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mikhaila Jan 2018
I am a sunflower
I am the Son’s flower
radiant
glowing
pollinating the earth with the seeds of joy

I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
mighty
growing
bending but never breaking under the strength of the wind

I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
repopulating
rejuvenating
regrowing a generation focused on self-growth rather than world-growth

I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
shedding tears for the hopeless, feel, and the weak
for the ones who don't have the strength to grow
for the ones who need just a tad more sunshine
for the ones surrounded by drought
I shed tears in hopes of giving them joy, hope, life, and happiness again

I am a sunflower
I am the Son's flower
vircapio gale Jul 2012
she is my nihilistic god;

i am a stag leap.
the fainter wind-caress
felt deep in trunks and boulder bed.
i am delight for loosened thorns
that piercing underfoot will spur to run
my naked body's open-air embrace
atop the callus of my seasoned fun,
skirring flora shadow-dancing bright
descending mountainside of noon
in blurrs refracting sightful bones.
i am the sense of
transtemporal glacial moans,

the heartbeat of the soil breath
to puff from feasted log a mycophile's awe
or want for all placental webs in view
for naming earth a seeping sorrows tithe:
my consciousness of things alive.

the stinging lungs atop the path
are emblems of a winging truth
to overcome her nearing death.
i am the lingham of creations' race.
i am the sensate reeling blow by empty blow.
the gravity of light and dark;
gray theopolis of fists and falls.
envelopment of massive meanings filled
in nether-branchings' net
and mediatrix scorn: the wider world absorbs my self as ~ all~
~. .all. . ~
prating some nepenthean law
to sour our poetic hate
and deeply bury seismic seeds she wants to sow, like
ancient clues of metagender fact:
hermaphroditic **** to 'normal' eyes.
icecaps to resize and singing moralize;
a dolphin midwife toning yoni love
for labor certain nuns call "gift"
as crown of pleasure heights
on par with mysteries;
regrowing infant fingertips,
to pi recited over days,
to vaster mindscapes drawn in ways
'beyond the genius of the sea'

why wait for ease of shame?
thin veils of culture lift
and family bonds anew to tow
the peace from out irratic weight of nation rifts;
instantiations burst beyond the tunnel course~
rhythmic doomsday yearnings line the halls of humantime:
prophetic visions of a sea to come,
Utnapishtim keeps himself alive
to garden with his wife a thriving mortal line.
Quetzalcohuatl finds himself *****
to bloodlet savior sexuality,
his heart a morning star, a Mayan Venus shine.

i see the standing trees
entwine slow-love to sky
so i can swing and heave
my universe above the words,
to carry thorns as well as petals, doves.
the vision ends. the new begins
to filter dyad lies through
inter-
corporeal lens.
embodied ivy climbs the tree of death
to rewind love and deepen love,
to bound the loss with goddess wisdom ends and other ends
of ouroboros shedding clear
of limits insight thrives to near.
sunglance peeking is the hovering of me,
steady comfort crosses floating lotus feet.
the softest rock has melded under thee
to join a forest pausing here.
a berry soaks itself of all i am
while nutty chipmunks chirp in whirls;
the clouds are girls you've been,
Nephelae to tease in quenching gowns
the verdant book of men we've known, who leaf
the air to taste another form of fairness lent.
silver is the sun in times of stillness overached.
sifted tensions drift to lie awake, but
drowning in a stream of glowing calm,
i am the woody balm.
the scent of bark unnestled dry
and leaves remembrance when
the breathing stops, the final
fleshing in of nowhere, never then.
you are transcendent of transcending
pure. end, endure and lucid ending live again
in empty worship ringing plenum om.
The waves undulated as if
they were the backs of 100 wriggling worms
The sky shed tears as if
a 1000 angels wept for the death of hope
black clouds roiled, sparking with fury
casting lightning down upon the mire
but below, upon the sea,
a miracle was set to transpire.

A boat rushed down and over the waves...
Back and forth,
a juggler's ball tossed and turned it appeared to be.
Yet, despite the malice,
and the seething spite of the sea,
the boat was safe
snug as can be.

And in this boat was a silent baby
his eyes stared out into the turmoil
he did not understand the frustrations of the elements
how they wished to smite him where he lay.
Despite the twisting of the boat
he did not roll, nor did water coat
his soft cheeks, his baby blanket
he passed on into sleep,
into dream he
went.

