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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
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
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
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,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
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

When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
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

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
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
Syd Jun 2018
What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.
Erin C Ott Jun 2018
Fallow brown, like he's poured his whole soul out through the gold sieve and lies in wait to be replenished.

2. The color of the ocean. Blue, I guess, but that’s not even the half of it. All the ruggedness of the waves—forming up, breaking, and forming again like life is only the motions. Her eyes are blue, but you could hardly tell.

3. A hand-painted bowl of fresh chocolate frosting from which the most immature hands soonest get a mouthful.

4. Beautiful. Like, drop dead gorgeous. I’d dig my own grave and stick to rolling in it if she ever looked at me some type of way. Their color? I don’t know. But most of all, I dare to wonder about the bludgeoned scar between them.

5. Sturdy cobalt. Far more indicative of her steady heart than gold could ever hope to be. Still susceptible to tear, but not so easily warped by heat or stress.

6. Simply brown. No, red? It’s always been hard to tell through the fog. Truthful like the rawest earth, I’ll call her mahogany.

7. Faded blue spray paint over a slate gray wall. Forcibly muted after her years of blasting music, but there’s still that rogue twinkle to them that I pray slips through the cracks.

8. Coffee, with all the vim and vigor to make you click your heels and fall in love.

9. Unripe lime seen lazing in the shade. Not fit for a margarita just yet, but straining at the bit nonetheless.

10. Hazel, although I still don’t know what the **** that actually is. Whatever. It looks nice on her resume.

11. Green. Or were they blue? The memories of her were too wonderful, too important, that I had to let the littlest details fade away first.

12. The crystallized seafoam that made me realize I deserved to feel alive, too.
Dedicated to any pair of eyes that's ever struggled to raise itself from the sights they've grown used to.
Erin C Ott Jan 2019
With hesitation do I dedicate to the half-empty,
but there's a vision of a girl I can't quite shake:
up to her Achilles tendons in rambunctious folds
of rank, grabby, carnivorous sea.
Disgruntled and shivering, but there all the way.

She’s the rare bird convinced of common feathers,
not so much ugly duckling as self-deprecating swan,
never so bold as to lock eyes with the water
for fear of seeing herself in clearest view,
and never seeing for sure that she’s a heart of beauty.

Not that she cares, anyways.

She's got the sappiest music taste—
though I’m not supposed to know that, either—
characterized by aplenty
of heartfelt bangers we loved in youth and pretended to be over.

She's no Mr. Brightside.
But ****, when she cleans up...

The only silver lining she believes in is her sharp-edged contour,
cutting as the retort she’s got ******* on the pulse of.
She just doesn’t need to shout to prove it.

I've the off-and-on friend who resents without saying,
no words to spare when she's busy as of late struggling to breathe.
The silence I took for elegance is suffocation,
but at least black lung is still the vogue, I’ve heard?

And through the struggle comes a wicked perfection:
the ability to lay waste with a whisper,
and revere only in the rawest quiet.

Her humor, sometimes for the offensive,
is the most potent sense of feeling
that doesn’t take looking at her own self.
She as herself could light up a room.
If only it weren’t so much easier to fall short.

Because never would she outwardly want to be on someone’s mind,
(little does she know she jumps to the forefront of mine)
yet in that same reluctant, teeth-grinding urge she denies herself
in the desire to find her good lighting,
I have in the desire to let her know she is beloved.

But to tell someone they’re poetry to you is a pin in the grenade
that these budding wisdom teeth just can’t grasp.

She’s there now in the sea I still liken to her eyes.
Windows to the soul akin to a place she hates,
just as capable of resentment.

All I know is I’ll be torn asunder if she loses herself
beneath the brine of a bottle or the message of faux-hope within it.
In a churning silence of the drink,
there’s no honest sentiment with which to compare.
Lost at sea, with no quality control,
fool’s gold is such a fine, agonizing release.

Yet on she heads, carving mountains in her path, for a swill.

Still, every time I see her again,
I know I’ll never help loving her some,
while I pretend there's comfort in the fact
that most of us had to sink before learning to swim.
Dedicated to Mere. All of her.

Symptoms may include:
Anxiety, restlessness, or a sense of apprehension.
Blue-tinged lips
Rapid, irregular heartbeat
Cold, clammy skin
A feeling of suffocating or drowning that worsens when lying down
Difficulty walking uphill, which progresses to difficulty walking on flat surfaces
Paul M Chafer Dec 2014
Awaiting the storm
Forming on distant shores.
Preparing myself for
The oceans tidal swell.
Opening my heart
To the rawest of elements.
I ride the anticipation
Of the coming waves.
Conquering the building
Fear as the water leaps high.
A great solid wall
Unfurling its rippling energy.
Through the tube,
Board skimming, skipping.
Flirting with danger,
Risking everything,
Inside a living
Hollow cocoon of
Thundering power.
Controlled fear beats
Inside my pumping heart,
Driving my adrenaline
Through to spiritual fulfilment.
On exiting the beast,
It rolls onward to its death.
Through its existence
We both lived, sharing
A unique oneness.
Children of nature within
A union of creation, so special,
It takes the breath away.
Savouring my exhilaration,  
I see another wave being born,
And prepare to surf again.

©Paul M Chafer 2014
in it's entirety, this poem is deeper than just a day surfing. It is about love and life, various aspects of love and life. If you only see surfing - it is also about the surfing experience, but also, how the surfing experience relates to love and life - return another time for a reread.
Lexander J Apr 2015

Fields of red.
Memories of unrelenting dread.


Pillows of consequence, of loss
of love.
A memoir to our mistakes.
And fury.


Fields I tread.
Resting place of the dead.
Blood of a thousand stain their leaves,
little embodiments of death -
little life thieves.

Live off the deceased,
beautiful scavengers -
some drink their juices, liquid energy.
Liquid Poison.

pure poison in its rawest form,
***** field of heaven
conflict field of the past,
and future.

