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rica Jan 2017
it hurt her;
every single bits
and pieces of
flowers she vomits;
they tasted like
they hurt like
the feeling of
being stabbed in
the back by the
person you love
the most (both
physically and
but what hurt her the
most is that
he wasn't really
worth dying for—
but she was afraid
of losing him;
of forgetting the
feeling of loving him.
posted this on my ig first hehe
mt Dec 2017
you liked the arch of my brow and the spirals of hair i'd brush off of my face
yet after you all i would've liked was to be anyone else,
to have the summer shade of my skin fade
the curl of my hair to reach around my neck, choking me until i wasn't me anymore.
until i looked like anyone else.
with u, i was pretty.
you made me believe that the way i would think was unlike any other yet after you, all i could think was why and why and why
and how i missed the sandpaper sound of your voice and why and Why why why.
with u, i had a maze of a mind
and a heart worth more than gold
this one is kinda old but it means a lot 2 me lol
she is outspoken and bold
bold like the sun
bolder than an army of boulders
falling from a hillside
she is an avalanche
when there is nowhere left to run
she is despised by some
and others wish to fill her
with some old fashioned whisky
i am sanctified by her ways
and returned to my former glory
as this poem has tasted far better days
she is a morning glory
her eyes are like the petals of a flower
she is the Wordsworth of the decade
a wordsmith dancing in her own decay

i am essentially a target
a lost projectile in the arrow's path
she has coaxed me back to sanity
with her sardonic gestures
and her sarcastic use of wit
i am a nitwit she said
so i laugh and pick the flowers from her hair
slowly and soporifically
i am seaweed adrift in her bonnet
sandpaper scattered along the shoreline
remove the blind spectacles
and eat the lines i’ve written
a poem is just a candle anyway
to spray the eyes of infinity with lightning
mars is retrograde regardless
so i’ll just sit here and pretend
that i’m not too much of a target for her beauty
ryn Sep 2014
These hands have clawed with blind eyes
Chipped nails on fingers working on knots and ties

Fingers that recklessly point to reproaches and blames
Never to self, righteousness through arrogant claims

Now aware, these palms have covered my face in contempt
For they've partook in activities; indulgent and unkempt

Rubbed skin raw on life's coarse sandpaper
Ever searching for the coming of the unanticipated saviour

Broken flesh hopeful for newly formed skin
Like tattered souls pleading for absolution of sin

Only skin deep but unfavourable experiences do fester
Expecting the proverbial infection to blow over

Here they are, held unclenched and riddled with pocks
Weathered and sore from time's infinite mocks

Maybe thereafter, will be awaited healing
Perhaps soon after, I will be forgiving

See now... Hands faced up, parted as halves
Asking not for alms but instead your acceptance as salve

Take into yours, these knackered, gnarled up palms
Let your porcelain-like touch relieve like life reforming balm
karen champagne Sep 2018
Ink in hand.
Circling, circling, circling
Blank mind but so many thoughts
Remember the past
Faith for the future
Joyous words
But sad underneath
Write what you feel
No editing
Like a paintbrush in your hand
With only one color
Color of white
No words to write
Wring your hands
Dry as sandpaper
Thoughts roll in and roll out
Yet my paper is blank
Stu Harley Oct 2018
sweet voice
trumpets through
Celtic green air
to find
Regina’s eyes
wild scent of
maple brown hair
leads this curious heart  
sandpaper blues eyes
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Breaking up is
hard to do
Loosening spiritual stretch
His words are my pacifier
The shooting star sprinkling shot
Look at our stars dot to dot
They connect over tea for two
Soothe me star even if there is nothing to do

The other stuff can knock me
out in the daylight
But in the twilight
Those zillions of stars my
eyes closed I think to glaze
Take another look strike
the pose the next day
the same spot
I saw the soothing words next to
Star pointed rose

Not the starry night
Going through something
What the world brought to me
Too much at one time everything
Breathe in and soothe me
*It was up to me not to blind me
what will I bring so many things
My cool spirit make it meditation table,
The New York sooth your mind menu
Rendezvous all talk but delicious
She is tough walking
the hardest avenue
The **Positive me
even if its the
broken up me
No one can take his place to soothe me
Smell the sweet outrageous scents
French fondue it suits her like a statue
Do you all agree? Another feel good
shopping spree
I cannot even say soothing-word*

Your home is your oasis but the
huff and the puff star is not relaxing
Or to blow you down it needs work
The hard stuff is to better yourself
The feel-good smooth flowing
Even if you missed your star
You're the no star he's is always late
Soothe me star may be my fate