He awoke to battles raging about him
the crashing of thunder
was the desolation of a mountain
the world knew war for the first time
deaths in the billions, no pasture without crime.

He stood as a man
with bearded face
skin like the earth
armor embraced.
He realized he held a mighty weapon
it gleamed in his hands
power coursed through his veins
down to his soul
up to the heavens!
A beacon of light he seemed to be
but heir to destruction he truly was.
He did not know what power does
to the feint of heart
to the well-intentioned...
He struck the ground amidst the battle
the whole Earth shook, oh, the chattering teeth!
The mountains lumbered to form again
as if by the shovels of skyward giants!
The battle paused for the barest of moments
the awe was palpable
like a kingly feast
but the people's hearts hadn't forgotten the pain
their hate surged up, like volcanic bile
despite their peace present for a while
the massacres began again in earnest
perhaps more so than before his deed.
No one knew the power he wielded.

He still had hope, he could do something!
But what greater act was there than mending mountains?
His heart was up to good,
but his mind couldn't ground him.

"I must stop their wanton annihilation!"
He roared within himself,
"Are they not my people? Am I not their savior?"
He went to the most heated battle
struck the air with his weapon
and every person's foe was replaced by their loved ones.
The battle ceased in an instant.
Each person stared in utter disbelief.
By what power had this happened?
It was said that mountains climbed back into place,
but what could summon loved ones,
even from the grave!
The fighting ceased despite their hatred,
and the stories magnified in flavor.
Many who were hungry
for peace from the storm of violence
fed upon the hearts of those in doubt
they claimed they knew who stopped the battle
they hoped to mobilize a peace effort.
He gathered these hopeful souls
banded them together so their efforts became tenfold!
Soon enough, the stories crept across the lands
across the seas
and underground.
For once, hope had purchased ground,
but hate, when cloistered, beaten back, starved,
becomes ever more malevolent,
ever more conniving.

He did not call his people an army,
he called them the Samaritan Initiative.
They did not fight their war with weapons of battle,
they fought with hands that mend and bind,
they saved the sick and the dying,
they uplifted the oppressed and those denying.

As time passed, his efforts grew,
but someone used his deeds as currency,
mobilized the scandalous, the warmongering,
someone hated he who mended the broken...
Someone plotted his demise.

He led his Samaritans across the world
each place they touched was left whole again
and though war still did reign, rotting and true,
he did not tire to end the end.

A new beginning he hoped to create,
but whispers that he was a fraud began to sate
the ears of those whose purpose it is to doubt peace,
they sowed the malice back into the healing wounds
soon enough, his power began to abate,
therefore, rumors seemed to be true.

He grew restless when he was barred from homesteads
barred from cities,
even countries!
Somehow these echoes of forgotten civilization rose
only to defy him
and he smelled someone's stench in the air.
His weapon yearned for someone's death.
For once, it did not wish to mend, but break,
and he felt spiteful all the more.
All the adoration he had garnered
had blinded him from his true purpose.
He sought out the taint that spread its tendrils.
"Someone."
He said,
"Is ruining my... empire..."

One day, while regrowing a desolated forest with his weapon,
someone came to see him.
She smiled at him, marvelled at his work.
"Who are you?"
He wondered, suddenly charmed.
"Someone you know..."
She grinned.
He spent weeks distracted and curious about her,
what was her riddle all about
and why did he feel her in his heart?
She did not seem to threaten or scheme
in fact her presence was a dream
and he yearned after her like nothing he knew
his mission delayed
his plans askew.
Many around him questioned him saying,
"Who exactly is it with whom you're playing?"
He would blush,
"Oh, someone..."

One day,
she did not meet him at their lover's spot.
She did not appear for a week, then another.
His mind began to churn about the months.
Since when had he last sent forth his healers,
or mended cities and silenced weapons dealers?
He began to be suspicious of her
he could have summoned her with a flick of his weapon,
but he dared not discover if she really were foe,
for if he should break, what can he grow?