Stick it in a needle,
give it a shot -
but remember, these plants
grow on bodies that still rot.
Fah Nov 2014
my mother brings out the rawest form of me
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
we talk about *** , i'm on the verge of tears most the time
about not respecting yourself
being born with the consciousness of 7 dimensions
respecting yourself
some of my words come out in paradoxes that have yet to be resolved
i tell her how my aim is to **** in his mouth one day
she tells me i'm disgusting and we laugh at the ****** hanging up my nose
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
It's 30 degrees outside
We have to turn on the air con
occasionally there is applause
as we talk
about how the best way to make a contribution to this planet is to be yourself , she says she hopes she offered me that wisdom as a child
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
and say that it was mixed - be yourself but then smack ! Don't do that thing. It was confusing.
She says she wasn't conscious , she was confused
she couldn't do it now
like i don't eat meat
certain things fall away when you respect yourself.
My mother brings out the rawest form of me
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
Dad’s passing spans 18 months beginning with lung cancer surgeon removes left lung  for 6 weeks he receives radiation treatments Dad gains strength everyone gives thumbs up within several months doctors discover cancer spread to tumor in brain head shaved tumor removed skull resembles stitched baseball Dad lapses into twilight state body shrinks everyone knows his life is ending doctors and family wait for cancer to attack vital ***** only matter of time in january 1991 iraqi scud missiles launch at israel Odysseus in lobby of movie theater when he hears news calls Mom from telephone booth she asks if he is ok nothing could prepare him for horror he feels witnessing Dad slowly die Mom Penelope Odysseus quite vulnerable during this time dependent on trained intensive-care nurse to watch over Dad at home administer drugs monitor condition nurse able-bodied to guide or carry Dad to bathroom assist in his goings cleaning him Mom hires several nurses who each borrow money from her and Penelope Sean each nurse never repays loan and steals jewelry from Mom other belongings from house once a week Odysseus takes Dad out to lunch accompanied by nurse Odysseus places cap with bulls insignia on Dad’s bald stitched-up head Dad nods gives high-five Odysseus talks about feats michael jordan and entire team perform Dad avid fan Odysseus drives Dad nurse in toyota to favorite lunch spots Dad has no appetite no words but manages frail smile in august 1991 Odysseus has first one-man show at prestigious gallery run by Keith ******* Keith published Odysseus in college literary magazine decade earlier 17 large color field scapes hang on two long walls Dad too ill to attend opening never sees show in film documentary shot at gallery by Sean Odysseus explains “the work is about opening up possibilities clean slates for new worlds rawest moment of narrative very beginning of story all we are presented with is stage i’m scared of story right now suspicious of story don’t even want to deal with story once story starts then everything gets messed up all these things happen at this point in story it’s just this exciting stage full of possibilities full of potential the very beginning and you don’t know what is presented yet” near end of Dad’s struggle in late summer Odysseus asks Mom and Penelope to allow him to visit father alone in hospital they reluctantly consent Dad lying semiconscious in bed Odysseus holds back tears looks at withered father Dad breathes inconsistent occasional fluttering eyelids Odysseus begins to talk aloud about their lives together wonders if Dad reached his goals? does he feel fulfilled with life? is he prepared for death? Dad is 71 years old does he feel cheated of time? did Odysseus disgrace Dad or make him proud? Odysseus feels guilt suspects he may have embarrassed even shamed Dad wonders if Dad deep in his heart believes Odysseus is sad disappointment? he forces words out of his mouth “Dad can you hear me? Dad i love you Dad forgive me please for not becoming what you wanted me to be Dad” phone rings suddenly who could be calling at solemn moment? Odysseus lets it ring but ringing will not stop unwillingly he answers “hello?” “Odysseus don’t do it! Don’t hurt Dad!” it is Penelope calling worried he might commit some murderous act Odysseus and Penelope snap at each other for moment he hangs up thinks what a tragic breach of trust realizes no one not Penelope Mom Chris anyone in family honestly trusts him he wonders if Dad overheard angered remarks with Penelope what a sad way to die hearing your own children quarreling Dad dies august 31 1991 same date cousin Chris’s son Maynard celebrates 3rd birthday Mom’s brother Karl comes from california to help family discovers Dad took out undisclosed $15,000. loan to offset lack of earnings Dad typically overextended himself Karl pitches in to compensate for borrowed money after Dad dies Schwartzpilgrim house falls apart Mom weeps for many months they were married more than 50 years Odysseus feels sorry for Mom all alone in big house she invites family for dinner but it is never same Odysseus’s inheritance is old toyota with 80 thousand miles Dad said he wanted to buy Odysseus new volvo Odysseus is grateful for car which allows him to drive Farina to lake in dream Dad is sitting in back seat bandages wrap around his head same way doctors dressed him after brain tumor surgery Odysseus driving toyota looking for parking space there are none to be found they drive around block several times Dad suggests “try driving around the block one more time maybe parking space will open up” Odysseus answers “no i think we need to go few blocks further” Dad says “Odysseus you’re in drivers’ seat now but try my way one last time” they drive around block find parking space right in front of house Odysseus wakes up confused asks aloud “Dad is dead right?” it is not easy losing a father forgiving forgetting
heather mckenzie Mar 2018
// she falls in love the same way that she falls apart; quickly and all at once.

tumbling into his outstretched palms with a startling intensity, his fists clench and she cries.

she wants him to hurt her, leave smouldering bruises around her neck. Force your fingers down her throat and make her beg. maybe this love; choking sounds and blood.

it’s almost funny, the fact that she still hasn’t learned yet; make him your everything and you will be left with nothing.

and it feels like hell, almost romantic.

her lips part in the dimly lit room, gasping for air.

that’s the thing, there is nothing he could do to her that she wouldn’t do to herself. hold a knife to her neck and watch her soul drip from her mouth

one rib at a time you snapped them all like twigs and complained that she made too much noise. too much,

too loud.

lungs swimming in fluid yet she breathes out flowers, because that’s what pretty girls do; that’s what you wanted isn’t it babe? beauty. perfection.

don’t let him inside your head, keep him between your thighs or else everything around you will become white noise; fading into the background.

go on, romanticise it. i dare you.

force its unwilling bones into a metaphor or a simile.

pretend that we fall apart into beautiful, tragic spectacles and simply glue the broken fragments back together

she sat in the dark with a cup of tea between her shaking hands, resisting the urge to split her veins over the white walls and string her organs from the ceiling like fairy lights.

wanting to die in the most violent of ways is a lot less convenient than it seems; an unholy addiction of the rawest degree.

darling, i’m sorry he made you feel like you are hard to love,

because loving you is the easiest thing in the world //
Michael Pick Apr 2014
We, the children of a system that awards you simple papers
That state 'he/she has achieved what we deem quality'
As we are all judged and graded in exactly the same way
Because they promote individuality unless it's intelligence

'We all learn differently, and at different paces'
Is an often preached sermon of our progenitors these days
Yet I know more about synonyms for ancestry and parents
Than how to survive once our papers begin to mean nothing

So here I'd like you to tell me what is considered knowledge
And I'd ask of the older generations to insert customary wisdom
Because more adults have spat quotes to me like gospel
Than tought me what I really need to know and value

I've got a track record spanning back almost two decades
Of being sorry for just being myself at all times
So I think my teachers should be proud of themselves
To know that the things they preach to me really get through

You see, homework and exams mean almost nothing
To those who need to really think on their feet
Because this same system idolizes the memory
Mistaking it for a wealth of rawest knowledge

So I love it when they say school is too easy on kids now
Rewarding losing and not promoting any ambition
Because I've been berated for attaining success at any level
Due to grades that define me not successful enough
Zak Krug Nov 2012
Where skin meets pole,
In low society.
Is where I thrive.
This isn’t the right choice.  
Singles hustlin.
Join me in these dollar days.
This is your light switch entrance.
Sitting at a marble bar
Loveless love, pay by the song.
Selfish fun, ***** talking on the jukebox.
Jazzin’ to the music.
Standing up on that marble stage,
Showing the world whats yours is ours.
Drunken memories lived to the fullest.
I’m out trying to discover America.
Stripped down to its rawest form.
This road is laden with fallen philosophies.
Tasting of ***** money.
Fully **** girls flashing. (lights)
Blow in the bathroom.
The nightlife you’ve always wanted.
Movie star lifestyle.
Dimly lit.
Have some backroom privacy.
Conversations with strangers.
This is naked in all sense of the word.
Sensual seduction.
Classical redemption.
Primal ecstasy.
Trying to make amends with myself.
This is a haggard lifestyle.
Society frowns upon us.
Shameful scandals.
Fake lovesick mannerisms
Paid for in advance.
Exposed on stage.
You’re in love with a stripper.
Kitty, Desire, Destiny, Velvet.
All the love you’ve been looking for,
For the price of admission.
Just sit back and watch the girls on stage.
This is it.
We’re searching for love.
And if we cant find love,
We’ll settle for lust and luck.
You’re well taken care of here.
Don’t you worry about a thing.
Just don’t run out of money.
Superficial lover for a pay as you go one-night stand.
Never lonely here.
Late night tonight.
In the back of the club.
Are we having déjà vu yet?
You’ve been here before.
You’ll be here tomorrow.
Just a little longer now.
Climbing up the pole to the ceiling,
Only to slam down in the splits.
Don’t worry it can only get better from here.
This is the right choice.
Bright light flashing.
You’re finally in the spotlight.
Sold out, checked out, cashed.
“Let me do all the work sweetheart.”
We must live the way we feel is right.
We’re all trying to make our way in this world.
Lets not forget each other.
Cocktails anyone?
Is this wrong?
Living in this life.
This party
that never ends.
Moe Jul 2014
I want you in the rawest form.
I want you while you're crying on your bathroom floor unsure of your worth.
I want you naked in my bed with your legs shaking from exhaustion.
I want you while you're angry and throwing everything in your path voice as loud as it can get.
I want you happy and dancing to your favorite tune at 3am in your underwear and my t-shirt.
I want you in your most vulnerable parts.
I want you in your strongest moments.
I want you all the time.
she is so beautiful.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
Nostalgia April 2015