Not always about being
**** and remaining thin

The forever flight hit so hard
  Thrown brick harder
the sin

They say remorse is the poison of life
And divorce could be the best
change in someone's life

OH! Lord The new?? hard/

"The winding rough road see the light"
It may be tough but make it good deed

Athletic Girly curve walk

The pep talk she had the tough birth
The Preppy he's training
the puppy stuff
You don't have to be a star it doesn't matter
who you are
But there is growing good of the world

Miles smiles and giggles
the wild child  loves
all kinds of stuff

She is about to explode
Harder side of logic
*Been Moonstruck
light flick
Both mouths a volcano
Hard star stuff big ham and swiss

Exploring new stuff
Please take it from pointed star
She walks like she is hot stuff
Those color forms of love stuff
Things and stuff
Stuff and things

Holding tightly prayer nightly
Your stuffed animal
The little world of people
The big world Church and Temple
So many things exist

Walking through the end of
the exit
It a hard position of the angle
Tough to be single even more
to deal with being married
Being the first online
Hard call masquerade Ball
I am getting a handle on my stuff
Kiss Rock dress heavy metal stuff
Indie Pop She's the Earth Blondie
Singing Rap

Going mainstream
She's Brook long stream
He's under the influence
She doesn't nearly have
the up to par

Gifts of curiosity
Adjusting to reality
Hard life too much focus
On our happiness
He's coming home
breadwinner of money
Just one loaf of
bread she blossoms
like his honey

Disavows humanity
The harder the words
How it challenges our sanity

Myriad of the creatures of things
Dark crayon hard stuff
Wild Hawaii Say Hi to all our
blissfully but soothing hearts
She is like a hard sandpaper
He is so cool reading his
worldly carefree life
He is inside the newspaper
Like the Big Ben London guard

How mindset like Hallmark card

Too much Holiday Turkey filled up
Time is busting out overstuffed
So powerless word hard ingenious
Be thankful for what you have
But feeling too much
of the dry spell that rain well
Is my gifted secret tell
Like an Elephant, you are
the tough one the smart one
No-one is perfect to be the
brilliant one

The star way of the fantasy
Nothing fancy doesn't make you jump
Prince is not so charming smooth
talker fairytale
Presidential Trump Roger Rabbit
My lucky tower rabbit foot

Between a hard rock meets her sexuality

Having bad luck long shot from your solitude
Hallucinations all dark things hurt
My imagination world is sometimes unstoppable
Like a million thoughts of stars believing
I love the hard candy sweet like a hard metal
Who gets the Metals and honors
The Terminators names of  Arnold and

Someone is whispering sweet
nothing in my ear
PJ-Clarkes Superman Clark Kents
We need more therapy events
Princeton pancakes no remakes
And tons of maple syrup
***** Tonk women at the rodeo
Her horse lucky hoof hit hard
**** stuff
Starlight star bright two timers

Head spinner,  "Gold miners"
Hard times I was left with
A hard rock and critters
And then you wake
back to the hard stuff
Hard life or its way too easy what is truly better I know my moods change in this **** of a gun weather. Let's keep our spirit high and heal our minds to get better don't you want a better life or something in the middle of the road make sure you don't kiss deeply inside of a hard binding book of the fairy tale. You are worth so much more than kissing a toad but we are talking about the hard stuff please go easy on me
Katherine Jan 14
You possess an abrasive restlessness
Sandpaper on silk, it strains.
Near delirious in your self-destruction,
You writhe, and twist, and scratch

Your heart skips beats,
Stutters and clenches for days
Arteries scuffle beneath your skin
Fingers tremble and then they curl