Eventually, she appeared again,
smiling broadly, like an old friend.
He then knew the anger that so many harbored...
Oh, the twisted things he felt by her abandon,
the sheer weight of his turmoil felt too much to bear....
So he ****** it upon her without any care.
His voice was louder than a church bell,
flashing out across the forest where they would meet.
She cried out in fear
she ran from him swift
he chased after with guilt he couldn't lift.
He found her weeping by a well
on his knees he apologized incessantly.
"How could there be darkness in you,
the mender?"
Her question struck him in all places tender.
Doubt crept into his addled mind.
His weapon's glow flickered
his conscience was blind.
Surely not now should he have such trouble?
Could it really be so simple to pop his bubble?
"I love you more than I can bear!
When you leave me,
I begin to tear."
She nodded and held him close to her.

Someone watched from shadows not far,
they saw his frailty,
like a door ajar...

The months passed and he went back to work
new cities to grow and malice to mend
people saw him more for the savior he was
even though the rumors of fallacy were abuzz.

A special time became the moment of his life worthy of note,
a marriage to the woman whose life he knew by rote.
They consummated in the night and in the day.
Time seemed to stretch on and shrink all at once.
His happiness was a thing of infectious charm,
but all that glittered soon became alarm.

Upon returning home from time spent mending the broken world,
he returned to find his home
covered in blood.
He knew whose blood coated the walls.
Bones, ground into paste, smothered pictured frames.
Flesh reduced to pulp covered the floor.
His mind fractured in no way subtle.
The light of his weapon winked out with no rebuttal.
He wept uncontrollably in fits of despair.
The world seemed cold, frozen over,
desolate of love or laughter.
"I can't bear to live."

Someone crept in through the doorway.
"It's a shame, isn't it?
No man is greater than any other,
yet no man is born equal.
No man lives without love,
but every man dies alone.
Maybe you can understand now,
why we deserve our own genocide...
Maybe now you'll let us fight to the death,
and have our peace that way!"

He looked up and,
despite the pure evil that stood before him,
he did not see that.
He saw someone lost,
someone abused,
someone desperate for truth,
any truth.
He saw someone fighting to love something,
anything.
He saw someone forgotten by loved ones
after committing acts that person was unable to avoid.
He saw a frightened being
lashing out at the world
in the hopes that the suffering would end.
He felt boundless compassion.

"I have no power left."
He said.
"No power to mend or bind.
No power worth your scorn."

"I'm going to **** you now."

"If I'm to die,
I hope my blood is enough for all who suffer."

"You're no messiah! You're just a lie we all want to believe!"

"If I was just a man...
I would have died when you killed her.
I would have hungered for torturous retribution.
But you have broken no one.
You're someone who needs to see your own suffering
out in the world
to justify the injustice dealt upon you.
But for every drop of effort you put into destroying her,
I wish you never experience my pain.
I wish to mend what drove you to break me,
so no one else may be harmed by you,
or anyone you inspire to deal death."

"No, I defeated you..."

"You tried..."

The weapon flickered.

"No, no, you can't feel love for me...
You don't have the *****."

"I have very big *****."

"You think you can love me?
After how I destroyed you!"

"If I could be destroyed,
I would already be dead!"

The weapon burst forth with light!

The killer realized they were someone foolish
Someone lost
Someone in need of healing.
For if "he" could not be broken,
surely there was hope.
If he could mend mountains
bring back loved ones and unite lost families
grow cities from the earth itself
grow forests from twigs
and deny a cold-hearted killer
the satisfaction
the honor
of seeing the fractures of a shattered soul
in blood-red, swollen, tearful eyes,
perhaps this man,
this one man,
could reveal what love is
to the killer's own famished soul.

He saw something shift in the eyes of that tortured someone.

That's when he realized...
That's when he understood.
He had the thirst for solving puzzles,
but humanity is not a machine,
it is a collection of gears
each just as vital as the whole,
for the whole does not exist without the worth
of every individual.
And to ignore an individual like this...
Someone who stood at the center of all the woe,
the evil,
and the tragedy in the world.
To ignore them would be to throw out the puzzle completely.

"May I mend you?"

Realizing they were someone facing an open door,
that person nodded.

He struck that person with his weapon.
Light flooded out as if by the sun itself.
Time seemed to stop.
People looked up in wonder of the light.
The very winds halted,
seas stilled,
nature perked up in unison.

When the light faded, he saw himself staring in a mirror.
The man in the mirror had blood-stained hands.

He stepped across the threshold and hugged himself.
His darkness hugged him back and the blood seemed to vanish.

"I forgive myself for killing her."