Greek for “the pain from an old wound”


time changes words,
the origin-rawest meaning,
oft too harsh and
thus re-sweetened,
moderated for modern
sensitized sensibilities,
no offending anybody anytime

par example,


fearful, terrifying,
alas, now plaster recast,
merely a
junk food word,
a billions times hamburger oversold,
poor little word,
clearly, nowadays not
by its awesome
past historical


is not a photograph-word
for framing,
in old fashioned sepia colored hazes,
look-backs with
no risks in attendance.
a minor case of
a wistful heart
edged perhaps burnt,
but imagery intact,
somewhat sweet,
somewhat sad,
perhaps at worst,


let me roar now
my anger,
let me vent
mea veritas primogenius

the awesomeness
of the hurts
borne from
ancient lives that I escaped
but yet empowered
to let


make the hate,

the pain from old wounds
refreshed, re-reddened,
living, extant,
wounds forty years young

from places
where a woman hurt me,
hurt me willfully
thus permanent provisioned,
nostalgia is
a daily pill
of accumulated memories
of misuse,
evil calculating so...

take that AM pill
maximum hurt,
can only be swallowed dry

like a Greek
who were
more human than humans,
tag me enraged,
measure of measure
for me,
bitter herbs,
a morning's mourning
potent sweet potion


in this place,
prior confessed lovingly
an amiable self-pleasuring
an artifice,
deconstructing words
for hidden meanings^

this a pean pain penned,
an old fashioned bittersweet
sepia colored, burnt caramel colored

this is not
your mother's

recalled with
mixture of the painful pleasure
no forgiving the sins of
omission of a father,
who could not love openly,
the sins of sons,
in turn equally
of an
insufficiently telling his
I love you plain
vanilla simple,
regret for love not well

but this is not the truth of

just plain regret
of acts of love
not demonstrated
this poem,
this day,,
this pain enraged,
old wounds enflamed,
how I gave up to misery
the better part of a life

This is Nostalgia
in its ancient usage
and God help me,
should I ever see her,
I will school her
in the sourced origins of words

Greek algos, pain

and tell her
she sourced me
hell well,
four decades
make me unashamed
to say on this planet,
there are those
even good ole
will never
only recall with the
summation of
nostalgic pain,
wounds still
dedicated to my ex.
^see my poem
(I love) Dignity,
Mari Apr 2015
we all have them
and denying that fact is stupid
no matter how close you are with someone
there’s still
something you haven’t said
and will probably never admit to
and if you have great
but likeliness is whoever knows is sworn to secrecy
and nobody else knows
in fact you’d probably **** to keep it safe
destroy those who shouldn’t know
and bury the ashes
see the thing about secrets
is that it’s the most
part of who we are
it’s the thing that made us who we are
and continually molds us even now
because you see
our secrets are the very monsters
we created
that lurk within us at all times
it’s the rawest form of our very essence
and too much of ourselves
to simply give away
it’s that selfish, greedy part of our souls
that claw at our insides
and whisper
as sweetly and darkly as shadows and honey
driving us insane
and unbearably reckless
never caring what it is that soothes the burn
just that it’s dulled
but the thing is the weight of it comes
crashing back down on you
and forces you to your knees holding you captive
with it’s icy fingertips
and brands itself on you with burning eyes
paving the way for
guilt and fear
becoming the new guiding light
and north star of your moral compass
let me tell you
nothing good comes from this compass
it doesn’t lead you to paradise
nor does it lead you into the silent escape you long for
hell it’s job is to claw
it’s way through your soul
bursting free from the prison of your body
and dance to beat of your
slow destruction
A tad morbid? I have no clue as to where this came from.
Water Jan 2014
Memories of us as the sun set fire to everything I touch.
Hands to myself and forget the idea of love.
Our light has dwindled out.
All that remains is a broken bulb
hanging above
the bed, in the attic of my head.
Scattered shards of glass surrounding comfort.
Every night I walk on our broken dreams and bleed before I get to sleep.
I just lay in the shadow of my past looking for lines you once said.
Only to bury the words again.
Maybe it would make more sense if I stopped resurrecting the dead.
There's a piece of me, no longer alive.
From me to you is a far drive.
So I dig in the dark attic for old and removable parts to repair my broken car. Flashing my lights at anyone who could be you.
Because you're the only one who can see it too.
Our connection is as consistent as me quitting bad habits
For instance, cigarettes, but how could I know when I still haven't?
I crave but can barely manage.
I'm on and off in strange patterns.  
A rusty pull chain hanging from the socket
Stuck with our questions to questions,  irrational logic.
I asked "why do you always escape from what you wanted?"
You slowly whispered "how else would you know if you really got it.".
I guess  I'll figure it as I smoke another cigarette.
I take a hit, before exhaling, i stare up at the sun.
Close my eyes and think of you.
I imagine the smoke soaking up everything I ever wanted to tell you.
Plans, ideas, thoughts, and the rawest feelings I have ever had.
Once it feels right I open my eyes to the empty sky and exhale.
An emotional release.
February air will condense these dreams on to your car window.
You will wipe them off to find your way home.
The last thing you said before you left, "Just keep thinking of me And We'll meet again"
There has to be another chapter before the end of this story being written in my head.
But love and love lost is the ink to my pen of thoughts.
Let it leak in my sleep. Knowing I'll wake up to her gone.
But its okay.
She left the chorus for my song.
Feedback greatly appreciated.
Thanks for reading
Hanna Dec 2017
Strip me down
To my rawest form.
To my browns and oranges.
A copper silhouette.

Peel me away
Till I’m standing there
With averted gaze.

Leave me bare.

Strip me down
Shed all my layers, till I’m
Just a component.

Make me an idea,
In its first happening.
A dream yet to be realised.

Look at me,

In my essence,
Am I good?
Ruthie Aug 2014
You haven't seen what I see in the mirror at 6am.
You haven't seen these eyes wet with tears at 2am.
You haven't seen me bite my lip to keep from screaming out at 3pm.
You haven't seen anything but a picture.
Where, yes, I look relatively decent.
Big eyes.
Nice hair.
I spent so long trying to get it straight.
So please.
Don't compliment me until you see my rawest state.
Because that is true beauty.
Raw emotion.
Nigel Obiya Dec 2012
This is not meant to rhyme
But I find that when I write it flows every single time
The last time I was on stage... there were issues
I thought hard about it, 'Is hip hop something we were destined to do... or is it something that we choose?'
Then it hit me after a period of insecurity
My confidence is the only thing I need to surround myself with, I should keep it 'in security'
This thing flows in my veins blood, so I need to get it in with purity
Talent in its rawest form... way above the norm
It's a gift I need to use
A gift I can't refuse
Deny it is something that I can't do... even if I want to
There is no other way around it
No other way to go about it
I had a bad experience... well...
I could either be a ***** about it...
Or meet this doubtful phase with some mad resilience
Because no one can sound like I do
No one can do what I do
I need to...
Tighten up my belly bump, pull on this belt around my waist
Confidence is the only raw ingredient upon which what I do is based
This ship has always been afloat, who am I to sink it?
Bizill the rapper/poet/artist was meant to do this for a reason
Who am I to over-think it?
*Bizill... that's my stage name... I was gonna go with Luke Skywalker... but sadly enough it was taken by some ****** who claims to possess something called 'the force'... I'm still hunting him down...
SWB Jan 2014
Get on feet
out of seats
with a firm, stretched palm,
maybe even stick a tongue out.
Get hysterical,
elated- get pumped.
Yell something trite,
That's what I'm talking about!
Get a rush
from the head to the Seoul,
get a fresh set of wings,
fly from the hardwood,
get elevated.
Full-court press be ******-
This goes beyond the laces,
the cheering,
the stoic referee winded-
travels hot fast and hard,
after the huddle, before the late whistle
and the fist-bump.
This is success at its most savage,
emotion at its rawest,
audiences at their most breathless
This, son, is the slam dunk.
Anything less would be a travesty
to the occasion.
Conar McVicker Oct 2014
At the fire on the edge of the world
To be there, without
To capture life at it's very rawest
I see so clearly
Human nature in it's lightning passage
People tell you much
With some sense of letting everything go
Isms and eons
We spoke of warmed bones and creatures
                                                       ­               old
Entertaining thoughts
At the fire on the edge of the world
King Tutankhamun Aug 2016
yo **** this ***** name jalel
whos really a woman whos tried to appeal
to be a man but understand
youll never be me im like eazy e
and you be d to r e
makin' threats but ya gets no respect
but a gun check respect the tech as load it through ya neck
ya guillotine hoppin' on th3 scene
with my sixty four creepin' slow
with 304s galore i adore
ya aint ready for war
i told you gotta put kids to bed
before midnight ****** in my sight
killin' emcees softly
not speakim' lauryn hill entice fright and thrills
make bodies freeze colder than the ice on my windmills
necklace blinging ***** im from texas
we ball lacs n throw blades on the lexus cant get with us crew be dangerous trust its a must
that ya step back or else get put flat on ya back imagine that?
me loosin to this janky ***** name jalel ya frill than a third wheel
cant even rhyme for ****
sound hesitated constipated
i patiently waited
for you to give me something to vibe but ya just too horrible
sped up ya flow fool
cuz ya sound slow as ****
i rep the old school sound the tools
from every angle
make ya bo legged like bojangles as ya body drools
nothing but blood covered
its a baptism as i continya breakin' nerves like annuerism
nad yea aint it dont stop
cuz its 187 on a muthaphukkin' flop

shut the corny *** lines up
u aint rippin' up **** but ya own ****
******' ya self with self gratification its me against the nation
im black n my brothers be ****** rasta jamaican
***** you fakin'
cant hang with the y to the o to the s to the e f
yes im fresh then a dead body on ya porch steps
sending warning scorning
while in ya morge stiff
ya family mourning
over ya cant **** with the best in the industry
do ya like james did to tammie
terrell entice hell everytime fools try to send mail
my way hop in the six tre
i got hoes to **** check my gangsta limp.
***** i am eazy e son of lost dynasty i see ya eyin me
peepin' **** cuz it hits
like a slug to ya cranium strong as titanium
got extra clips to withdraw
adn im.aimmin em
at your headpiece as ya body grows obese
bigger than della reese feast
only on the weakest i be the wickedest stick my **** in this
instrumental cant hang with me
you worse than that ***** jalel be
writing them corny *** lines
with them horrible *** rhymes
wouldn't even amount to a dime compared to mine
ya make me look flawless
rippin' vocal chords got ya jawless i be the rawest
on this competiton i got for bloodraw with no intermission
i see ya beggin'
but go back to jalel so ya can
start peggin'
each other yeaaa and it dont stop cuz its 187 on a ***** names pablo and jalel
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
The Great Interlude
Cold springs inky Blackwell gone from all that was special endearing a world of subjection with bounds
Expressed in tangible constants blessings fixed by strata and composition the fusing of the most
Elemental design in human life to love and be loved remembering from both sides with such intensity
The very world elliptical these pulsations reach their apex they do contend they harness all known
Reality they are extravagant in the extreme they gestate the rawest and fullest impact able truth
Forever swirls flows in the sweetest valuable treasure house each day every hour laughter and tears
Are weighed from youth till death every participle hangs know not the weight that is suspended in this
Airy clime the visitation the stitching of immortal souls in effortless joy in every syllable building blocks
Of deftest design were being appropriated where near or distant magic indefinable took new breath
Arrested the common and the extraordinary knowing not the magnitude all of matter was being forged
The great blacksmith of the past was surpassed no engineer of earthy skill can touch what was wrought
By a man and wife in their intimacy or their reach the breadth of the land and the stars bowed in
Wonder as their arching hearts surpassed there heights of wonder and grace tenderness distilled to
The thinnest equation where dreams were laid bare and on this truth scaffolding as thin as a
Hairsbreadth held a succession of thoughts achievements and future probabilities destiny occupied
Nothingness but left a bridge that all of life was welcomed was fixed to a point it grew balloon like it
Ascended by revelation in ordinary circumstances flesh and blood accelerated beyond the brains ability
To fathom where all of this was leading second by second generations were being spawned called forth
From hidden trajectories of earth and space go to the window of sharing recapture amazement it will
Pour comfort into the wound and sorrow of loss against all odds you forged the river of time made new
Life takes it first hesitant breath you were the recipients of miracles they plainly called them bundles of
Joy you cast fourth strains of indefinable rectory spirit was sparked and with love’s breath a fire grew
It is the quality of life and unalterable peace and joy submerged in every day peaks and valleys if you get
What this speaks of it will carry you over the valley up to the heights sorrow will replaced with
Benediction and esteem for what you both accomplished and wrought in this life which is only
A dress rehearsal for that which is truly amazing it waits in surety just beyond the confining strains
Of this blissful song you sang for a lifetime
Emily K Fisk Jan 2017
Read more.
Words are the map fragments of wisdom you need to navigate your way in a world constantly sending you searching for that which you don’t yet have a name.

Write more.
And don’t keep it to yourself.  Your voice deserves to be heard too so scream in cursive and whisper in all CAPS, bleed through paper and heal through the spines of notebooks
you’re spiraling onto something, breathe in commas and step over periods because you’re not over
you’re the most beautiful run-on sentence

paint more.
You’re an artist whose perspective warrants an audience,
so leave cerulean fingerprint traces in your titanium touches,
mix gesso with mars and be alizarin against charcoal

stand out. And stand up.

Find adventure in the every day.  Skydive through small talk, zip line through steps up stairs without an end,
life is the ellipses in silences your eyes seek to make stories,

This world. People. This city you’ve landed yourself and take calculated risks.

Tiptoe through moshpits and stomp through meadows.
Cartwheel into concrete conversations headfirst eyes wide open,

be vulnerable, to those who deserve to see the rawest parts of you.
And leave the ones who’d rather exploit them behind

leave others’ opinions behind.  Let them be the ones collecting dust.
You are stronger than you’ll ever know and ten-fold what they’d ever expect.

So let them guess.
Be the question mark in the corner they can’t place.

Your story is complicated.  But that makes you interesting.
What doesn’t challenge you doesn’t change you and you’ve been challenged each and every day

you get out of bed and speak when so easily you could’ve lost your voice the night you lost your body.
It took you some time and a few nameless faces to claim it again and you’re still working out what that means,
you’ve always had your own way
but all the ****** assault pamphlets name this normal.

[For once it’s a label you don’t detest.]

So this year be normal if you so choose, but also be weird.
Be loud, not small, be confident, and not sorry.
Take up space.
You deserve to.

You are Woman and you are Strong.

Push, but don’t ever shove.
Love unapologetically and fiercely.
But don’t force what a boy is not willing to give.

Find someone who will pay your heart the same attention he does your body.
Scratch that,
find yourself.

Read your body’s brail, your chapters of goosebumps, and play chess with checkers across your skin.
Unlearn and relearn and unlearn and learn to remember you are enough and it is your turn.

Look in the mirror and accept the pieces looking back are in progress.

Keep writing.

Watch the moon make way for the sun. Be brighter than both.
Let your irises draw constellations across galaxies unwritten.
Move so far forward, you stop having a reason to look back.

Forgive that which you cannot change.
You’ll make more mistakes, scrape more knees and trip on chainlink chokers, your jewelry limbs you haven’t yet untangled.
But forgive yourself.

Kiss the boy. Kiss the girl. Kiss no one.
Live in the present tense and with future declaratives.
Appreciate the thousands of little moments still looking to be made yours. Make them yours.

You are worth all the struggle.  Don’t forget.

Be kind but don’t rewind.  
Stay authentic even when you don’t make sense and your words aren’t oil enough to separate

paddle through the waves eyes closed if you have to,
the salt may burn your scars and you may lose your bearings, but keep going.
Maybe this is the year you’re going to learn to swim.
in progress because aren't we all unfinished
island poet Apr 29

for some time,
in these troubled moments,
midst the uprooted formless firmament
where rawest poems come from,
and the saddest gentled, go to die,
colloquially a place, a space,
we call,

in these, them days of lockdown quarantine,
time has lost its preeminence,
the swagger of precision-swiss-definition
of the imposing measuring stick of
is lost to that very
formless firmament

we look at each aghast,
with wild puzzlement faces,
inquiring of each other,

what day of the week is it?

the eavesdropping, spying voice of this device
“see the upper left corner”

which is kind of a miracle
but not nearly as amazing that

a few hours later,
or some time span of an approximate relevancy,
(we assume,)
we ask each other, once more,
in a reverie of hopelessness,
with total no-pretense of the
no, worse,
the frightening pointy needlessness of
it matters

dearest darling,
pray, pray,
what day of the week is it?

writ on the Isle of Manhattan
Nathan Young Feb 2014
I was poking a piece of paper with a pen out of sheer boredom.
Thus, a rough sketch of a heart was born
by a simple series of ink blots with repetition.
Then I thought: why did I do that?
At first glance, it was just a random assortment
of ink spots that seemingly have no meaning,
but as it catches my eye every now and then,
I realize it has seduced every nerve in my brain.
I figuratively try to imagine what my mind
looks like, but all I see is an enveloping mist
that my subconscious has sent forth
in an attempt to end my pervasiveness;
to uncover what I deem as truth.
Although, I can tell that the more I try to understand
why my subconscious is doing this,
the thinner this metaphorical blockage becomes.

I can see a silhouette of a person, a woman to be exact.
Her feminine figure exhibiting serenity in it's rawest form,
down to even the smallest of details.
Dare I approach this woman to uncover the secrets she holds
Or should I stand here, jaw agape, as I stand in awe?
Perhaps I may do both.

Please body, grant me the courage to move.
The longer I wait, the chance of her fading increases
and frankly, I do not wish for this to occur.
I feel that every step I make closer to her,
The stiffness of this paralysis only grows exponentially.
Curse these infernal bonds, I cast off these chains,
but it appears it's too late for now,
This apparition is approaching me.

In the beginning we made small talk, but I have to say,
those itty-bitty conversations were worth it.
They manifested into an array of discussions,
portraying our various ideals and goals;
It laid down our foundation,
but what really caught my attention
was the wisdom you so blissfully displayed.
It wasn't forceful in the slightest, but
rather all natural. My infatuation grew.

A dimly lit courtyard.
Flavored tobacco up in the air.

A table amongst friends.
Their chatter all tuned out.

A shoulder to lay on.
Causation of drug induced slumber.

Upon mountains high.
Walkers of the sky.

Ocean of lights below.
Hands clasp tight.

Still night in the park.
No more second guessing.

Gliding across ice.
Cancerous sin now ended.

Sleep tight, together now.
A kiss upon the forehead.


The longer I continue with this addicting contemplation,
a greater feeling of soothing realization
conquers this brooding mist and I feel uplifted.
There is one thing comes to mind:
I cannot stop adoring you.
PD 2/19/2014
Nicole Normile Aug 2011
lost under blankets of warmth
into his arms she's at home
the only one that's ever been real
it's the rawest love she'd ever feel
the epitome of anything and everything ever dreamed
it's love
it's love you see
but you don't
you think she's just naive and falling
though she is falling
she's not drowning
no she's falling for more than she'd ever dreamed
in his arms is everything to see

he holds her
wraps her up
and he holds her
warm and snug
she's now dived into something she'd feared so much
something that gives the biggest rush
a wave of emotion
of feeling
of heat
a wave of love
sweeps you off your feet
and into the air
and her hair
long and flowing
as she swims in the air
of love and hoping
just hoping it will last
never let it pass

she needs
him to breathe
he's her antidote
her cure for the cold
and her only true home
you see
do you see
this hopeless feeling
of need
letting everything go
just being in his arms
forever warmed by his touch
so strongly in love
she loves him so much
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
strange enough,
that word choice,
for they are all,
(or mostly)

they get on
their knees,
so eager to please

write a poem,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers

the trick employed
is transference

they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"

their kiss


laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox

The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,

the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.

so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you

it is about everything you want
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously

know this in advance

each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you

years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection

that audience is you

write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
will find you

your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth

they will find you,
of that,
be assured

amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?

for the courage to post
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee

if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough

poetry is ego

no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world

let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,

but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed
An afterthought:
thru the HP site, I have made good friends, encouraged many, and received much encouragement, open to good hearted people for there are your instincts...this is the important truth
King Tutankhamun Jan 2019
Check my frequency static stations easily
See haters after me cuz I invoke catastrophe
To all of my adversaries backed by hells army
Y'all can't harm me turning ****** into barbie
Dolls catch ya slippin' in the bathroom stalls guess death answered yo
Call still holding my ***** ******* to the laws
Raw as **** uncut lyrics made to gut
MC jaggernaut and what not? Strategized with plots
You can tell I'm from Houston cuz I rap alot
Smoke a few glocks that'll make  bodies rock
Hearse flow see how many I can make go
Six feet below my beef is eternal inferno
Feel the temperature rise in my
Ruthless forever as an outlaw so I'm destined to rise
Double my size fools need to
My raps untouchable say y'all killers but NOOO?
******' with me you'll be sleepin' with blood on the floor
I'm ******* like nineteen ninety six deep in the mix
Watch for the snakes in the pit they nothin' but culprits
Mad at me cuz my money ain't spent ahhh ****
Another hit made by the ***** King Tut cut
Off my loyalties cuz they undercover enemies
Hidden tactics improvise my
Skills gettin' them kills ending weak
Now I just signed your bills and still
We the rawest
regardless **** any other hating *** artist
We polish 'em
By a landslide makin' casket hides it's suicide
Tryna step to the Southside mafiaso
back back before you get ya wig pushed back
My raps more addictive than street crack
Giving the fiends an ear dose til they overdose
From playin' to close to the devil's playground
Though his son in law keep the lyrics raw
This is the styles of an immortal Texas outlaw
Letting off my lyrical shells makin'
**** being carried by six I'd rather go be judged
by a panel of twelve well???

His tail is cylindrical hailing immaculate twine of dimensional swords and my mind

With tinder and cinder and used dynamite - wily, perplexed - we are cunning, contrite

Silt and asbestos ensnare diaphragms -
duly expressing elite contraband

"Come on man, take my hand," tooling my ribs - reactors are passing for colonist fibs

My funeral follows a prudent position: infinite drama recounted in visions

Muddles reality into insanity - imagine the ways I'm bewitching my vanity

Woke up in feverish pools of deception - recalling this snaking tale of repression

Saddled apocalypse summons the storm - carnival prince and the reptile are born


Yesterday, I was saved frozen at sea drowning in confidence - pulsating excellence

Sudafed, opiates, amphetamines - sifting like gold diggers scratching at screens

This fabric has hieroglyphs witches and ornaments barely, she begs us to win sacred tournaments

He reached for her arms as she swam in the pyre, true to the caring that she had inspired

He's standing there drunkenly highly confused, gasping at semblance of what he could do

I don't know - I don't care somebody must
Fleeting ambrosia - burnt naval husk

Honestly, looking back nothing seems real
Surrealist and spooky is all I could feel

Scrapping sweet memory fertile new bones
A concert of cannibals worship this tome:


Psoriasis fingertips - silvery hair - eyes so cartoonish, "I can't help but stare".

Drawing strange images into the dirt - ghoulish imposter, "Flames on his shirt".

Crouching in testament - cutting herself - steadfast and jolly, "Infusing with health".

Leaving a trail of blood left in her wake,  as she stumbles and crumbles, "And tumbles in place".

Bastions of light usher scoffing demands - spears made of aloe, "Leave wounds on my hands".

Anxiety begged her to hide in the sheets - praying she'd come to bed, "Thrashing her feet".

Mysterious words from some fiction have bled into parasites,"Parasites play in my head".

"Hold me", she told me, eternally wed under deadly exposure, "More nightshade," she said.


Exquisite demonics implanted inside - articulate, "Just let me hold him", she cried.

Feeble as Latin words - etched down his spine - congregate, estimate, "Counting in rhyme".

We offer up sacraments, sacrifice innocence, whispering terrorists, "Following genesis".

Accordingly heathens with blasphemous hearts, "Whimsical orphans - atropine darts".

I keep you immortalized - captured in song, standing in pentagrams, "Naked as sin".

Dwindling starlight and twinkling frost - honored to share in this, "Paradise lost".

Arc of the covenant, star in the earth - hands held together - they're chanting this verse:

"I love how the world has the need to expire," and, "Look in my eyes as we bask in the fire".


Chefs lack the candor of regular pith in this kernel of sorrow we're journeying with

Beating her sternly - he's scaly and ****** - caging her bones under fertilized loam

Estrogen forests are trampled by scythe, sickle and saber, reaping the wife

Frisky in nocturne this sensual bride finds contextual meaning in meaningless rhyme

Standard and righteous - I prance in your skull - are we fated for cancer and ready to fall?

Tumors, abortions and cellophane wombs, consecrate gargoyles - guarding your tomb

Weeding out chilling improvements she sings, "Are the best of us lonely or left without wings?"

"I don't know anything - not anymore". He's begging to stay with her - holding the floor


'Flowery words', she rhetorically mused
Rawest emotion, endangered, refused

Lost and impossibly caught in the heat of the endless embrace of embarrassing need

Hopeful and starry-eyed, pushed to the side, doubted by scornful inclusion and lies

Twisted by jokes, wishes and visions, and tempting tornadoes of desperate decisions

Head in the clouds like the lady deserves, not the tinge of exclusion, repulsion, the nerve

Standing beneath as the waves crash above and the whip grips her knuckles - the crack of the glove

She falls on ground with an earnest composure while hippies and poets all **** on her floor

Promises, bonds and a zone full of friends that all predate her lovers - impaled on the fence


The pair of them rumble in harmonious glee, to wrestle and grumble in palpable need

Tanning distraction this action proceeds under cover of capture the flag as we leave

Beady and auburn, I gaze in your throat as you're speaking in languages nobody knows

Follow you as they do barking at wounds  - howling at insects - gnawing harpoons

Tenacious, relentless and yawning at doors as this screeching is creaking and echoing violently

Mischievous prankster - he sleeps on the floor - god of destruction, you unsullied *****

"Enough," is enough to command that he store all those awfully snide instincts that cause him to roar

"Maybe she just wants frontiers to explore?" In this city of carnivores no one is poor


The extent to which anyone really should mind is a farcry from anything I would have tried

How do you look at yourself in the mirror? Caring for no one, "Can I please steer?"

Monopolize - colonize - fall to your knees,  derangement of outfits and gloveless disease

"Them," he thought, fraught in sharp needles, "They knit," sought it out seeking some table to sit

Sickened and tarnished, they're grafting his skin, Alice keeps asking him, "Please let me in".

Swift as the sultry ones - swagger for days - aloof and untouchable - "Just go away".

Subtle forgiveness was penciled in rot -abstaining from quicksilver lessons he thought

"Apple shaped targets?" this weird maidens heart is a factory of gears that all grind with a start


Quintessence, purses strings and cardinal demands, weaving his fingers through crucified hands

Fondling smoldering kingdoms of glass - "Sand in my eyesight,"  she sinfully asked

Cathartic - imparting this wisdom upon as the mask on his face does gives way to the pawn

Comforting cripples with zippers for lips all while shards of perfection steal barbershop tips

Companionship - sunken eyes - drown in the lake as the greatness of bodies of water intake

Angry as clamouring mountain folk groan, "Cavernous hillside. Some call it home".

Clamping considerate grips on her wings as they sell her for rubies and loose diamond rings

Foulest intentions from bittersweet ghosts, repenting for eagles with talons for toes


Painstaking chimps have their skulls opened up under practical willows with creatine tusks

Tedious dysentery fractures the press of impoverished illusions, "Why aren't you dressed?"

Trapped under flint rock - collapsing in filth - avalanche scoring and soaring from hills

Breathing out fire from chemical lungs, fringed with discomfort - flensing her thumbs  

Hot as fresh crystal - clanging like gongs,
cost of the gambit is mounting to some

"I'm not sure you'd go - if anyone knows," as your icy composure forcloses your glow

I'm content to think that anyone cares - it's a panicked delusion and I wouldn't dare

That's why you wake up just shaking in fear, sleepwalking in public,
the horsemen are near


Waterweight - ******* - no one is home - send up the lizard - "I might as well go".

Jello shots - taking the bus to the tower - sticky and tenuous - eloquence strenuous

Pent up and sent up the labyrinth spire - elevate thusly, cables and wire

Incarcerate me as they douse you in ***,  sloppy and ****** - bloodied with ***

Warned of a fortune so spacial it ****** at the cosmic imprisonment laden and fixed

Misogynist epitomes launder transfixed on a native reserve burning nicotine sticks

Steeping a boiling *** - struggles display - "Are you gonna keep letting him talk?" Go away

Tearing her eyes up with digital pins - asunder they tore me with calico wings


Vainglorious stitches - monogamy dead, shuffle to school without sutures or bread

Starving so beautifully no one is there emptying halls of his putrid despair

Wallow as germophobes glean to react, "I was hoping to bounce as the luster refracts".

Hookworms are evident dazzling tone - shoddy as hues on this luminous phone

Lioness named for the flame of our youth - rather you gargle my pain in vermouth

Flimsy as benzene - it seeps in my ***** - bartering spirits for paper and coin

Seltzer and alcohol, oh how I trust that you'll ****** me right into this shallow new husk

Casket misshapen - diving beneath the surface of every mistake I can see


There's more darkness in consciousness than you could know - pesticides rest inside nightmarish dreams

Tantamount, visceral -  mountainous screams, "Colossal magnetics start firing beams".

Floating upon rings of onyx and lime - the city was swept under soundwaves of time

The first night I met them, they washed me in light - fifty foot gypsies - lasers in sight

Demonized, ostracized - gaudy as hell -
trampling heavily - rotating noisily

Show boats with no hope to wake up and yell, quoted retraction - lucid reaction

Shadowy faces contorted and towering -  flinching and wincing, cringing and cowering

Flowering stupidly - running away - asking, "Can anyone help us today?"


Justify heartless precision you take on this rectified burials thirst to replace

Cresting some green fixtures spiraling waste - photonic windmill - sneezing with haste

Alkaline infants are tastefully conned into terrible matrons with hypnotic yawns

Grifting the shoulders our blades rest upon into sorry excuses for stabilized arms

Braced for the chance of a kick in face - "They offered me poppers with lemons in place",

Of some sort of wandering thievery race, gracing the shape of the nails in her face

Abstract absurdist - this faction is severed - luridly campy and hopeful he let's her in

Demonstrates how it all works when you die, "Your body keeps heaving perpetual sighs".


"How would you like to experience death?" The smoke in his broken heart lovingly said

Typing cryptography under his breath - "Shade of a pyramid's awkward," it says

Scabs weld their fools on the tracks to the rails - locks crimson black as they whimper and flail  

Sabotage robots who walk on the ceiling - gibberish, ******* "Roaches are dealing".

Larynx absconded with starlings and doves - swallowing nestlings while fledglings make love

"Time to stop fighting," it bellowed and mourned - spongy testosterone - exercised horns

"Sodomites," - come to me - "Gumption eschews". Hilarious pictures that serenade you

"Unruly, infesting," - bowels of a God - evoking the pantheist's haggard facade


Catacombs yielded pretentious as mines - lines in the quake of awakening vines

Higher than killers with thrills who conspire to bask in our innocence, "Lakes made of fire".

Needlessly sending for doctors and kings - soldiers of vitreous letters know things

Nobody else could have possibly guessed, sauntering safely into our regrets

Twisting odd verbs in a blunder he spoke, "I wonder when they'll ******* thunder". She wrote:

"No one wants you to fly more than me".
Red as her blood was. Blue like the sea.

Operate casually - amateur alchemist
Practicing chemistry  - new occult balcony

Reaching a point of unparalleled strife -
Precedent slit - heralding the knife


Allergens checker an angelic frown - grinning to save face - numbing her crown

No one wants you to fly more than I - correcting her grammar... "I'd rather die".

System reset - she said, "Need to expire?" Curling so cowardly, "You're such a liar".

"Philandering suckerpunch," arteries whine - encumbered, sporadic - they plough through my spine

Clinching the gashes that poke in his sides - entryway clutter is littered with pride

"Heuristic Columbus," hypocrisy boons, "Exiling marrow," he passively croons

Fitful hounds - kerosene sheets - "Leave", - fueling the sparks of satanic relief

"Pastor, what have you got up your sleeve?" He actually thought he would get a reprieve


Climbing down sideways - expanding deplores,  "dastardly hooligan - hands on the floor!"

"Stout absolution?","Storybook gates?"
"Novacaine icebox?" Hoodlum debates

****** as rangers with rifles and glocks, they're flocking like animals down at the docks

Fifty-six mannequins crouch in a row all while tantric eccentrics converge toe-to-toe

They're bowing in tandem and chanting in sync, "I swear to you mother, it's not what you think".

Ancestral wigs often shed temple spawn,
"Honestly kid, what the hell are on?"

"I don't know anyone higher than you".
Hairdresser puns are a noxious perfume  

Gripping strange stalks of white tight in his claws, "Bring me a lighter", he silently gawks


Ubiquitous - which is his festering moan, conspicuous stealth in the place of this poem

Tolerate surrogate - lecher bemoans - fostering pestering questions alone

Delegate consciously - losers go home - victory pasteurize hearts made of stone

Revving in dangerous jungles, you know, "I'm confusing the past with a future foretold".

Approved as a commune of toxic cartoons, the queen suffers no more than idle abuse

Deep in the pockets and dunes made screws we are trenched in this utter bereavement of you

Alice in wonderland  - Alice in chains -
Alice likes cannibals, torture and pain

I don't remember if that was her name -  cats in black dresses - are scratching in vain


Cross-legged in triangles, shells billow smoke, after everyone's lymphatic system is choked  

Sanctum synthetics - these viral fiends **** - oh how I loathe silken knights laced in cloak

Vitriolic and fatal - she's spiteful and mean - relinquish your insides, "I want you between".

Riding on horseback their sheaths slip behind, hypotenuse daggers have poisoned my mind

Isosceles vertices equal - they feast - growling in lateral scalene it creaks:

"Love all my friends," now the beast has a plan, "Triangulate all the new ravens I can".

Colonic intoxicants signal the fan of the chronic conception of too many hands

Again we're in triangles primed for the farce, exit the scheduled-impressionists art


Fantastic, predestined - the sickness is seen as the top hats and wizards make scientists gleam

He comments, "we all love you carry my breed to the temple of torment, I offer the seed".

Tally marks scoring with scarabs and ticks which impregnate the fleece of these humanoid tricks

Triangles, Triangles, "Beg me to stay,"
Parasite, Parasite, "Don't go away".

Nat Lipstadt May 2016
eight years on,
she, airplane borne,
takeoff - a minute from,
texts a parting thot

"love you madly"

you can't recall ever
that prescient précis designation
on any earlier editions
of your other old lovers resumes

this tidbit of reckless abandon
moves fury fast,
direct to the top of the list

madly, manly madness,

when you man,
allow the crossover to occur,
when boundaries twixt honesty and
are declared
voided laws

when the white cloth napkin of careful sanity  knocked, swept to the floor

maddening love rawest realized

in madness, completion is indivisible,
indivisible, completion is madness

manly madness
Tyler King Mar 2015
Dead man walking, right?
You going to ******' score ******?
You going to ******' score?
You're ******* right I am
I'm gonna hit the lights and let my veins glow electric
I'm gonna turn my blood black and spray it all over the walls
I'm gonna sleep tonight in the abyss, baby

Are you hearing me are you feeling me am I getting through to you do I ******* stutter?
Are you ready to get out of my way or die *******?
I'm going to tear the ******* roof off this place I'm gonna skin you all alive
Till it's just me and the messiah complex dealer with the keys to the holy city
If this is a standoff then let's have at it if you wanna play cowboy I'll show you cowboy
If we were made in any image at all it'd have to be the rats, right?
Well I'm the big bad wolf now and I'm done ******* around

Family man
Feel cool with that gun in your hand?
Feel cool with that hole in your neck?
You're ******* right I do
I'm going out in style tonight
I'm going to find the rawest nerve and plug it into an amplifier
I wanna hear God cry

Is this happening are you seeing this are you ******* kidding me?
Is there anybody even on the receiving end?
Is this a sick ******* joke I'm choking on ***** and hate and I have enough rage to bury everything
I don't want to rest until I watch everything suffer
Am I sick? Am I losing it have I lost it already?
What do I have left to lose?
What manner of beast is this now?

Is that it, huh?
Is that all there is?
Don't ******* patronize me
That's gonna be it, alright
I'm gonna finish it the way it began
Dim lit basement, flood of chemical angels
Beauty in the most high
And death will show me sympathy
Because junkies die alone
Angel Enriquez May 2013
most distorted synchronized  bass lines measured in rhythmic tempos of head nodding neck shape shifting melodies that bounce in and out- resonate through you so much as a deep tissue massage; if loud enough.

a zen state if you will.
whilest listening to "Tony Romeras"/ MAD (original mix) I suggest you do the same.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2013
Cold springs inky Blackwell gone from all that was special endearing a world of subjection with bounds
Expressed in tangible constants blessings fixed by strata and composition the fusing of the most
Elemental design in human life to love and be loved remembering from both sides with such intensity
The very world elliptical these pulsations reach their apex they do contend they harness all known
Reality they are extravagant in the extreme they gestate the rawest and fullest impact able truth
Forever swirls flows in the sweetest valuable treasure house each day every hour laughter and tears
Are weighed from youth till death every participle hangs know not the weight that is suspended in this
Airy clime the visitation the stitching of immortal souls in effortless joy in every syllable building blocks
Of deftest design were being appropriated where near or distant magic indefinable took new breath
Arrested the common and the extraordinary knowing not the magnitude all of matter was being forged
The great blacksmith of the past was surpassed no engineer of earthy skill can touch what was wrought
By a man and wife in their intimacy or their reach the breadth of the land and the stars bowed in
Wonder as their arching hearts surpassed there heights of wonder and grace tenderness distilled to
The thinnest equation where dreams were laid bare and on this truth scaffolding as thin as a
Hairsbreadth held a succession of thoughts achievements and future probabilities destiny occupied
Nothingness but left a bridge that all of life was welcomed was fixed to a point it grew balloon like it
Ascended by revelation in ordinary circumstances flesh and blood accelerated beyond the brains ability
To fathom where all of this was leading second by second generations were being spawned called forth
From hidden trajectories of earth and space go to the window of sharing recapture amazement it will
Pour comfort into the wound and sorrow of loss against all odds you forged the river of time made new
Life takes it first hesitant breath you were the recipients of miracles they plainly called them bundles of
Joy you cast fourth strains of indefinable rectory spirit was sparked and with love’s breath a fire grew
It is the quality of life and unalterable peace and joy submerged in every day peaks and valleys if you get
What this speaks of it will carry you over the valley up to the heights sorrow will replaced with
Benediction and esteem for what you both accomplished and wrought in this life which is only
A dress rehearsal for that which is truly amazing it waits in surety just beyond the confining strains
Of this blissful song you sang for a lifetime
Hayleigh Jul 2014
When every bone in your body aches to be relieved through death, When it hurts to breathe, when the thoughts and ideations of self harm cut you deeper than any blade could and the thought of suicide is one of hope not fear, when the burdens you bear are so heavy you feel them weigh every inch of you down, when you wake up with regret that you made it through another night, when you feel like you're drowning in the millions of tears that have parted from your eyes, and yet you march on anyway, you throw away the pills, you put down the blade, you pick up that fork of food and you eat, you don't turn to a bottle or drugs, you dig deep within yourself for the fight you swore you had run out of months ago and you carry on with life, that is the rawest and most admirable strength there is.
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
;              climb incidentally a towering flat
   at struggling veneration's rawest berry              so scarlet a holly droplet
in manifolds of sage
                                          a sundered drooping door
i'm carefully falling porcelain                              sheeted hammers
       languid health    a protein          remarkably nascent    fronds spun
       den denting     vine
Lila Lily-Thanh Jul 2010
underground held a slam poetry contest.
they drew me from the crowd,
"wanna be the judge? hold your score cards,
the poets would soon get here."

