PK Wakefield Apr 2010

you are a:
you
her
she
a
an
i
it

but, w
i
shi
ng
;

i hope
(someday)
you might be a

mine

brooke Oct 2012

I want you to make me feel naked everywhere

saying things that make necks hot, face hot

don't have to be so sexual, don't have to touch

Want to? Do so, though, don't be so mechanical

swim on, flow on, spill on, no pushing

the things said should tear open, pop seams

wonder what's inside,  beating

running, ebbing, draining, no inspecting, no prodding

a thorough investigation with  eyes, words

make the most difference, words dig the farthest

fill the fastest, reach to ends that previously had

no end

the end

(c) Brooke Otto
Jami A Oct 2012

Words swathe me in calm,
Sentences, paragraphs that soothe.

Viridian verbs burst through the grey,
Taunting me into action-
Seducing me into a delicious dance-
Gypsy girl, swing your sentences my way!

Turquoise adjectives wrap around my wounds,
Embracing my flaws and perfections.
Rough olive skin; somber caesious eyes-
Gypsy girl, with amaranthine scars.

I drape myself over sienna nouns,
Steadfast, supporting me proper, improper, always.
Paper, songs, tree, sky, love, Jami Lee-
Gypsy girl, use your words correctly!

Each turn of a page lures me deeper-
Each spoken rhyme embraces me close-

Jami Lee, sweet little girl, get your head out of the clouds,
And your nose out of a book!

Frostley Oct 2015

She is the vindictive snow
Beautiful, cold causing her chilling touch to leave me numb
She creates an overload of dopamine for me
But like I said she left me numb
She compressed limerence upon me
The concentric feelings I have for her  linger
This contours her opaque heart
Leaving her pliable words lay rendering in my mind
She applies this solvent to it leaving me broken
Forlorn she left me
Yet, the tactile, numbing sensation keeps me going
For she is the one I love
Causing our hearts to be diptych artwork off our hinges.

Tilly Sep 2013

Angel torches
filter sunlight 
across a vast            
              horizon of sea foam                       
              petticoats. Where                         
 topaz  touches         
                    glittering                  
              cyan         
                             &                    
                             spirals                 
                            downwards             
                          through the              
             deepest dark      
                  blues - no body            
             can exist within            
      jewelled sapidity.    

Not an 'I' in sight :)
Gauntlet challenge completed, Mr Lipstadt ...
Em Nov 2014

I love him
I love her

I'm sorry
I used the wrong words
To describe you

I don't love him
I don't love her
I don't love them

I love you.

DieingEmbers Mar 2013

Copulation of the minds...

as word play
leads innuendos to fornicate
upon the poets tongue...

unrestrained
his fingers give voice to wanton
carnal desires

laying the reader bare
to writhe
helplessly beneath his hands

with ink stained kisses
he forces
words into their mouths

a breathless sigh
resonating his ache to be heard

as he stands naked before them
offering himself
to their voyeuristic gaze

before taking them upon the sheets
in punctuated passionate
embraces

leading them toward the climax

they so

cried out for...




Jesus I'm Good.


~<3~

Just teasing
Adelaide Nov 2014

I say hello
My nametag dangles from my lanyard
"Hello, my name is Liz
Pronouns are kye/kyr"
it says

They see the lanyard
and they laugh.
"Those aren't pronouns!"
they say
"She is messed up."

Shut up.

A 300lb woman
looks into the mirror
she sighs
remembering her peers' words
"You should lose weight."
"You're very overweight."
"Your obeseity is your fault."

A 75lb woman
looks into the mirror
Her anorexia laughs
remembering the 300lb woman she used to be
her peers then tell her
"You need to gain weight."

Shut up. Shut up.

The boy hides his face
Not giving the teacher eye contact
The teacher calls his name
His stomach flips upside-down
She called on him on purpose
he just knows it

In front of the class
expectant, judgemental eyes glaring
Instinct tells him to run
He looks at his notecards
All he sees is chickenscratch
The teacher hangs her head in disappointment
and growls
"Just sit down if you have nothing to say."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

A girl drags hersef through the day
Everything is black and white
Coming home to wild parents
Who hit her constanty
and then claim
"I love you."

Excuses, excuses.
For every welt, mark and bruise
But when she gets one on her face-
She had given one, too.
In fact, she had given many
How generous she was!
The police came and arrest the girl.
All she heard was
"Her mother is dead."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Take a breath
the girl tells herself
She goes to her parents
They stare, wide-eyed
at her dress, eyeliner and nails
they just stare.

She tells them
her new identity
They tell her
"Chris. You aren't a girl.
You're a boy."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

You read a poem
titled "Shut Up"
About the hardships
The unfair, the despair
of living life.