His darkness melted into a bulbous, gooey form and sank into him,
as if he were some kind of sponge,
leaving no trace of the darkness visibly.
He accepted within himself that he was capable of
unimaginable evil.
He accepted that he had control
and that he was responsible for the health and sickness
of the world.

Around him, the world began to shift.
In fact, it appeared to melt into liquid
and splash around him.
The liquid became clear, like the ocean.
It splashed and slid,
rocking him about.

Light flashed!

The baby awoke, curious about the world around him.
His boat had touched some distant shore.
Flecks of water spotted his cheeks and he laughed.

A couple crept up to the boat.
"I swear I heard a baby," a man said.
"You're crazy," a woman said, "Out here?"
The couple looked within the boat
and found the baby smiling at them with his
toothless, innocent smile.
The woman held a hand to her chest in awe.
She tenderly carried the baby out of the boat
and rocked it in her arms.
The baby laughed.
The man reached out.
"Not that hand!" The woman said, "You just cut yourself!"
"It's okay, no blood anymore, see?"
He pinched the baby's cheeks.
The baby touched his hand.
His **** healed in an instant!
"Woah!" The woman yelled.
Feeling for a scar where there were none,
the man stared in wonder at the child.
"Honey," he said, "This kid's got potential..."
This poem sort of came out of nowhere.
It does sit on the border between a poem and a story.
I've been fascinated by the Poetic Edda and the Iliad, how a poem could be hundreds of thousands of words long.

So here's my little poetic narrative.

Enjoy!

DEW
Asphyxiophilia Jun 2013
We think death is romantic
Because the same lilies our ex bought us
On our first date are neatly draped
Over the caskets as decoration
(But there are no flowers in our arms
As we lie alone inside)

We think death is liberating
Because we imagine the shackles
Of society falling off our wrists and ankles
As we fly to a better place
(But in reality
We are locked in a prison
Beneath six feet of dirt)

We think death is infinite
Because we can never return
To the people who harmed us
And the house that was never a home
(But our bodies are not eternal
As they slowly decompose
Back to nature in the ground)

What we fail to realize is that
Life is romantic, liberating, and infinite

Romantic in the form of a sunrise
Climbing over a calm sea,
Liberating in the form of birds
Traveling to anywhere they please,
Infinite in the form of flowers,
Dying and regrowing in the spring

So on the day that you make your decision,
To end your (romantic, liberating,
And infinite) life I beg you to reconsider,
Because you may already have exactly
What you are looking for.
Daniel Magner Jul 2014
handrail, wall, ceiling, stair
tumbled down the whole flight
by mistaking the door
for the staircase as the door
for the bathroom
as doom loomed near
nothing had been more clear
I've been falling down stairs
my whole life
bruising, aquiring contusions,
bleeding, clotting, bones snapping,
regrowing,
I'll be okay, I'll be okay
if I can just manage to crawl
back up to the party
to the... party
to the...
to...


**blackout
Daniel Magner 2014
Grace Jordan Feb 2016
There seems to be a culling of the stress pounding on my poor stable head. I would almost question why if in the corner there wasn't her, with her dark blue eyes, calling herself my old friend. I don't know if its a blessing or a curse that I almost forgot what depression looked like.

I have to adjust now. I adjusted to the anxiety and stress and possible mania. Now I must adjust to the lower end of life. She all done up, in the corner right there, drawing me in and I'm somehow hers once again. Always had a problem stopping her red-lipped words from dragging me to her.

But you know what's kind of nice? I never have to stay anymore. She never can chain me down and numb me down with narcotics until I can't run away. Yes, she traps me and I go back and its never pleasant. But after awhile I can throw my coffee in her face, tell her to get herself a different person to tear apart, and bid her adieu.

My limbs hurt. My neck hurts. I don't think I slept quite right chained in her arms. But I'm not there. I'm slower, I'm battered, I'm wounded. I need to recover. But I'm not numb, not dying. I am me. I am whole.

I can picture how beautiful I thought she was so long ago, her hair done up, her eyeliner perfect, her eyes an enticing blue. I was more attracted to her body than my own, and I gave her everything, anything. Then she took and took until I was ragged and too broken and tired to even die. I never knew human exhaustion could get so extensive; It only takes a twitch to pull a trigger and I just sat in the freezing snow, unable to even open my eyes long enough to find the gun, or lift my hand high enough to reach my ******* head. I was just too dead to die.