My dear, you are the sunrise in the west
The moonrise into the eclipse
You bare your teeth in a crown of light
And you threaten the dark
embraced within your own shabby clothes
drink the fireplace in and out through your nose
cross-eyed women eat a lot of chicken
while symbiotic brothers deny
that they blindly love their father's ghosts
and you are sordid like a cat
now i'm glad we got that sorted out
give an ounce of fat and you’ll get a pound of muscle
students take tests in bottomless basements
and are trained to use sandpaper for dusting
some of whom immediately fail examination
solely because their faces are too **** stubbly (****)
i shudder at the thought of stopping in the middle
so remove the dissonant fiddle and sit indian style
as riddles are permutations of words
that are sometimes thousands of years old
and gone are the shovels that we use to dig up our souls
your headaches are baked like pound-cakes in the dirt
indecent muffles were heard thirty miles west of earth
hesitate and you’ll die, so rise up and learn to fly
undress the legacy that keeps you chained to lies
this fire is hot and so is your disguise
strategies are as strange as fiction
and i deflect your indecisive missiles
with perfect vision crystallized
and then compounded like coal into diamonds
Don Feb 12
every little word uttered,
always on my mind,
a simple, "i'm worried,"
always caught in my throat.
feels selfish, i can't stop,
it's all i know and wonder,
feels like sandpaper in my throat,
ice cubes on my fingers--shiver,
you can watch me struggle
and what would you call "hope?"
my voice is hoarse, my hands cold,
no ques, no clue,
will you show up though i 'never--"
pick up your social notes?
it's all i know to watch myself,
all i know to stutter about.
on guard but never intact,
all i ask is a little quiet by myself.
by myself, alone, i only cope.
I am escaping by boat
and eradicating the ropes
that kept me bound to your suffering
in limbo she waits for her heart to be recognized
tired of this drawn out sequence
all she wants to do is rest
pushed beyond the edge of exhaustion
she knows she can’t go on like this indefinitely
will she swallow her pride and admit her tiredness
or will she yield to the pressure of her mind
and push blindly on against her body’s better judgement
what a presumptuous question
the stolen answers are ubiquitous
sleep confounds you
surrounds you like a blanket
i am awake
waiting for my release into the ethers
ethereal tears stream down your face
i say grace and drift upon clouds of memory
and fragments of emotion
what a mystery how we escape the most fragile feelings
only to return to childhood memories
that linger on our tongues like the taste of cotton candy
sand and sweat fill the space of your nightmares
share them with your neighbor
and become the avant-garde artist you always dreamed about becoming
what’s more important to you anyway
faith or family

sandpaper or cigarettes
do you persist in coming clean
or would you prefer to lounge on lawn chairs and living room furniture
the carpets were just steamed
and so were these greens
with spines and volumes of identifying marks
strike the match and let the spark illuminate the darkness of our misconceptions
no exceptions to love
only lovers crying out for hungry minds
the fire encircles us
turns us purple
love is merging through the haze
stage 1 begin to undress
stage 2 do it all again

serpents painting along the corridors of our houses
sound and flowers persecute the daughters
who waited too long for you to grow up
alone in empty basements
a passionate silhouette among the flowers and field mice
streams of tears cascading like waterfalls down their rocky faces
spraying wind and wave
staying cool yet safe
all our hearts are standing still
on the edge of a needle
billions of beings dance in turmoil
strolling through volcanoes on a windy afternoon
monsoon weather equals heaven’s idea of a joke

shake me till i bleed
bleed me till i come to a boil
i’ll follow the diagonal road
under crossroad’s formidable abode
swift like the lion on the savannah
i’ll trade you a banana for a band of gypsies
simply delirious she spent her allowance on tea and ornaments
the scent of cattle
a magic rattle made from bone and pebbles
the shells were held at right angles
and lined their faces like the frame around a picture
the pages in the book were yellowed by time’s ***** fingerprints
a hint of irony
a humorous blunder
some people stare while others are perplexed by their own wonder

i speak volumes in my thirties
a missile of connection and yes i am planning to get *****
and women come for miles to hear these words of beauty
they taste the herbs inside them and dance within their nighties
a flute in the woods called you back home
and sent you on a journey through thorn and bramble
we stumbled into each others arms and made haste for the carriage that would take us safely beyond
the warm water covers my plastic-like skin
the heat radiates off my goosebumps as I emerge my stringy curls and the fading black hair dye in the water, my blonde roots exposed to the world to show how even my hair is fake as my hidden feelings
I hear the rumbling of the water spilling from the bath
it reminds me of airplanes taking off and the familiar feeling of fear of the unknown and unfamiliar faces
I am trying to get clean, get really clean.
I scrub my greyish skin and peel his fingerprints off my flesh
peel my rough skin like an orange
I scrub the scent of him off the curve in my neck and off my collar bones where the warmth of his chin rested
I take a wet rag to the mountain like ridges of my spine where his affectionate touch created the deep feeling of euphoria
I cradle the back of my ear, near the spot where I displayed the earrings he gave me as a gift and where his hoarse voice sent text messages with his whisper
and the memory of him comes floating back
I start to focus on the way the water splashes against my ears
and suddenly the feeling of isolation and the thought of him  being distant and cold it begins to feel like nails in my closing throat and the air is stale like sandpaper
I struggle to breathe searching for him in the air
I extend my hand away from my throbbing chest
a dense heartbeat that crushes my ribs as I wheeze, my shallow breath sounds as if I am getting oxygen from a clear plastic straw from our favorite restaurant
reaching for someone to pull me from this pool of tears and salty bath water
but the only sound that mutters out of my mouth is "I miss you" like I am leaving a voicemail on his old phone.
the phone we used to stay up laughing on until 3 A.M. but this time nobody is there. he is absent. he is always gone.
my bones ache for his presence
J Oaks Sep 2018
A man lost his leg in a dark spell
and a dinner plate sits in a dry spot
30 years of love soaked lung choked,
"I can't live without my eyes" life!
It's a tied or be tied world
a king prays in the morning
and stars connect his wishes
tasseled, sparkle, with
blood of shaking soft hands

