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remington carter Nov 2016
when i was ten my sister tried to drown me because
she wanted to cleanse me of my sins. they said she was
schizophrenic but
i think she was right
i should have listened
Francie Lynch Jan 21
I gave, you took,
My heart,
My soul and time.
You left, I stayed,
Withdrawn and supine.
I was a still life,
In the shades and lights of day.
I wrinkled and went dry,
Through skin down to my core;
Was fading and wasting away,
Like a Banksy on a rainy day.
If you don't know about Banksy, check it out.
Reza Bavar Jun 2016
What is a Legacy
What's the equation that leads to the sum that is
A
Human
Life
The curtain draws as it must and
when it's done...
We spill out of this "Life" a grocery bag of idiosyncrasies, neuroses, hypocrisies, and other I-sees
What are we in the end but broken pieces of a puzzle we leave for others to assemble--who cares if the pieces fit.
Someone found a Kind word here
Another a Generosity
A memory of a Lie
Proof of a Cruelty
Acts of Humanity by a human being acting...
Who knows me well enough to define my Legacy?
Who else but "I"
I like spoken word poetry (a lot) and this poem works best if it's read in that type of tone.
Heather Sep 9
I don’t have proof
That’s why it’s called falling
And I know you don’t like heights but
You did jump out of a plane once
King Panda Sep 2016
let this be proof that on day
***
I am alive
and kicking
with nothing but a
caffeine headache
and a good
twenty days of
September
in my back pocket
but now
the cross breeze
comes and
I lament the past four
autumns
how they left me
cold
broken
and seeing women jump
off buildings
God!
Sovereign soldier!
Sinner!
Saint!
let me live more than
20 days
I am a good person
I only **** when asked
I eat spaghetti with a fork
and spoon
I once tried to jump off
a cliff
but that was then
and this is now
and the breeze is as cold
as winter
don’t think that I ever enjoyed this
time with you
don’t think that I won’t ever
try that again
I promise I won’t float
in the air
no
not this time
Hanson Yang Sep 2018
Born heavy as adorned many: objectivity lifts ready existance carried more steady with the fist than a switchblade as to fist crave: yall just manisfest id shame when you spit back like all my family here to spit crack bone in been gripped back when at grown taught to **** Macks;
I'm the R to the Mack Marck M heavy to my fam born carried since Nas dropped the bomb that Eminem levied in so to spit back, like ghost spittin the **** shittin at all emcees here to spit back:
only time you'd get a note outta me relative is when i'm posing for death: like tupac menacing his pelvis still for the ****** levy in neglection in pics wack;
i spit bone quick when it comes to being notorious in a jacuzzi playing sega and super nintendo **** be in disrespect to ever understand that i don't spit thick back.

i flow sick that before i flow spit that between to post ****:
I pose **** to even to boast fits forgotten what the Ohmegaus finds the rest as undereducated life in being in the sun.
Ghost spittin future written past to see all the conjugatives relative like ****** games on the run:
games on the fun like extension big sides as big sizes like chasing dreams again straight to the the sun is what we've become.

unfinished...

this ain't motherfucken games, and you know id through wish-epic
دema Mar 21
I told you that you should always be
thankful, things are getting
better, the process
is just rather slow,

and I told you that the proof lies
in the fact that you still have some
sanity left today,
if things weren't getting better,
then what else
could you be holding onto?
With this pen, I paint an image of you.
Not a portrait, but a true portrayal of you.
The ink flows into words that dance across your hair.
The end of each sentence marking a cross that you bear.

A painting would be suitable for some.
With beautiful colors, cascading down on you from above.
But, those colors mearly hide the truth behind your smile.
With the right shade of light and a light smear, it becomes a cosmetic fix for a while.

My words flow through every crack and fill every shadow.
They bring all light to the surface, for the reader to see within the shallows.

The image of you that I create can be vivid and great.
But with this pen, my words can also design your fate.

You see the truth here is that my words hold all truth.
They leave no place for lies to hide, with each word holding proof.

In the readers eyes, my words are you…
With this pen, I can create you…
With this pen, I can finish you...

- Brandon K. Stephenson
The underestimated writer and the power within his pen.
Traveler Jun 2013
I hear the weeping of a motherless child
My conscience is clear, my awareness defiled
Global warming, melting icecaps, disappearing bees
All these different threats of our accelerating entropy
By the recklessness of our desires our species is driven
We ignore matter of fact, and scientific proof given

Green behind the shadow, peace behind the fist
Greed behind the reason for the evidence we dismiss
So allow yourselves to experience this uneasiness of mind,
The dread that holds us fast, cause it's our species on the line...
Traveler Tim
06-2019
The bees are coming back so perhaps we've nothing to dread over.
Deb Jones Aug 2018
People who sincerely
believe they have nothing to hide?
Will still lie to you.
Get used to it.
Expect it.
Assume you are being lied to
until you have proof of the truth.
Then double-check the proof.
And in this we can be confident
A small truth is better then the greatest lie.
And in the reverse,
Every lie has some truth
And the worst lies?
Are the ones we tell ourselves.
I am brutally honest with myself. With no else. Not completely anyway. But it’s always shocking to find I have lied to myself. When long ago I promised myself I would always be honest with me.
poetryaccident Oct 2018
Evidence becomes the coin
determining worth on the scales
already rigged from the start
with no measure to dissuade

when morality is the judge
of a world they’d like to purge
all will fall beneath their gaze
when the virtue is misplaced

evil witnessed outside a book
or experience of the self
both are seen as paradigm
to the ones that are assured

madness lays down those paths
even while hearts are pure
identifying outside the lines
the normative is put aside

deviants by their choice
that’s when nature is most pure
without deceit verbalized
even though the masses cry

normative becomes the chant
damning all that are unique
now proof condones everything
or lack thereof to place the hate.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181001.
The poem “Proof Condones” was inspired by the actions of people who demand evidence for the legitimately of the LGBTQ spectrum.  People from both binary ends are quick to exclaim that the middle does not really exist.  There seems to be a call to provide proof dating, intimate encounters, and chromosome level testing.  These calls are requested for the sake of evidence-based credentials.  Sadly this discredits what the spectrum knows is true for themselves.  Regardless of experience and appearance, the B, Q, and T of LGBTQ are in a position to KNOW who they truly are.  The need for proof, especially proof tied to supposed moral or purity standards, is both hateful and destructive.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending

When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening

to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable

and yet

cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,

it has yet

to arrive

When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed

When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction

she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
rentery orbit,
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot

When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after

death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
is the God
I worship
The phrase "the consolation of physics" was taken from a novel,
City of Thieves by David Benioff. The other nonsense is all my fault.
11/23/14 8:30am

for my blonde Big Bang theorist
will19008 Jul 17
tapping foolishly stiff drinks
at his occasional solitary parties,
buzzing bliss and hazy slumber hide
amid open-minded laughs, rhymes
and fully overwhelmed sensations

now a useless invisible creature
wasting wisdom to the ****** core
his blurred remaining human pride
heartlessly bruises his memories,
and roams the depths of his pain
Considering the propensity of some people in pain to discover solace [and amnesia] inside of a bottle.
Marco Bo Aug 2018
morning dew
scent of drums over the hills
buzzards fly through full moons
in between
alive I feel
------------
rugiada del mattino
profumo di tamburi sulle colline
le poiane volano attraverso  lune piene
nel frattempo
vivo mi sento
-------------------

rocío de la mañana
aroma de tambores sobre las colinas
halcones vuelan a través de lunas llenas
mientras tanto
vivo me siento
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