But now I look at her. She is so much glitter and polish. She is so much of what I caked onto myself, and peeled off until I was thin and weak and stressed, but something that could grow. I was organic, I was alive, I was human again. She is a paint-caked hollow woman whose only goal is to vindictively destroy my world because it doesn't sparkle with false reflections like hers.

I may be thin, and I may be weak. I can only carry so much with the little muscle I retained through all the sticks and stones I stuck to my body to try to make myself stronger with a nonsensical shell. But I am moving. I am lifting larger weights each day, my work, my academics, my friends, my family, my love. They may erode me a bit every once and a while; I am starting from near nothing and building a whole new person out of it. I am rebuilding the lost soul that got scattered among the cinder blocks. I am finally making myself be that person I wanted to be; not my parents' way, or my friends' way, or society's way. My way. Its hard and exhausting and sometimes so painful I can barely breathe.

But she's just some mistress, lurking around a corner to try to ****** me; a leech, trying to bite out little bits of my soul to wear me down again. And with each attack I push her further away. I can't completely ignore her, but she can't control me. We no longer share the same glitter and polish. Instead I and regrowing all the skin torn by her teeth, and its growing back too thick for her to cut to the bone. Eventually I'll grow a new skin that blocks her out, instead of me, instead of people I love.

Without my glitter and polish, she's nothing. Without my glitter and polish, I can breath, I can grow, I can see.

I can finally find my way back to me.
the air touching my skin was noticeably warmer this week
and today is the First of March
and people are beginning to talk about Daylight Savings Time
and there's that familiar excitement in my chest again
the Spring butterflies returning to my stomach
every time I smell the electric ozone scent of
growth
energy
power
life
carried in the warm, wet breeze blowing from the west
it's the chill down my spine
and the recurring gooseflesh
anxiously awaiting all the unknown
possibilities
opportunities
drifting in on the wind
every day it seems the Sun changes color a little more
shading from the hazy white-blue hue of Winter
toward the bright hot yellow-orange fireball of Summer
and I swear I can taste that color shift with my skin
licking it up
cat bath of photons
drinking it down
sunlight pouring straight into me as
endorphin
serotonin
dopamine
adrenaline
altering my basic chemical makeup
transforming
regrowing
my Self
coming back to life
waking the **** up
waking the world up
I can feel it
I know it's time to move again
time to run again
time to drift again
time to dance again
time to **** again
time to kiss again
time to drink again
time to feel again
feel these things again
feel awake and excited and anxious and nervous and alive again
I can feel all of it beginning right now
with every new sensation when I step outside
I feel the familiar twitch of that little seed growing in the center of me
stronger each day
getting ready to burst
In the enrolling darkness
I awake to life once more
Healing after you last left
Regrowing my heart you ripped out

I see you as you are now
The happiness and life in your eyes
The joy my suffering has brought
The remains of my heart filling your empty one

No more, life is now mine to command
To appear before you, the person you made me
While celebrating my pain with your demons
You stand shocked, the thought of me horrid

I stare into your eyes
Once a portal to paradise
Neither say a word, mutter a sound
A moment conflicted with history

I unsheathe my sword
A sword meant for the death of the devil
I drive it through your rib cage,
Puncturing your lonely heart

You stare once more at me
Blood filling your lungs
I reluct to shed a tear
Not for what was, but for what wasn't

I pull my sword out
Your blood now decorating it with honor
I step over your corpse
Warmer now then it ever was

A few places forward
Lies your new lover, a newer specimen
Around him your demons praising
I walk to him, waking him purposefully

He sees me, his last sight
A ghost from a distant past
I leave him to Hela, a ritual for her
The blood angel marks his fate

The demons I slaughter
Their words not but poison
Lies that fuelled an old life
Their corpse the foundation of a new life
The conquering of all the heavens and hells would not bring back that which I've lost.
Laura Slaathaug May 2017
Write it down, You fear people forget you.
You’re a garden, where children pluck roses
at daylight, singing about the beauty.
When night falls, they trip on roots they can’t see.
With the cold wind at their backs, they leave.
When day comes again, no beauty remains--
Petals and stripped stems crushed by tennis shoes.
Would you want a garden stripped of beauty?
Maybe, if flowers grew again in sunlight,
maybe children would return, laugh, and say,
“See how beautiful. See the beautiful!”
Was it not beautiful yesterday?
       Lying dormant in the earth or sprouting,
       know your roses will always endure here.

Growing, regrowing, roses bloom without thorns.
If you can’t see it, know you are lovely.  
For the effortless way you let them leave–
your petals perfume the feet trampling you.  
        Alone, you wait out the night.
        Even then, you are lovely.
National Poetry Month Day 30. (More like 40 days but......FINALLY.)
CLARYT Sep 2018
The leaves are red and brown and rust,
The days are drawing in as well,
The colours of the sky do change,
And mighty rain clouds tend to swell.

When fluffy socks replace bare legs,
And cashmere sweaters reappear,
And loved one snuggling starts again,
Regrowing your hair, down to here.

The crackling embers on the fire,
The chick flick movies watched, again,
Hot chocolate, laced with something strong,
Comfort listening to the rain.

When bedtime starts to sound so good,
And spooning makes a welcome comeback,
Making love til way past noon,
And dried up twigs begin to crack.

The beauty that is Autumn time,
My favourite time of year,
Some people greet it with such gloom,
I greet it with much cheer.....
Being a witch, I just love the time when the season of the witch approaches, leading up to Samhain, the witches new year... All the beautiful colour changes and surreal purplisms in the sky, magickal
Joanna Oz Mar 2015
I am learning how to use breath as a bridge
between the processes I can and cannot control.
I am suspended between automated habit and conscious intent
on a trapeze of purpose and accident.
I am training my impulsive heart
to sit in tranquility instead of running away,
to be patient and discerning rather than hasty and indulgent.
I am rebuilding my visceral canals
so light can permeate my bloodstream.
I am rerouting my neuronal highways
so the path from A to D stops skipping over the sights held at B and C
and everything else in between.
I am repaving the roads
so thoughts stop getting stuck in potholes
revving their engines fuming exhaust over the sky.
I am reminding myself to be gentle,
to reach for understanding before frustration,
to take my perceptions with a grain of salt
and a second {and third, and fourth} look after I've stepped back.
I am regrowing the recognition of truth and positivity
amongst thorny storm clouds,
re-establishing the detection of poison-laden sweets and crowds.
I am slow in learning, but quick to try again -
recurrently re-working, re-claiming, and reminding.
I am in a continuous cycle of dismantling and transformation -
never who I was a minute ago,
and not yet who I will become in the moments to follow.
I am tiptoeing the tightrope of letting go
and embracing possibility,
delicately dancing along the divide of singularity
and infinite expansion of being,
flirting with disaster and divinity,
and dining with my ego-death.

My city is under constant reconstruction,
but the scaffolding doesn't shroud the sculptures soaring through the sky.
theres no telling what you'd find
if you crawled thru my mind
demons screaming
burned and bleeding

phantoms haunt me
beat me down
fragile darkness
all around

fear to fail
all the time
abuse has left
but still I'm blind

but whatchagonna do
which way d0 I go
nothing seems to work
stuck on a low.

stand back up.
back on your feet.
suffered the losses.
walk past the defeat.

a million demons..
crawl thru my head.
lingering souls,
of memories undead.

shake it off.
don't waste time..
take yourself back.
regrowing spine.

get past the sadness.
get over the rage.
its a re-birth..
a coming of age.
Copyright:MichaelJGenovese
Katlyn Orthman Mar 2013
The sun is back!
I feel it rain down on me
I smile back up at the sun
And let it soak into my veins
The snow still remains
I feel the dark days melt along with it
I lay there, even though the ground is wet
And look at the sky
Wondering
Are they watching down at me?
Can they see what I cannot see?
Do they hear what is hidden behind words?
Do they want to help?
I can feel the sun brush my skin
I can feel the hope regrowing in my heart
Maybe I can start anew
Breathe fresh air
Now that I can feel the sun
And smile back too
Ashlei Cottom Apr 2014
Meander down the halls,
Touch the broken walls,
The walls that surround you heart.

You watched them crumble,
You watched them fall,
And now you pay the price.

Alone with the hurting,
Alone with the sorrow,
Praying it'll all get better tomorrow.

You let them in,
You let them see,
And now you're back where you used to be.

Day by day, brick by brick,
Rebuilding that wall.
Regrowing the thorns,
Stitching up the places that are now torn.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Meagan McDougall Sep 2015
I am afraid that the space between heartbeats means nothing.
Your fingers are hooks in my ribs pulling me up, and up.
To everyone else it looks like I am an angel ascending and you are god,
divine, loving and all consuming.
But the hooks are knives that tear me apart
and my ascent makes me feel like a fish that's about to be gutted.
I was silly enough to think god meant love.

So I twisted and thrashed against sandpaper fingers,
and got thrown back into cool water,
soothing my skin , regrowing my scales.
There’s another now,
and his touch is tender,
his touch is kinder.
Less like a hook and more like kiss but,
I don’t know what to do with these cotton fingers on my skin.
Soft is a sensation that is foreign to me like water so hot it feels cold.

I’m just afraid that love means ripping myself open,
with no knowledge on how to stitch myself back up again.
Kawa Dec 2017
What is this thing that we are holding in our hands, this creation, put a finger on a small screen, is this how we get in "touch" with the world..or is this how we lose touch with it, lose touch with reality, the nature of life, the actual social activities, the talking, the conversations, no..really getting in contact, face to face, not Facebook to Facebook, go out, feel the air, listen to the wind, the rustling of the leaves, run barefoot on the grass, connect with the earth, feel it moving, breathing, listen to the waves and the fluctuation of the seas, to hell with artificial lights, go outside and feel the sun that nourishes you with nothing but health, lay awake in the night and gaze upon the beautiful stars, shining, glimmering across the sky, feel the rain drops hitting the earth, the smell of wet dirt, recognize the beauty of the snowflakes as they gently expand and gather upon one another, admire the beauty of the regrowing plants in the spring, become one with the universe, this is not who we are, this is not where we belong, everything has become artificial, cold, rigid, dark, sad, we are told how to live, how to talk, how to walk, how to die, where is the freedom..my home is out there.
Britni Ann Nov 2018
People always say that time heals.

But the more time that passes, the more painful it becomes.

But on the other hand the more time passes the easier it’s getting for me to be without you.

So... in a way time is doing both,

Hurting and healing

Burning and regrowing,

All into something new.

So always be thankful of the past.

For without it, you would not be the person you are here today.
I almost think it would be harder if you were here.
Esha Nov 2018
Sitting beside people with their own spinning worlds;
Blooming & withering silently or aloud.
I wish to pluck flowers from their minds;
Dust their thoughts, like pollen, here & there & blow them away in the wind.
Those thoughts would fly away,
Breaking & regrowing on the way.
Merging with fragments of many other thoughts;
Some alike & other utterly disparate.
They could reach someone else's world;
And might disappear or may start to bud.
With intensities, oh so different;
They may keep persisting with the same purpose they were meant.
If only I could whisper into the wind with my feeling blowing away too;
How beautiful would it be if it reached someone just the way I wished to.
Someone who might be wishing for a solace;
I wish I could bring a tender smile to that face.
left out of dark to swirl with the sirens
ice cold is unchanging and fully reviving
the bottles have no shape or form they just continue to grow and grow
all over the counter, all over the sink, all over the bedroom floor;
my charcoal lungs are evaporating with alacrity
so now green is the only color i have to  stain things with
still my anxiety is snaking its sour umbra over everything  
that is sunlight to me
anything beautiful and breathing
its erasing me
my mouth is full of cat hair and ammonia from the dog ****
and the white on the floor is cancer
im convinced of it but we have no place to go
and maybe its too late to change it
i am slowly less aware of reality and dead, dead, dying in my dreams
my baby left me, crystal blue lips and seams
why would she walk onto the water
she isn't jesus and i am the furthest thing
i jumped onto the mirror and it shattered, the ice slit my throat
i grabbed frantically to push her above the water
but her paws were limp, she wasn't moving anymore
then she started to glow ghost rising
until the white clouds caressed her enveloping all
watching her while i descended like Lucifer returning to his throne
this spider is spinning on my shoulder im throwing him away
out the window out of my bed out of my home out of my life
his web is still attached to me and he is all that i see
biting nervous itching, id rather be at sea
i can show the world ugly if that is all they want to see
this spider is crawling all over me
im barely evident in my deprivation
and unable to stop swallowing poison
to give myself time to breathe
i dont know this child but hes pushing a cart in the snow
red eyes smiling, yellow wheels, green coat
he needs help // tell him where to go
i take him to his home and sit down at the table with his family
everyone is talking  and laughing
fork in the ham smoke from the ash tray in o's
shes drinking and smiling then she turns and looks to me
and my uncles ghost comes straight out her vibrating throat
and begins to eat her food while shes talking to me
im just looking around like what the **** is happening
the family is all smiling they dont notice him he doesn't notice me
but i can feel everything so i go to the bathroom
pull out my teeth one at a time and they are immediately regrowing
my uncle is shaving next to me doesn't notice or say a thing
walked back out onto the street laid on the pavement
closed my eyes and fell asleep
Lia Morrison Mar 2019
When I gazed
into the ceiling's abyss,
it revealed the monsters
I so foolishly embraced because
I loved, yet

lunch with my mother
is silent and
I search for words to
bridge the expanse of that diner table
as I drink this black coffee and think,
"I'd never feel this loneliness if I made her proud,"
but

my best friend said
I was a still life amongst Napoleon portraits and
I thought eloping wasn't crazy
because we belonged to
a dying breed of honesty, but
I was drunk on cognac and he was high
when we loudly proclaimed that this love ran deep.

(It was a mistake
I still feel even though
a year has passed since
he left without
a goodbye or explanation.)

Before him,
I loved a man who made me his marionette,
two years spent
being toyed and controlled,
and months regrowing my spine
after I severed strings,

And, still, before him,
my father died and
therapy told me,
"No one can hurt you like your parents did," but
despite their blood and bruises that I still carry,
it's 5 A.M. and
I'm thinking of the anarchist who told me,
"Empathy is a gift in our post-modern dystopian society."

Gazing at the abyss only reveals
that looking back at the monsters,
surviving and outsmarting them,
only leaves you lonely
because they will never feel.
Derrick Jones Jan 2019
Floating and flowing without ever knowing
Gloating and showing without ever going
Bloating and slowing our repetitive rowing
Coating and mowing instead of regrowing

We drift downstream as if in a dream
Sometimes we glint, sometimes we gleam
Other times we pay a toll
Yet we are never in control

We can struggle against the currents
Test the limits of our endurance
Or we can learn to selflessly flow
We can begin to gracefully let go
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
matthew ronan Sep 19
now july, your night still chokes me
your heavy fists still beat me blue
three months ago we danced in hand
who dared to take the wind from you?

now july, you have reduced me
to less than sweat and more than tears
i'll still hold out my palms for rain
i've been regrowing bones for years
a poem from last july.
Aria Bapna Oct 2017
Love is like a flower
Delicate in its needs
Until its petals fall
Beautiful in its sight
Enough to stop passers-by
Love hurts like the seasons
Petals shedding and regrowing
Shedding hurts
Regrowth is beautiful
The flower never fully gone
The love stays
The people change
Until one day
Where the growth is to painful

Yet you’ve shown
Love as fire
Burning brighter than anyone
Shining harder than anything
Giving the soul much needed life
The heart its desperate rest
Days will come
That will diminish the flame
Small enough so one blow
One stomp and its gone
But your spark has so much energy
That it can consume other flames
Burning brighter than ever before
Shining harder than ever before
Trebled fountains and lenient trees
Swift in their purity from the ground
Fondles the earth and all its mysteries.

Grapes, crushed and given a reason to live, or a raisin. Aren’t we all
living in dissonance?
It feels, and we know it does.

Towers landed from the skies of our imagination,
the earth solidifying into architecture and sterilisation.
The sky cries for us.
Our obliviousness perpetuating us into oblivion.

We rushed being distracted, and we rushed being in love.
We rushed our existence into a world unrecognisable.
Our brains absolved of sin by
nature regrowing under our noses.

We will rush everything,
until everything rushes us.
Miranda boucher Feb 2022
I just want to be loved I want all the sadness to go away I want the clouds to lift my smile as high as it can go I want the sun to share its warmth nd to never go cold

I want to feel the relaxation of the birds chirping i want to look into the mirror and feel my reflection shine brighter then the north star ...life handed me lemons but my lemonade remains sour every sip leaving that sweet but painful , tickle on your teeth when sadness absorbs me into its terrible twister I slowly disintegrate

Into almost piles of nothing slowly regrowing myself with every bit of sun I can receive but yet it remains to be not enough

not enough to smile not enough to erase the terrible scars left upon my body by the depression that has over come my damaged and weak heart

life has ripped my limbs an fed them to the ones who aren't starving but to those that are full leaving society's pyramid of humanity

— The End —