A man lost his leg in a dark spell
a caravan station unfolds its carpet
a pegged ***** grinds for metal
and a sandpaper shoe floats in the creek
a bluejay whispers to the soil
and a soul catches an eye
hunger taken and a spirit flies
to morphing masses and flowing skies
flowing skies

A man lost his leg in a dark spell
as a green legged woman fell into the moon
a clasp of a watch was finally won
with fevered letters and hammered guns
filtered suns
filtered suns
The Mellon Jan 29
My shoulder is damp.

It's been a rough week.

"College is tough kids"
Too bad they never told us it was never the work.

College is tough.
Because people are tough.

Because my friends sob every night because some
Thought she was his God given right.

In the span of three months 3 of my friends are *****.
Yet their cries are an empty echo down the presidential hall.

So instead they cry.

Last night one of them told me,
I let him get close to me... we were friends. Now I'm scared to have guy friends... even you.

So my letter is

Dear ******* Everywhere,

Next time you think about touching a girl without concent, how about you go **** yourself with sandpaper instead.
-The guy losing his friend because you decided her body was your property
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
         utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
                   (eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
   blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
      a shawshank redemption...

there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
   disorientated by the court
of justice?

the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
namely... within origins
     of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!


      no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a ****
on a chess-board.


who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?

             the state of israel has
been re-established...
      i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over


       e                                                 w


don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...

yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona

who, the ****, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?

      one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
                         when entering a library...

i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
    ecce libra!
             i wash my hands from
                  having any investment in it.

****, the greeks can have it...
      they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
      no... not now... not ever...
        i detest this greek book of overt
  their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
  with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...

sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
                  beside a bowl of water.
Tea Bland Dec 2018
When I’m done with you, all you’ll be is a shell of who you were,
so it would be better for both you and me if you didn’t come close.
If you stayed away from my prying words that hide knives between syllables,
in lingering touches that break your foundations.

When I’ve broken you all I can,
destroying that special sadness you keep behind walls as dark as trust, because you know I’m there on the other side, what’s left is sharper than glass.

Alone in the street, just you no me,
calling out into the night,
smell the rain on your skin.
Let it soak your hair and try to fix you as the water runs red to the gutter.

In a perfect world, there is no I’ll be better,
in a perfect world, we never looked each other’s way.

You’ll never be the same after me,
I’ll never be the same after you,
you ruined me, but I broke you.

I froze you the way only fire can, covering you in scars head to toe,
your burning winter worse because I’m so bad with the cold.

When you’re moving on with words that wrap you up like a blanket in the dark,
that stop the flow of blood where your heart is supposed to be,
will you let me go, and destroy all of our pretty things?

This is a two-way street, even when you’re empty, with a sandpaper soul,
all of our oasis, the moon, and the universe that we made together,
can you let them go?

When you think back,
will you always remember me?
Will the waves still break at the thought of my name?

In a different life, let’s never say hello,
let me drown in the thick red of my ocean alone
JR Rhine Jan 5
My grandfather peels an
X-chromosome off his liquor bottle
skips it across the pool of my mother’s genes
until it reaches me
yellow cigarette stained walls
green ashtray carpet on his tongue
blue back room full of old guitars
black mechanic oil stained hands
sandpaper voice
watching Jaws 4
homeless woman on couch
feeds dog black coffee
brown belly dragging across tongue
Thanksgiving dinners
my brother plays “Purple Haze”
out of a reluctant amplifier
the old folks applaud
the colors are beginning to
battling cancer his way
watching Jaws 4
dog now dead
homeless woman now
no longer homeless
back skin where left ear
used to be
old guitars pawned for
Purple Haze fades to
black as colors do
and they say
it skips a generation
and now when shades
of pink appear white
my tongue grows thick
smoke burns my nostrils
I can only think of
how terrible of a film
Jaws 4 is.
For Tommy Robinson. Rest easy grandpa, hope you got that ear back.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
let's have a game of reverse-phraseology....

man up...

   hmm... let's see what i can conjure
up, within this, gender-neutrality...

how about...

  that old english saying...

buckle down,
    buckle up / knuckle down?
  (i never know which
is the correct phrase -
clench your hand into a fist,
or lose weight -
   or, tighten them
for a bumpy ride).

   take the knuckles
to the grit / sandpaper

   how's that?

any bwetter?
   oh ooh um, ah...
            i thought these people
were into gender neutral pronouns...
which, oddly, enough,
have to also be singular and plural
last time i checked: they...
referred to a plural description
of gender neutrality, to begin with...

but ****! ha ha ha ha ha!
we can play this game, all day,
and all night, long...

       but NOW, for a wild idea...
how can you enforce the adrenaline
junk from being stabbed,
not anticipating a stabbing?

i guess... i guess you have to heat
up the knife...
   so there's a warm butter sensation
ascribed to the flesh...
  i like that word...
     i can almost imagine
a slaughterhouse,
   with raw pork in full attire of
a corpse, dangling off the hooks...

and that believable scent,
outside of a Parisian perfume factory
attached: what if i fried this,
exponent of a gutted pork torso?

- and why isn't bush-meat
prohibited in the Qu'ran?
    pork? the most economically constructed
animal in the history of:
anti-vegeterianism anti-veganism...

      rats are, apparently, omnivores...
my neighbor owns four albino rats,
saved from a testing laboratory...
seen one ******, scuttle the garden
looking for a labyrinth
to be experimented on...

oh i love the tease of policing language...
man up contra
            buckle down...
you just sizzle...
   imitating a rattlesnake with
your tongue on trilling the R
with that kind of ****...
   you really end up wanting to poke,
and poke...
    at this sort of genesis phraseology...
with either a reversion,
or an inversion...

i'd prefer you to allow me to exercise
my right for compelled speech,
in which "manning up" is degraded
from the casual phraseology attainment,
and that the old school
english buckling down
is used...

      man? up? there's nothing copernican
about that expression...
please... can you excuse
my politically correct counterpart
to be allowed a phraseology blunder?

we too, are for gender neutrality
in... bashing a man down...
   we call "them" the brash knuckles
brushing off of preconceived
sexuality indicators...

    no blue boy, no pink girl...
no tractor boy, no Barbie girl...
               but there is no...
  "manning up"...
running low... on thought -
or whatever the once glorified
moral ought used to be...
   mahatma mah'gandhi -
liked the name for one reason...
see how the H appears and disappears
in the nouns?
   it's there's at mahatma...
but... turned surd in gand(h)i...
   i don't even know why it's not a surd
in (h)indi -
   so blue blue, i'm blue...
extensive culinary and musical
traditions kept them afloat,
from biting the razor,
   when drowning...
   and not, exactly, opening
      the oompa-loompa casinos.
J Mei Aug 2018
Dancing before my eyes, is the mirage of perfection.
I reach for it and it slips through my fingers.
My therapist says I am grieving – and how can I stop?
Change tears me from my foundations, again and again.
And each time is like sandpaper on my skin;
new faces mix with old fears in a nauseating pattern.
They say home is not a place, but a feeling of security,
and so, I cannot go home.
Once I had a home in a bitterness of a girl, with eyes like autumn leaves.
That home kept me sharp and angry, as I had always been. But it is not such a torment, when one is not angry alone.

/Here there lies a girl, auburn hair and eyes of molten autumn.
She wanted to burn the world.
Moth to her flame, I followed her to the end of the earth.
And watched as she burnt herself to cinders./

Long after that home deserted me, I found another. This time I fostered myself among a merry band of misfits. At the zenith of this period of home, I found myself entirely humanized, with unfamiliar stirrings of contentment. But, as that home drew to a close – in both place and security, again rose the familiar stirrings of dread.

My trepidation was not misplaced.

Like a reluctant Dorothy, I was plucked from my home by the unforgiving storm of time. My newfangled humanity proved an acute vulnerability. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say. And so, the old bitterness and broken humanity mixed like acid in my blood, leaving a feeble and faithless girl.

It is enough to make one wonder if it’s worth it – to have loved and lost.

I feel as if something has been stolen from me, fate some cruel and callous thief to let me believe in any of it,
to give the pretence of meaning to my meandering life and tear me to pieces with the temptation.

I understand why we become destroyers –
is that a line I too, will cross?

We so wish and dream to be heroes and precious friends, only to be cast out into the wasting and hungry world – full of monsters.

I see, I see how easy it would be, to MAKE it stop.

I swore I would not be a monster – if only so as not to validate the harms monsters have done me.

But if I am to be devoured either way,
have I enough soul left to believe

— The End —