Please know
Opinions don't matter
If you are happy,
who cares what they think?
If they criticize you
Just smile
and say

Shut up.

You are valid.
Please do not let anyone tell you otherwise.

You'll be okay.
poeticalamity Jun 2014

She once told me
she was terribly afraid of
the 889 blades of grass
in the park down her street,
of the 889 worn books
in her local library
of the 889 gum-covered steps
to her bus stops
of the 889 looks
she must make over her shoulder
of the 1 778 pairs of greedy eyes
stealing looks away from me.

I missed her when she sent me pictures
because I couldn't bear to look
at empty frames of empty eyes
(red dows no match red
unless it is the scarlet of blood on broken glass
after a year and two months of tranparency)
and also because the things that slipped into my phone
could only remind me of moments that could never be
and dreams
that would never come true.

I don't know what to say to her
without breaking her
(like the broken glass)
(the image still hasn't left my head)
but she inspires me toward metaphors
and the adromeda galaxy
isn't so far away anymore.

How can I stay by her side
when she triggers me to want to fall
but how can I ignore her call
when she is the only person I feel safe with
to coincide

I am afraid to tell her
(or myself)
how I feel
because in a cliche
I don't know how I feel myeslf
but dear, together, we are formidable
and apart --
I don't know about you,
but I catch myself on the dry spells --
we are fort minable

this song has been stuck in my hear
since it reminded me of you
and this could be another metaphor for something heartfelt
and not altogether original

But I want us to be
the figures in the painting
you said you saw us in
I want to be
that feminist duet
(even if I can't sing and you voice is that of the devil's)
I want to be
the cats in the picture
with the intertwined tails
or the flowers tangled up
on a vine
(I was going to send you that on
but I thought against it
because you were too beautiful to be compared
to a simple petrichor-scented bougainvillea)

So I will be
the 889 poetry books
you dog-ear and highlight
and secretly slightly plagiarize
and I will be
the 889 plants growing
in your backyard,
sparkling for you like replacement diamonds
after the rain
(and better yet I will be the forest
of 889 trees
looming not frighteningly but protectively
over you)
and I will be
the 889 strides
of golden brick road
to follow to your favorite coffee shop every day
and I will be
the 889 innocent peaks
at a delicate pinkie finger or a nose
(because a delicate rose such as you
cannot be seen all at once and truly appreciated)
and I will even be
the 1 778 pairs of eyes
stealing my own looks,
and hopefully you will not be afraid anymore.

I will split myself
into
6 228 parts
to make you feel comfortable
and if this is not a love poem
then it is an apology
and gratitude
and anger/resentment/not really/how could I resent you/you are everything

what I'm trying to say is,
we could go so many different ways,
and what's one more expression of love to you
after all you've been through.

Ottar Sep 2013

Seasonal construction
Path of destruction and rebuild,
Traffic crazy, in the car ahead,
Face yelling at a speaker phone,
Zig-zag path like the road owner,
3:05 late so a five o'clock date,
And a seagull sits right on the line,
Patient Mockery so sublime,
The seagull "walks the line"
Waiting can be a hating game,
That would be a vacation shame,
shame,
Shame.
So now the seagull is not alone on the line.


©DWE092013

So did   do right?  No personal pronouns?
Chris Neilson Nov 2016

If it's an adjective it's a word
which qualifies or limits a noun
don't take me back to school
already I'm wearing a frown

If it's a noun it's a word
used as a name of a thing substantive
don't bore me with your rules
I have colourful creativity to give

If it's a pronoun it's a word
to replace a noun
that noun didn't last long
must've had a meltdown

If it's a verb it's part of speech
expressing an action or being
in our sphere we use poetic licence
try it, it's so freeing

Sorry. English teachers, no offence intended :)
Máteùš Izydor Sep 2015

with you...
the bumblebee
would lose its
objectivity of re-,
and like every bumblebee
in man’s list
of talk there would only be
enough pollen to yawn about
and leave the rest politicised.

my worst trauma
beaten out of existence
comes from the stereotypical white male
and those
that have internalized the stereotypical white male
I cannot any longer
handle
being treated as that stereotypical white male
its over
in order to heal
I need space from that projection
in order to escape the politics
to be allowed to expeirence and exhaust
my trauma in society
that is why from now on I am to be referred to as
her
black her preferably
my legal gender pronoun
is black woman

http://www.amazon.com/Escape-Liberty-Elan-Gregory-ebook/dp/B01B8XQYBG?ie=UTF8&keywords;=elan%20gregory&qid;=1459178234&ref;_=sr_1_1&sr;=8-1
Next page