove
to them that
regular
human beings
have real
emotional feelings.
Show them that you’re
never afraid to
show off and
let go of your
vulnerable feelings
that you’re
hiding inside.
Show them that
they too can
let go of
their own
emotional and
vulnerable feelings
that they’re
hiding inside.
If they can’t
let go of
their powerful
and moving
feelings,
they will have
cold, frozen hearts.
Bottom line,
we all need
to shed some
beautiful and
powerful tears
every so often
in our lifetime.
We all need
to create our
own rivers,
lakes, streams,
creeks, ponds,
seas, and oceans
full of one of
the most moving
and powerful
human senses
that we shed
throughout our
lifetime.
And it all starts
with a overflowing
waterfall
coming from
the most important
visionary living organs.
Our eyes
are the window
to our emotional
and vulnerable
soul.
That soul is
willing to come out
from the visual
window
and it will do
whatever it takes
to do just that.
But it needs
your permission.
It’s time to let it go.
It’s OK to cry.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
this kids,
is how you do it
in the mid of the dark hours,
when two am is your new oldest friend
when sleep, your oldest old one,
left town on the midnight train,
taking your peace of mind
though she is far away
lost in dream-thoughts caught,
but only twelve inches close,
granting you an unasked permission,
you ok to stroke her hair,
undisturbing her, yet comforting yourself,
every voice in your temple'd altar praying,
one glorious chorus godly chant:
Oh Lord, what would I do without her?
and you stroke her hair and are saved.
2:51am
May 2014
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
Permission to speak, I am the ally of the silenced and unheard.
I am the noise you can't shake.
Two sharp points like the accents I carry on my tongue.
I slither and squirm as I observe what they have done to you.
It's a tragedy what they think of you and how arrogantly they use you for self proclaimed prophecies.
No! I am not that! I yell loudly, but only the echo replies.
Incarceration, deportation, degradation, gentrification some of the words that burn as I spit them out.
False ideologies are accepted as realities ignoring the facts.
I am not illegal and you don't have the right to label or decide.
I am not a criminal, never was.
Don't obstruct my academic path, I will jump each and every obstacle one by one.
I was born free, you labeled and shackled me with lies and hatred but I broke loose.
With my forked tongue I battle your double sided knife.
I am not content with the destructive pattern that has emerged with your avarice.
I will not **** for you and I will not die in vain.
My snake like tongue has no mercy and will not cease until I see dignity and peace obtained.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC
.
Quiet! Shhh!
Can you hear it?
The animals are talking.
No, they are panicking.
Can you smell it?
The Forest is on fire.
My Forest is aflame!
I run, following nostrils singed with heat,
against the tide of the fleeing fauna.
Reaching the blaze I see....
eight of them.
My anger rises and erupts.
'STOP!' I bellow. They turn and draw swords.
My eyes narrow and a look of pure disdain unfolds.
I continue.
'I am Rook, Lord of the Forest Kingdom.
How dare you, enter my domain with no permission
and reek havoc on my Forest'.
A step is taken, toward me.
The eyes of a fighter glower, at me.
The point of a sword raises, threatening me.
I punish.
'For your transgressions and your destruction
you shall stand as stones, for eternity,
and as a warning to others'.
A scream pierces the air as a foot,
then another, compresses to rock.
The rest join the chorus, agony,
as each become statues,
twisted and contorted as
the Ancient Oaks they had destroyed.
My Oaks.
This is my Anger.
Would you care to see my Love?
© Pagan Paul (2018)
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
F**k butterflies, my stomach has birds in it.
My body's shaking, my heart is racing, my pulse is high.
You're gorgeous, and I woke up this morning with a zit.
How'd a girl like you settle for a "me" kind of guy?
I'm usually witty, but my words don't work well for this.
It's just that you're so pretty, you make my knees weak!
At the end of the date, my pulse hit five-fifty.
I realize it's lame that I asked for permission before we kissed...
I was just trying to take the time to aim for your lips.
See, the funny part is...
I was afraid I might miss.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.
You never gave consent.
You even said No.
She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?
She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.
She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.
Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC