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Jenovah Oct 2017
Pretty
Autumn
Leaves
Surround
Me
.
.
.
Bury Me;
Decompose Me;
Make Me New in the spring;
<regrowth>
Boaz Priestly Jun 2016
i know that
most days
the cathedral of your body
with all its dips and curves
forgotten staircases
and ripped velvet covers
on the splintered pews
is hard to love

and there are days
where you wish that your
body would have manifested itself
as a palace
made of ivory and bone
with great empty halls
that would host nothing else
but your anguished cries
and empty stomach

but these things
are incapable of filling you up
because it is hard to sustain yourself
on bitterness and past scars alone

so i say to you
my friends
brothers and sisters
my lovers
and those living in the wastelands
of themselves

cast aside these
things for you are not a church
or a palace or a temple

no
you are something
much stronger and vast
grow yourself into a forest

turn all the sleepless nights
and breakdowns and hospital visits
and suicide attempts
and those traintracks of scars
into the great twisting trunks of trees

grow yourself as big and bold
as you need to be
protect yourself
wrap up all your sharp and soft
edges and corners
into the bark of mother nature

become a forest
because
through fire and drought and storm
and flood
the forest always comes back
even the charred remains of trees
stand strong

so
i say to you
with your dark circles
and long sleeves
and chest hidden behind a binder
with all your scars
and imperfections
be a forest
because
a forest is unstoppable
it always comes back
it always grows back

and so will you
Chloe Zafonte Apr 2017
At one moment, my life was a rose. Crumbled in the hands of greed only to recover naturally as it grows beneath the weeds.
RA Aug 2014
Darling,
I honestly believe that once you tear everything down
what you rebuild can be stronger than ever. When we demolish everything
down to the very foundations
you're forced to notice the flaws from last time. And you did notice, you did know
better than I did
that though I have no practice at anything
other than giving up and walking away, I am capable of rebuilding. That knowledge, it seems, is only the latest in you proving me wrong, showing me
I'm better than I think, letting me know in the best way possible, exactly how
I have underestimated you. Darling,
I could go on, but I think
I need to thank you for not listening
to my urging you
my urging the world
my urging myself- thank you
for not giving up on me.
BH

June 30, 2014
1:05 AM

letters to my darlings collection viii
Ghost Kayla Jul 2014
Letting go of love that once kissed my lips
Walking a new path I stumbled and tripped
A long cold plummet left me almost alone
Do I whither with Shame or rebuild and grow?

Sprouting through the soil and stretching for the sun
I grasp for every ray and drink them one by one

Feeling soft forgiveness and strong acceptance
Sadness has served its sentence

Purple petals relax themselves slowly opening with relief
This flower now sweetly scented grew from the ugliness of grief
Secret Garden May 2012
There was once an angel with one broken wing,
that had a vision of regrowth at the end of a dream,
woke up one morning and began fixing things

finished mending her method of flight,
again had the freedom to fly through the sky,
however fast, however high, however wrong, however right

And one day she was going about,
saw a spark of light amidst a very dark cloud,
she spoke to him and asked his name,
with no reply he only slowly grinned,
with the flash of a smile,
she was consumed by him

She stayed in captivity for a while unseen,
until again she awoke from a lucid dream,
determined to change everything
insisted she knew exactly how to break free

So she fought and she fought to knock the walls down,
but eventually found she had an easy way out,
slipped right though that crack and swore she'd never look back

As she flew she began to grow cold,
and it seemed she had forgotten where it was she had to go,
she flew in circles hoping no one would know,
but soon enough her secret was exposed

She asked for a hug,
to be reminded of love,
the way the maker had intended...
Wanting more she took out a loan
on a garden she was determined to grow

As the flowers bloomed she was again consumed
by the power of the spark,
as light shined through, her keeper knew,
she was ready again for what only he could do

She was surprised by the spark, his eyes pure blue,
his voice of reason so fresh, so new,
a past more broken, held together with glue
than the one she was fighting,
with a blindfold and noose

She made it through a great depression,
or so her mind had made her think,
but she was still young, and so very naive
this was a plan she could never foresee
So she went along, with the bigger plan,
learning how to let things happen,
discovering life, in a completely new light
making sense of the unimagined

She spent a day in silence,
tuning the entire atmosphere out,
and when she waited for the voice to come,
she was able to hear the sound

A voice so calm and steady,
familiar sweet and heavy,
telling her she's ready,
for the test she would be getting

It told her to stop, and slow it all down,
look at things a little differently now,
eliminate hate, and jealousy,
replace it with positivity

That loving yourself is the key to it all,
the only way to be sure you can handle the fall,
the right way to get through it even if you have to crawl,
the best way to ensure, the engines wont stall

As she began to understand this,
she no longer ignored pain,
she accepted these things for just what they were,
and started living again

And on a little journey,
she took with his spark today,
she found that he had found himself,
along the broken way

Again she was consumed,
but in a positive sort of way,
never again would she look
at any spark the same

The angel and that spark,
sit now on a different level,
holding hands tight like handles,
passion burning like candles,
caught up in the blaze
            her plans went up in shambles

And maybe its the shambles,
that builds the stories end,
of a love that will never be lost,
and the finding of a friend

Forgive me while I sit here,
without too much to say,
but I find I become speechless,
when our souls begin to play

Push me, pull me, love me, hold me.
A cropped haircut, remembrances of time
The best way to reduce cuticles to bone
And forget what dances behind eyelids
Loosed teardrops and wavering dependability
Useless porch light, shameful gas tank
With shadows which count seconds
Stretching over regrowth
A cropped haircut, remembrances of time
MMX
Oct. 21
Sieve Dec 2013
when you hear politics
you usually think
poli-tricks
as in
the man in the suit
who stands up on stage
speaking false words and
reaping false prais
or the election promises
to End the War, Save the Children, Create More Jobs
Pony's for Everyone.

or the media pundits
who bicker and argue and flaunt
their superiority, their cynicism
over the public nightly
in Prime Time and technicolor lighting
you think of the pyramids
of the gods and the masters
imploring and coercing and driving
us,
faster, faster

of all the wars and drilling just beyond your control
of a separation and distance
from the actions this very instance
which are taken in your name
and worst of all, for most of us
politics, is Out There.
beyond your domain
or beyond your care

but politics is more than
an anonymous ballot drop
in an anonymous ballet box
politics is in the way
you step out your door
and follow that yearning
for something More

politics is in the way
you treat the Other
be it your next door neighbor, the stranger on the street,
or your lifelong brother

politics isn't being politically correct
but it's about having a level of respect
deep enough to accept
that your Words,
shape your World

politics is in connecting the
Me to the We
so that together we might
Be
something more than the sum of our parts

politics is in the conversation you had with
the person behind the cardboard sign
and whether you let them remind
you that God Loves You
and I don't mean God Above
sending you love letters on the wings of a dove
but the God in you and in me
the God we can all feel and see
the God of perfect unity

politics is in the linking of our arms
because although
we may have retreated
the People, United
Will Never Be Defeated

politics isn't in ivory towers behind closed doors
or strictly for super-powers
politics isn't in the oval office
any more than a sarcophagus
because politics isn't a photo op,
kissing babies, or a meet and greet
politics is You and I, together
in the streets
and in the parks
before, during, and after dark

politics is reclamation and restoration
regrowth and renewal
it's in the invisible fibers
which bind and align us
in how we redesign Us
to encompass that which must
become part of our moral compass

because it seems to me
that hierarchy
is a bunch of malarkey
a system of oppression and exploitation
compounded over millenia
of violent suppression and spiritual stagnation
until, Today
where we stand divided
by color class creed
****** preference
and gender id
enframed and maimed by bureaucracy
each of us, alone
doubting our own efficacy
so I tell you,
stand up, and smash your TV

because you won't find revolution
inside of a box
or get it from attending
inflammatory talks
because revolution is more
than overthrowing capital or the state
revolution is in the relationships that we create
within the rotting shell of this system of hate
revolution is in discourse and public debate
in neighborhood assemblies
and Occupations of late
because power, true power
isn't where they told us
power is, and always will be
with us in the polis, the people, el pueblo, rejoice!
and as we begin to awaken,
to this most true realization
remember,
We,
Are Unstoppable
Another World is Possible
Dresden Jan 2018
As I examine the contents of my soul
I’m disheartened by how much is missing,
and the condition of the remains
Over three years of regrowth;
over three years of growing pains
Your roots wove to every corner
The voids they left give me hell
After everything you put me through
It’s a feeling I know all too well
Senor Negativo Oct 2012
In each shallow breath on my neck as you lie with me,
In each ***** gust is a fragment of my completion.
In each gently murmured whisper fed to my ear,
There is a song of unity, regrowth and affection.
The lightly moistened imprints of your lips
Draw forth sighs, that I share with no one else.
Tucked away and safely kept, in a vault fashioned by your kisses.
Your delicate, yet firm and earnest hand on the nape of my neck,
The other rubbing across the contours of my torso,
Gently grazing nails, leave barely visible red trails
That mark the path of your caresses.
You leave your impressions on my eager skin,
Every minute separation leaves it longing for your touch.
You soften my hard exterior, and stoke my passions,
Harden my steel in the furnace of desire.
My hands work with serpent fluidity
Until moistened, blood flushed,
I enter inside you.
Then it is my breath on your neck,
My hands on your soft body,
My lips on your throat, chin, mouth and each breast.
Only in pleasing you, do I finally find completion.
Jeremy Betts Apr 2018
Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Let me start by saying that there's no need for the exchange of pleasantries, no introductions are necessary, I'm just here to verbally deliver a quick update memo on the progress being made daily. I know you're all busy people so I'll try to be brief and get though this quickly yet thoroughly.  There will also be no time for questions at the end. Let's begin...

I've reconstructed the way I think and see, scrapped the old me
The lies the devil sold me, told me I was a nobody and I bought into it completely
It forcibly held me down, face to the ground and from that angle everything is ugly
Tears slowly crawled down my cheeks to their final resting point, silently they turn the dirt muddy
But see, I went from a tragedy to a medical anomaly as I reversed the lobotomy
With the regrowth of the proper anatomy I ultimately but unnaturally went from an mental amputee to winning endurance marathons easily
It's amazing how quickly road blocks turn to speed bumps, almost instantly
They may slow me down but getting over them is no longer a problem for me
Eventually they will transform entirely into simple mile markers that I pass by on the daily
This path, this new journey will get me to the place I was suppose to be originally
Finally, after thirty years I'm looking forward to seeing some new scenery, being a part of this life changing movie
And with me I've got my two favorite people, Logan and Apphia respectively
They bring out the best in me, their love and belief in me drives me
They make me wanna be the best me I can be and opened my eyes to my true destiny
See, I thought life would be the death of me but truth be told it's a blessing bestowed to me
The rebirth metaphorically into this new family has restored my faith in humanity
I'm not used to this smile I feel on me, this is crazy, this must be what it feels like to be happy

©2018
Makenzee Nov 2017
the forest was plentiful and lovely,
blooming and beaming with thousands of flowers to gaze upon.
but recklessness and mistakes consumed the beauty,
fire reined the land and torched all the living.
the plants were ash,
trees fallen over,
and the people who once cherished the zen forest had fled.
when the peace is disturbed and the prettiness lies beneath the surface,
those who were merely bypassing will move to the next eye catching location.
time is the beholder of all beauty,
contrary to popular belief.
after the destructive end to the forests bountiful days,
growth begins again.
we may be stepped on,
ruined to seemingly no repair,
but within the despair is a fixture of light that will mend the brokenness of all hearts.
someday the forest shall return,
and so will you.
Traveler Jun 2021
The ferns have taken over
most of the forest floor
you can barely see your feet
through the bushy flora moor

Early spring flowers
have come and gone
and now replaced
by summer song
Butterfly bushes
bussing with bees
New life singing
high in the trees

Regrowth of mind
as your nature unwinds
hart waxing fatter
as you take in what matters!

Uncountable species
and we are but one
lunar submissive
in our paradise
under our life giving
Goldilocks Sun

Life has just begun
..............................
Traveler Tim
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.i lied in doubly toasted rye bread and some larry tesler epitaphs... toasted rye bread... better with baltic sushi... raw herrings in a creamy sauce... perhaps a creamy sauce with dill... more like apples and pickles... toasted rye bread with baltic sushi... herrings... smoked salmon is luxury... just the basics will do... a smoked salmon can have its bagel... as long as the toasted rye gets its herrings.

some thigs just have to wait for no apparent "rightness"
of time - a corvus corax album from 2009 only arrived
into my ears late sunday evening -
mille anni passi sunt - and no... i do not know what sort
of radio station would play this sort of music...
nor anything from 13th cent. "pleb" music of the countryside
or "heretic" monks that do not fit the criteria
of "classical"... i.e. "worthwhile"...

two sips of ms. amber / well a decent double with
pepsi max will jolt the memory:
or at least that's the hope -
yesterday two decent doubles allowed the coils
to unwind - alas - no pen and paper -
but a witness - a cat sleeping in a chair:
i'm pretty the sure the world won't mind if:
another of my diatribe spews heads into two
directions: infinity and nothingness -
                              perhaps tonight i will pick up
the scraps from what i "ought" to have written
down...                well... this is hardly
going to be words penned to paper to be later
required oratory material...

i can't exactly call them thought experiments...
if i believed in thought experiments...
i'd be... an oyster... or a clam...
  basically an mollusk - not quiet a stone...
but a shell - how did the oyster get his shell?
and why didn't the stone get...
a cell of celluloid / cellulite brain?
              the mountain has muhammad:
of that i am certain...  thought experiments...
not when you're about to do some manual labour...

i've been asking for my neighbour to put
up her garden fence for 15 years...
if not me then someone else...
she's put up a 5th of the garden's length...
the rest would remain covered by the foliage
in my garden... one storm... nothing...
two storms... nothing... then something...
the 5th of the garden length would topple...
until a new 5th of the garden's length would
be put up...
roots... ****** roots...
well... i felt lucky... this year we saw 3 or 4 storms
batter these islands consecutively...
the guys that were going to put up
the fence came... i gave them 250quid to cut
all the shrubbery in my garden...
after all: i do have tools... but a chainsaw i don't
have...
the fence is up... but the garden is in part
barren...
the shurbs and trees are gone:
i'm thinking of planting some dwarf apple / pear
trees... the plum tree took to the earth a few
years back... the cherry tree (morello cheery):
i'll give her another year:
she bloomed last year but only bore 2 fruits...
maybe she's shy...
well great... the shrubbery is gone...
but... roots... those ****** roots...
       we are talking london, we are talking:
a city built on clay...
it doesn't take long... not even half a meter
of digging before you reach this playdough
fudge layer of the soil...
     even if it is a dwarf tree or a shrub...
a holly... as i learned... even with a fork and mini
fork... a proper ***** and a mini *****...
a blunt axe and a heavy hammer...
digging up the roots'-head with some of
the roots intact can take somewhere between
2 to 4 hours...

                yesterday i managed 3...
which took me... roughly 6 hours... while i
uncovered a 4th...
   manual labour... better than going to the gym...
i really didn't know i had this muscle
in my body... or this sort of cartilage...
this tendon... i think i stood before a whole class
of students of medicine and gave them
an arithemetic of my lower thoraic and almost
all of my lumbar muscles...
but that's the beauty: i guess...
once you get on your knees and work with
earth, with roots, trees, once you unearth
the earthworms and cut them in half as you're
digging: well... they have an in-built clone
regrowth... the only music came from the birds
celebrating: renovation! food!
i wished for a radio... but then i uttered
a word or two and meditated on it -
perhaps it was a word - perhaps it was a phrase...
later that day i made east european dumplings...
a filling of last sunday's poacked chicken
meat (which is always a problem -
what do you do with poacked chicken meat
after you made a decent clear soup from it?),
mushrooms - sauerkraut - spices - blah blah...
but... first i sniffed my hands...
imbued with all the scents of the earth...
the dirst and the clay and the wood merging...
that... for the sensual contrast of later working
with flour and water for the dumplings' dough!

yesterday i lay in bed on this ******* carousel
wheel of "narrative"...
what if i forget it... i'll wake up and write it down...
7am... write this sort of ******* down?
i don't think so... lucky for me yesterday ended
with heavy rain... i almost wanted to fall asleep
to the sound of rain... it wasn't loud enough...
for a long time: it's either with earphones in...
or no... no other alternative...
      most relationships probably failed because:
"i wasn't there"... when trying to find the la la land
of nox...

               when writing: even feel a senstation
in your feet... as if you feet are standing
on the ceiling? the whole body translates into
a mild sensation of up-side-down...
ever write and while writing: feel the insane barrel
of laughter from a sensation that your feet
are attached to the ceiling?
   never mind...

   my eyes shouldn't be staring at this glaring screen
this late anyway... i should be listening
to radio.fama.pl with the screen blacked-out...
perhaps a candle in the room...
but mostly the light coming from the cigarette
being dragged... nothing more...
today is an exception: superstitious in that:
if i don't write this today:
tommorow would be cindarella of this...
no memor: there's already barely any cohesion...

today i was lucky: i only dug up one root-head...
2 hours... given that i had to do so...
while at the same time not disturbing the fern...
even thought the roots of the head were
weaving themselves around the fern...
had to tie up the fern so she wouldn't get in the way...
what a pretty man-bun of hair...
hail shiva!     or any other long-haired deity
that does... boquetes of hair for a living...
the fern was spared...

   back in the garden... a literal swamp...
that jasmine and her labyrinth of roots...
not to mention an ancient copper plated tube
with a cable that i dug up... and the old fence posts...
these biggo concrete dollops with metal...
literally a swamp... if this isn't what Ypres looked
like on a good day: then i'd be swimming
in cow-**** shambo on a bad day...
and this London clay... it...
you don't even dig up half a meter into the earth
and... you get a puddle of water...
work... in these conditions?
do i look like i'm going to mud-wrestle?

what sort of thought experiment can you take
into manual labour of this sort...
the sort that isn't going to the gym...
thought experiment = entertain a hypothetical
x, y and z? the "what if"?
i need to take a phrase with me...
i overheard it somewhere...

man is a human: doing...
woman is a human: being...
so i took that...

along came descartes and kant...
      along came the word ontological:
misnomer - oncology -
with oncology came: the cancer within botany...
mistletoe... if you've ever seen it grow
in the wild... go to Poland...
Warsaw will do... 10 miles in either direction...
after all... Poland isn't England...
there's no Royal Society for the preservation
of trees... mistletoe in the wild...
botanical cancer... now if i am to have
cancer... unlikely... i'm more prone to alcoholism
related deaths and dementia -
i just think of mistletoe... botanical cancer...
and it's in the tradition to: kiss under it...
anyways and who...

                    cogito ergo sum...
is that an a priori statement...
                     or an a posteriori statement...
it's hardly a maxim -
   a maxim according to which you'd be able
to extract an imperative of sorts -
caterogical or impartial - imperative and
and adjective of your choice -
                        yes... where i come from...
certain things are given SHE-pronouns...
most things botanical... except the oak...
an oak is a male in botany...
where i come from... the sun is female...
the moon is male... unlike in english...
where the words do not give pronoun impressions
designating "***"... that comes later...
with pictures... borrowed...
     comes with the turf... emoji hieroglyphs:
h'america first...
                         well and second...
                i don't hear news from France about
"misgendering" someone...
given how french grammar has explicit masculine and
feminine terms...
so... on your own...

i hear the debate... but... i don't even have
a two cent's worth of an argument...
              the iron curtain is down...
i'm in england and i'm looking at the silicone veil
and i'm saying: there's no me on the moon...
and if i'd really want to escape...
antarctica or... afghanistan... among the pashtun
women...
problem with both... i don't play the ***-tar
so good as to remember all the radio i'd miss...
i once heard the most beautiful adhan and cried...
then again: what if the mu'azzin
sounds like a goat grabbed by the testicles about
to be castrated?! and not the mu'azzin
i heard recorded?
i once cried hearing...
                         vaughan williams - fantasia on
a theme by thomas tallis...
once again when hearing ola gjeilo's...
either o magnum mysterium or northern lights...
beauty is transcendental: a priori -
          true beauty is transcendental: a priori -
because these pieces of music i heard for the first
time... and rejoiced with tears...
crying and laughter - not antonyms...
                                           implicitly i.e.:
when you're crying you're laughing vice versa etc.,
it's hard to laugh at music...
one can laugh at one's ****** response
to the body... but not when the body has found
serenity... or anguish...
             of a burden of the heart...
the ears to listen with... and that the eyes would
be far better off... without sight...
as two agape holes of a cave through
which a stream flows and arrives as a cascade point
for a waterfall...

i won't "solve" cogito ergo sum:
whether it's a priori or a posteriori...
what did cogito spawn though?
res cogitans - res extensa -
                     we're talking manual labour...
thank god heidegger didn't come along
with his hammer and suggest that someone
intent of working manually would...
somehow talk about philosophical matters on
the side...
                       that's the "hammer"... "apparently"...
no... it came down to:
man is a human: doing...
  woman is a human: being... i had to exclaim
out-loud trying to not interrupt the birds...

it's just convenient... to call man a human doing
and woman a human being...
do                                     b-ING-o!
be                                 b-ING-o!
               try another language...
                i'm sure it sounds better than just that...
человеческое дело...

          just as i thought...

                     ludzkie dzieło - ludzki czyn...
but i think i concentrated on the latter:
ludzki czyn...
                         after all: ludzki byt -
doesn't really translated into: ludzkie bycie -
with bycie - being -
                            isn't being: interchangeable
with existence - as in onto per se, for being
to be grasped from omni ex: out of this and every
other instance?
    
who would take a thought experiment when
undertaking some decent manual labour?
thought experiments are for sitting in a leather chair
and farting into it - basking in the glory
of theoretical solipsism - later translated
into a crowded tube train...
imagining oneself farting scented candle
magic fairy dust of dried strawberries!

             i don't have time for thought experiments...
i'll give up my hands to the earth
and to the trees the earthworms and the roots...
my bob the builder's ***-crack to the winds...
or... my akbir to the birds...
               my al-qiyyam to the work before me...
my ruku to the morning...
                  my sujud to the setting sun...
         and that last bit... counting the number
of new parts of my body i've used...
but no... no thought experiments...
three words in latin... yes...
                              five words... sven the seventh...
perhaps... but certainl a bilingual crossword
puzzle... and definitely meditating
on cyrillic letters... and greek...
        i'm yet to escape the grip of runes...
and of braille... and of hebrew...
                              and return to the old father...
   who still seems rather unreal...
to think that "my" people had a pre-existing latin
text... and that it somehow is not tied
to the runes... nor to the greek (as such)
nor arabic... not sanskirt...
                  a revived interest...
                          on the british isles anything
can be a revived interest...
         if marx came up with communism in
england... i can up with...
a tatto parlour where people don't make
a mistake of having chinese ideograms
tattooed onto themselves...
                                           ⰁⰉⰅⰎ
    ⰝⰅⰓⰐⰑ                       -
                           in decline because?
                               shared patterns...
even with the runes... R and not ᚱ
                        ᚠ and not F?
                                     ᛒ and not B?
                                              agreed upon...
           but i guess just because we share this...
latin text without any latin being so much
spoken outside of maxim / proverb / the crown...
no latin slang...
                            whatever this was...
i had to write it... a second time it would have
suffocated me and given me amnesia upon
waking.
Nod, vociferous lackey,
Agree that it will end just fine
You raise that hand to me, dying vine behind
Acknowledge every burning sun-drop
Culling and surmounting your radii--
Misled and triumphant
You're half of that.
Vast plantations of regrowth and abysmal
Serendipity in life?
No more;
Cut off-- a world harvest
Of blood, and blue-black poison
In the fields spewed
Once,
Not again
Not there-- again, the stalks
Lay dormant from your careless sickle
Numbers and numbers
Insurmountable
MMXI
can you hear the monotone rumble
ringing in my head?
it creeps its way through my bones
an echo of all the things that i could have said.

my shattered jaw line outlines all I’ve suffered
and what’s left to come.
the bruises layered onto my skin
are only the reflection of a long night of regret.

imprints of recurring dreams
and stones left unturned
impressions are digging at me again
they don’t know what i truly am.
build yourself a little empire
to protect your stuttering ego
i will be the flame to start the forest fire
it won't be such a shame to see you go

do you recognize the stench that fills the air?
that’s the smell of a thousand burning forests.
you can hide behind your walls in shambles,
losing everything you thought you ever had.
but me? sweetheart, i’ll be doing just fine.
roaming the earth, spreading the seeds of regrowth.

positivity and its fine little hairs
prickling at the sight of someones skin
you just so happened to fall in love with
but they’re not really there,
darling, you made it all up inside your head,
among the burning flora of a million sins
you would think you would have learned
the fifth time around
but perhaps you never really cared,
blisters where the shackles of lust had you bound.

you’re seeking definition
thinking it’s buried deep in the neck of others.
you bury your lust in the sheets,
transforming casual conversation into white noise.
you’re foaming at the mouth and your pupils dilate
waiting to strike and tear your next victim apart.
like a succubus, you linger in the shadows
twisting and turning your way through
the wide open doors of the unknown
you sink your teeth into your prey,
**** away their sympathy
and leave them breathless,
hollow and taciturn.

i watched you slip away
deep into the arms of others
slowly declining as your breathing grows heavy
your body becomes a warzone
those who have traveled it before know,
you’re not the same as you once were,
and you never will be again.

what will you do now, with your claws at the ready?
will you tear them apart, or yourself first?
be sure you get the order correct

you are not the seamless dress you slipped off
before you made your way under the sheets
you are the breath that expels from your lungs
when you finally see your reflection
and you are not what you once saw

your lips curled back into a snarl,
your fingers bloodied and cracked
your eyes void and black
not once will your prayers be heard.

i caught myself wishing you back
finding myself buried in delusions and heartbreak.
you should’ve just said “i never loved you in the first place”
but that would’ve just made things simple.

simplicity was never an option for you.
everything had to be a challenge,
because that’s how your entire life was.
abused by your father, channeling the hate of your mother
there’s nothing you would do just to form stability on this
tattered and beaten ship you call your life.

where will you go now,
that your ship has sunk?
what paradise can you seek
without the stars to guide your way?
they will not shine for you any longer,
the darkness is now your only friend.

and to you, directly to you,
where do you hide your heartbreak?
can we build a fortress strong enough
to hold our heads high
through the pasts empty threats?

our towers were built alongside the shoreline
shining light to those who passed by
in hopes that they wouldn’t just avoid us
our intentions were pure, but our actions were contradictory
we can’t accomplish anything if we don’t know how to.

did the ocean wash it away?
or is it still standing, pure and tall.
everyone can see you sparkling there,
your light runs through your veins
where your blood is supposed to be.

all along the watchtowers
we hide our emotions, like treasure
to be found by a lucky passerby.
whoever ventured into what we’ve built would find
everlasting love and emotions too strong to perceive.
we just pray that whoever finds them doesn’t sell them off to another.

crystalline passages to our hearts
shattered by a beating drum
they collapse and collide
our minds lost to the debris
Malvika Jul 2017
like the stubble popping out on my legs i emerge from something. like a once dying plant now healed i fall then rise. like an ocean's wave i ebb and flow. ebb and flow out of different identities- a sense of self left to rediscover. eighteen, teen queen, a bold new scene. a new train to a new town.
Bella Potter Jul 2011
braid honeysuckle and daisies in my hair,
unravel the seams of my skin and let the
birds fly in. open the rafters to the sky,
and if it rains, dance it in, sing in it,
revel in the feel of the water beading on
your lips and rolling off your shoulders;
be happy in the knowledge that soon,
you will see the sun again.

tell my father that he was my hero, tell
my brother to raise his son with passion
and joy. tell my new sister i would have
liked to gotten to know her better, tell
my best friend that i never deserved her.

tell him that he is beautiful, and he always
has been; tell him that i loved him for a
reason--not because i was a silly,
besotted teenage girl but because he is a
person worthy of love. i don't think he
understands that.

[i don't think anyone really understand that.]

see the world; go to all the places i would
have liked to go and take pictures, write
everything down. put them all in one giant
book, put that book on the top shelf of
your closet or in your attic and take it down
when you miss me the most.

remember that you are more precious even
than life: for life will come again, the spring
storms will bring forth the most glorious
flowers, their seeds will fall and they will die,
only to come up again next year, but through
all the cycles of earth and sky, fire and
regrowth, still there will be no one else who is
comparable to you.
"if i die young, bury me in satin. lay me down on a bed of roses. sink me in the river at dawn, send me away with the words of a love song." --- if i die young; the band perry
Audrey Feb 2018
The sun is shining and in this field it's warm
But then I think of your eyes
How they were brown like dirt
And suddenly I'm thankful for the heated grass I'm lying on
It shields me from the regret
Of dirt brown eyes and hands fluid like water
Those hands were the unbecoming of me
But then again I can't blame you completely
I was the one who looked down at the dirt and saw you
Instead of staring at the sun ahead of me
I have healed though
I'm surrounded by green grass and enveloped in the sun
Perfect conditions for growth
Michael Ryan Feb 2016
I am told that I am down to Earth
and that makes me wonder
that if we were to get onto our bellies
scouring the forest floor
would we find pieces of my personality.

Would you find my laugh
hidden amongst rabbits in their burrows,
mistaking their animal talk
for the hiccup caught in my throat laugh
that I do when I am nervous.  

Would the scraping of bear claws against trees
be the clitter clatter of me rushing to brush my teeth--
the morning/midnight/everyday gust
that I have to put into each part
of my day to keep up with the world.

Would the change of seasons:
cold and determined, young and lively,
warm and strong, regrowth and understanding--
be the change of perspective I share
with each talk we have,
you come to see the seasons change
and with them you want to grow--
inside me you find the same
willingness to cherish
all the world.
Open minds will find beauty in all the seasons.  Some may be your favorite, but the will to find something special for everything is the deeper meaning of love.
Maddii Lloyd Aug 2016
isn't it ******?
that Society has a specific image
for women?
the way they look
act
speak
walk
talk.

if we arent blonde hair
blue eyes with a small waist
***** and a ***
we arent socially acceptable.
if we have a little weight
to many piercings and tattoos
regrowth and scars
we are shun upon.

most girls these days have the small
figure and wear barley any
clothes,
their hip bones their collar bones
showing without any struggle
and they think they
look beautiful
they think they will fit in
because thats what society wants

there are girls starving themselves
wearing makeup
to hide the imperfections
society deemed ugly
wearing long sleeves in
summer hiding the scars they
have inflicted on themselves
because they know,
they know they will never be
what society wanted
and it kills them every time they look
down at their wrists or
thighs
knowing they will never be accepted into
society

i just want to go back to
where size 12 was deemed
as beautiful
and scars were a sign
of battling ones self and recovery
where it didn't matter
if you had acne and wore makeup
everyone was beautiful in their own way
i just want to go back in time
where happiness was a feeling
that happened naturally
and wasn't plastered on

society is ******.
Bell works Jan 2014
Trembling fingers that have nothing to do with the heat,
beating hearts and breathless sighs,
are all symptoms of your love.

Flashing phone screens and vibrations on tables,
fidgeting thumbs hovering over keys,
waiting for that little speech bubble to appear,
are all symptoms of your love.

Closed doors and unanswered calls,
inactive screens and stagnant feeds,
wet eyes and damp sheets,
are the sideaffects of withdrawal from your love

Windows open to clear the air,
candles lit to bring in light and scent,
hair regrowth, makeovers, and new bedsheets,
were all cures to your love.
Jimmy King Aug 2013
I didn't stop
To ask that woman
In that parking lot
Why she was crying.

And with so many
New memories
Floating- like smoke
From the six joints
We rolled-
Through my mind,
I didn't even stare
For very long.

You may have become
Central to my life,
But you haven't
Become an epicenter-
And nor has that woman
Crying
In that parking lot.

All I see in everything
Derives
From within me:
I am my own destruction
My own epicenter-
But also
My own regrowth.

So even if I couldn't
Help that woman crying
She may have helped me.

And so have you.
WJ Niemand Jan 2015
There are many
it seems
that are wounded
by life

Yes, wounded
they didn't fall
from a tree
but were beaten

as broken souls
they wander around
unable to tend to their wounds
or inject morphine

but don't cry!
bruises heal
as the roots of burnt grass
spawn regrowth
Black Sunflower Lily
Looking kind of funny
Pretty ugly really
Especially when it's sunny

Golden hours never dull
A sight to behold because you can't be held
Captured souls you can tell
Will water your roots in hell

As a matter of fact
The fact of the matter is just
That

Pink Balloon
Don't think too soon
Or drink to swoon
Burn to consume
Moon rocks with no stop
Bare bedrock
Mocks
    Your
      Thought
         And    
            Hope
In a chance to confuse
What the earth does not supply
What it's worth to reapply
My self to you

Sweet Sunflower Lily
You look better in the night
Best to see your light
At midnight, the sun

Raging in the mirror
Crying, For. No. Sage

Could hear her

O'Blacked

These ****** flowers
Petals kissed by death
Scars licking her stem
A twist in her pistil  
She doesn't dodge this missile
Petal tips touch lips in unkind embrace
Walking lines so fine like lace
Misguide your grace in stones
Work and chisel to bone
Ripping skins you've outgrown

Unfamiliar with in where I stead
Something's
Non peculiar when things are dead
Surroundings
Rot revealing our date to lie ahead
Blooming so red

Maggots
PINК ВАLLУУN
Quinn Fox May 2017
they've cut off the branches i used to hang my
self on
stubs remain
wet and crumbling
and the ornaments lay scattered on the floor
my soul quivers and folds in
to the ground
every time i return any desperate regrowth
is cut back shorter
the stubs break piece by piece to the floor
and my trachea bends in a red-knotted bow
around the stump with the largest
bump on the end
out through my rib
cage around my throat wrapping
wrapping lethally around
my soul and my
heart and under
my chin
Hanson Yang Feb 2018
This contemporaneous as conventional of the best of this age:
Perpetuated through time eternal as if spire was a switchblade to just a fist-blade finds heart-separating-breath to have you bleeding soul prone as relative in every ****-made;
Repeating poetry as if precision-aim-range lived was just a life to heart-protected of body of work as dialect-soul pierces all youthhood flesh of as if instead of the thigh as if the wisdom reflected work you imagine-defeat as it had missed-misses and pierces your heart-protection through the spire-contemporaneous-sacred as “bone” of every ribcage;
****** -lit-crave overtakes all renderings of the body of remaining as just this as I’m walking along reading yours for bliss-haze;  
Abdominal exertion absolution of currency of all structure as time motions flex compared posed as poetry is now contextual -body to know of what of whomever of “this” age;
Bicep growth to slow-life as all poetry becomes idle in competition as life again to “regrowth” idle idols as life to now just opportunity mere-stated-epic had just in the mere absolution rendered all to motions of time of this rage;  
There is no missed at all of work as all constant is now time;
None of it ever is ******* with mine;
There is no life again to re-correct or to ever re-see;
For none of it is never “ever” existence when ******* with me;
There is no regrowth as if metamorphosis of being time in pace of paths of “species even of duplicative Man” that will never meet ever again of know of this-phase;
Now psychological beings to body to poetry is now only supercede from just one being from time-absolute is now manifesting only Id-shame exerted poetry now to just a fist crave;
I take all body as if they were all as intellect absolution becomes only of youth now to wish-epic is Id manifesting now moment-existence of just what this changed
Like a dream--Contemporary Convention and the eternal infinite dropped down grasps lifts all heavy objectivity up as the body of just this day…
wordvango Nov 2014
time issues forth then blends us  into reminisces
resolves to tick and continue as spawn and fry
swim forth into a swarming mass of
death into an ocean bereft of feel
upon our dead bodies they feast.
A few returning, miraculously, upstream
to where they issued forth,
begin anew the circle,
regrowth and death so every day ticking.
Issuing forth our cells
to  feed natures
next beginning.
AllAtOnce Feb 2016
I imagine that you'd taste like spring
You'd taste like fresh water and grass clippings
And running my hands through your too long hair
Everything around us decorated in blues and greens
Take it all in with breath of fresh air

I imagine that your eyes are the color of candies
Golds and reds and browns
Your fingers feel like reinforced branches
Against the green twigs of my own

I imagine that being with you would be like rain
There would be fights and there would be cold nights
But April showers bring May flowers
And I know everything would be alright

I imagine what it would take for me to stop thinking of you in this moment
Harsh winters and a harsher spring
But when the breeze of regrowth blows on through
The streams cannot rush as fast as the feelings

So as I imagine my toes tickling the grass
I have to imagine that I'm insane
Because it's not that spring anymore
And it never will be again
Felix Sladal Jul 2016
There is a beauty to be found even under the most dismal of rocks

He stands right as rain on the towers of the chapel of decadence
Light wit and snarky tooth

Bright eyes yet to be bleached by life
His father did not rip out his soul
Its seen in the up curl of his lip

By his age his sire had already drown
Spitting up saltwater on the daily
His insides rotting with regrowth
That was destined to wither and die

But the sons foliage a tree well watered sense sowed
Raident blossoms and deep roots
Stands tall strong against the wind
December california
Nick Feb 2019
Spring,
A wild regrowth,
Spectacular blooming,
Fruitlimgs appear,
Sing song birds,
Fragrant flowers,
Pollen abounds,
Summer,
Blistening heat,
Water droughts,
Water parks,
Tourists about,
Autumn,
Summers heat,
Begins to wain,
Leaves turn,
An orangy hugh,
Reds,yellows, orange,
Chilly weather,
Nature,
Prepares for a slumber,
Winter,
Death and repose,
Bare trees,
Animals sleep,
Snow falls,
Wind is cold,
Chimneys billow,
Black smoke,

As the seasons unfold,
So do our lives,
As or lives,
Unfold,
So does our destiny,
We are at one,
With nature,
With its cycle,

We are one.
Myra Jun 2015
Persephathena-
Two Greek goddesses as one
Persephone and Athena..
One is power and the will to fight, one is regrowth and beauty of the sun
One conquers, one lives in the flowery meadows
One embraces wisdom..the other compliments Hade's shadows
Persephathena
Two traits come into one being
Opposites, alike, into one heart that's beating.
My username on here was just my original name, Myra. I want something more interesting.
Elise Emilia Mar 2015
Engulfed in frost
Heart still beating, hardly living

Keep moving
Run...... to stand still in a field
Of forgotten bitterness
Alone with fog and absent joy

Outside, Spring flourishes over Winter
Smothered wool stuffed in an attic
Thick colors of regrowth reveal its end.

— The End —