I was sitting on one of those chairs,
front row, facing the competitors.
oh how young they were, glasses and what not,
distressed jeans, leather boots,
some had strange bracelets and weird tattoos.
and some looked just like me,
eager for a show of the best of arts.

"this is exciting" "no ****. a friend brought me here,
never been to a slam show."
that guy next to me was even more excited than I,
he frantically slipped through his stack of cards, asking me,
"how picky are you? you like poetry? how do you decide on a ten?"
I said, "a ten is one that makes me **** my pants",
to which he shut up.

the performance of the words, the rhythm, the rhymes,
metaphors and the like were dropped like fire,
I tried to catch them but a few I missed.
didn't need to make sense,
for they were so good.
I just sat there and kept drawing my ten's.
I could hear the guy next to me mumbling,
"now that starts to smell real bad."
I gracefully turned to him and said, "thank you."

have you been to a slam poetry contest?
it is like a festival of *******, except
you could only use your mouth, and some
body gestures perhaps. it became good,
when one poet started to create illusions and reality
with a story about one guy waking up constantly
like me, who kept running into the vicious circle
of daily mundanes and forgettable details.
to listen and watch him was to see poetry at its rawest best
posing itself ****.

underground poets, here I came to give you
my stack of ten's. for you have created
such lively, dedicated
recollections of my world.
Greg Berlin Aug 2013
Having *** in
a car is the most
of locations.
You drive up late,
wait on the curb
for her to sneak
out past her
overprotective and
well intentioned parents.
She gets in,
keep the music high
and the voices low,
any conversation at
this point is
simply to break
the slight awkwardness
of what you both know
is about to happen.

Park in a
shady lot
with no light posts.
You can see an
elementary school
down the street,
buses and pick up lanes,
in a few hours they
will scamper around
like rats
but tonight there
are no witnesses.
Tonight there is nothing
but the back seat
you climbed into,
music still loud enough
to dissuade
any personalization
of the situation.
It is ***** and cheap.
--a personal
She is nothing but a
quick fix.
She gets on top,
moans a little
as you slide in.
The seatbelt buckle
digs deep into your
but you don't mind it,
this wasn't meant
to be comfortable.

You just want this over with.
She looks at you
and smiles,
you look away.
All of this
is shameful,
but a necessary evil.
There is a decadent
that surrounds the
cheapest and
rawest of pleasures,
that glory in the gutter.

*** in a car is the most
dispassionate of locations.
You drop her back off,
don't stick around to see her
caught by her
waiting father.
Her shirt is on wrong
and her hair is ******.
Not your problem.
You head home,
keeping the music up,
thinking about anything else.
You don't even know
who she is,
just some quick fix,
just another wednesday night.

You try to believe that
it is better that way.
King Tutankhamun Feb 2015
As tha vinyl goes round and round
Put my vocals on the sound
Make minds astound
Like they blazed a pound
spiritually buried in a ground
Many awaited so many hated debated
But ya only created
A bigger badder mc flawless the rawest
To ever touch a beat leave ya off ya feet
Ya in high heels drink Dom P no spills
Ice chills windmills sittin' on the 22s rims
Tilted brim far for slim lights dim
Smoke sessions prepare for the aggression
When fools hear my sound they'll start a recession
Lyrically insane off my brain
No pain no gain pushin' weight in differ states made estates hold ya pate
Cuz it's bound to get popped off ya soft
As Doughboy check my rhyming ahoy
Gettin' girlies made joy don't act coy
My apparatus the baddest yours the saddest
A **** without Gladys
I'm on the Midnight train to Georgia
Got some led for ya
Caps I peelin' more than onions
Leavin' nigguhs holy like funions
Funk baby born in the eighties
I'm the shadiest of the shady
Hate me now but it's all gravy
Burnin' emcees like Monks thai skunk
Put the funk
In my mind always on the grind
Watch for one time and I'm
Never gonna die from this
Respect ya royal highness
Check my pedigree ya gonna wanna
re-re-re rewind this

****** stop pretendin'
The masquerade is over
I thought David Porter told ya
The massacre just begun
When my guns bust fools begin to run
Into four-corner hustlers street jugglers
And stick up mugglers
Bounce my **** I'm the hardest to hit
Guard ya **** this a blow harder than Tyson
Sweep up the street call me Dyson Slicin'
Competition to pieces for stereo thesis
As my brain increases droppin' feces
That cant eradicate or debate
End up bitin' they own death date
Ivs' pumpin' from the leds dumpin'
Blood clots bumpin' body humpin'
This is a take over I don't pull til the nut is over
Never see me sober refer to me as Jehovah
Positionin' plots when emcees touch the spot
End up mad shot???
Askin' who shot ya? Nobody knows
It's the Htown ****** raw and hyper
160 kills with out the trickle of a sweat
I make more threats than a terrorist
George Bush couldn't even stop it
Mass mayhem slam opponent til they open
Dilate pupils after the loot principle
***** tricks haters can *******
Neck slit now ya can't talk ****
No love I'm in it Cuz im greedy
Don't feed the needy I'm black as Nefertiti
Yall can't see me
Even if yall wanted too
Chumps talkin' like they smoke me
But I'll have stunned more than Haitian Voodoo

Mason Jun 2015
When I remember
pressing my face against your neck
and tucking it under your hair
and kissing your ear,
it's the smell that overwhelms me.

In memory, it's more like a color.
A brand new color.
A more beautiful color.
In delicate hues it comes and goes as I breathe.
I breathe deeply to try to capture it.

But I can't steal the rawest of your beauty.
Although I may, for a moment, remember the joy it gave me.
onlylovepoetry Dec 2016
all her nails, freshly painted,
the smoothed shaved legs,
seasonally and saintly nick free,
the eyeliner,
A+ student penciled in,
eye shade applied with lightest of touch sensual,
threaded eyebrows, 
curvaceously straight,
streaks of red,
the appliqué upon her head,
parfume strategically dabbed in spots near where any
body's  lips might invade,

and yet,
not one primped place upon her
was safe!

all turned awry,
when knocked I
upon bedroom door,
bursting to read a poem freshly made,
the oven's writing warmth,
still faint discernible,
giving off the aroma of heated ink,
upon a skin-smooth page,
a bakery smell irresistible

presented her with my best,
a man's rawest essence
refined, honed, then, honored, favored by her
she, overcome!
weeping pleasure at the pleasuring
of my words so gentling,
all by my soft speaking tongue applied,
that  engendered this response

in a slow pouring, half turning,
presented me with an act of counter-balancing,
no embrace, no equality of caressing,
a weighty visible estimation of
her physical esteem and appreciation

presented me a bill for repair,
a body's bodyshop estimate,
undoing the undoing damage done,
by my careless, thoughtless,
ecstatic reading of
only love poetry

she added a weary, seasonal, lyrical
claus(e) of some folk familiarity,
by way of apology

*"that's what you get for loving me"
any message you send can and will be turned into a poem

for the one who messaged me.

"That's what you get for loving me
That's what you get for loving me
Everything we had is gone, you can see
That's what you get for loving me…"

— The End —