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Jenay Jarvis Nov 2012
I want to sink my teeth,
Into your lobes-
I want you now,
I want you close,
Inappropriate behavior,
In the back of a car,
You’re just not here and
Four hours is too far,

Thoughts of scenarios;
Like,
My leather jacket,
Thigh highs and,
Your skin; like magnets,
Your teeth and,
Clinging to cabinets,
Your tongue- THAT jaw,
Come closer,
I’ll un-cage my bra-
And arch my spine,
If you restrain my wrists,
Scraping my nails across your back,
And yours sinking into my hips,
You can watch,
The back of my head pull up from,
Generic damask sheets,
100 thread count and I don’t give a ****-
I won’t be discreet.

You can rip into my hair,
And I’ll rip into your pores,
With uneven nails,
Leaning on all fours,
We can always take it slow,
Yes, we can keep it sweet,
I just want you so badly,
I can’t contain the heat.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
The only good bedbug is a dead bedbug.
The only bedbug worse than a live bedbug
is a fed bedbug, notwithstanding the
fedded, bedded & newlywedded bedbugs
which tend to copulate & propagate across
rolling great reclining plains, trailing little
**** bedbugs to carry on their game and with
no attention to the names we call them either.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
.
Chloë Fuller Nov 2015
I.
leather skin
tattoos from youth that are laughable
as messy as a room gets every month
succumbing and cleaning up a mid-life crisis
a broken wind-up soldier
folsom prison's bar ‘s open every time the sheets get too cold
two year expiration date
grease
red wine at a dive bar

II.
never completely remember anything except touch
whiskey clouded brains and side-ways smiles
tongue-slinger
serpent waiting to strike
retracting and falling backwards far
slithering in during the AM
charming underneath the stairs
monotony
unwanted terms of endearment
the tea kettle will always whistle when the water gets too hot

III.
spells and red lights flicker at late hours on unseasonably warm nights
sweat and dragons both thrive from heat
smoke, from mouths and cigarettes
shakespearean scenes that melt to fingers grazing lips so effortlessly
this was all coming in due time after too many moments
spent on washing machines in an ancient haunt
falling into fictional identities when we come together
doe eyes
tears fell from poetic words spit so harshly on delicate air
a temporary home and an eternal momentary escape
the weekend of Nov. 1st
Jessica May 27
About a month ago I cried because I couldn't find my favourite pair of socks. Last week I cried because I forgot my AP books in my locker, and I couldn't do the homework that I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to do in the first place. Yesterday I cried because my cookies didn't come out just right.

I cry. A lot. About everything.

I have been called everything from oversensitive to a baby to overdramatic. I
mean, haha, I clearly really wanted to wear those socks because now my whole day is ruined. I am extremely good at making something out of nothing.

Being this kind of sad is funny that way, no inconvenience is a minor inconvenience, it's all the end of the world or might as well be.

But I go with it. I joke about my tears and their daily visits.

I also joke about my anger and the chair I kicked resulting in a dislocated toe. I joke about the things I've thrown and the people that make my hands clench at my sides. I joke about it because it's easier than explaining it. I don't like my anger.

So, I've learnt how to turn my angry into lonely and my lonely into busy.
How do I explain that when I say I've been super busy lately, I mean I've been too busy falling asleep because drowning my pillow is tiring.

Depression is a monologue shot underwater, depression is sulking because I won't talk about it anymore.

How can I explain to my friends what is happening inside of my head when I can't even figure it out myself? How do I explain to them that I have been hit by too many people with "how dare you hurt me with your hurt" to not be convinced that I will accidentally do that to them? So we've grown accustomed to sulking. It has become a routine, joking about those ridiculous mood swings of mine.

My depression is a coat disguised as depersonalisation tendencies, "laziness,"
cries for attention and closed bedroom doors behind which continuous music
plays, harmonised with the sound of dripping cries of loneliness.

Of which the belt is anxiety. My psychologist has given it a name: John. Its
supposed to make me feel like anxiety is some exterior force and not something fogging up my entire inside. But he's better known as:

"Sorry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sorry.”

“I know I'm being annoying."

"Sorry.”

I try not to acknowledge it. So, I leave my pen clicking. hair fidgeting, periods of breathlessness and restless tendencies as just that; inconvenient tendencies. Sorry.

I've been told to pray and trust in faith, but I only wear a religious necklace because if I don't, I go home with a neck scratched raw by John.

I wrap myself in this coat for comfort, which seems ironic. But really, comfort is found in familiar places and it seems I keep losing my jackets of happiness and liveliness, so this coat is all I know.

There are some days I am so sad I don't remember what it's like not to be. Like when you're really sick and you forget how to breathe through your nose and you're so sure you'll never breathe through your nose again and I'm so sure I'll never feel joy again.

Except when you're sick, you can go and get a doctor's note to explain why you couldn't go to school and didn't write that test. I can't tell my coach I missed yesterday's practice because I got hit with a wave of sad. I can't tell you that my homework wasn't done because depression kept me tied to my bed for the better part of the day

My psychologist once told me I was brave to seek her help. I didn't feel brave. I felt scared. And desperate. And lonely. And tired. I am so tired of trying to take care of this terrible body that refuses to take care of me.

My depression doesn't ask for much but when it does it is something I cannot give and that is the joke. It is just me asking for something I cannot give. My friends get mad when I don't give them pieces of me. I can't give them something I'm not sure is there anymore.
Jessica
Secret-Author Aug 2016
Do you ever feel overcome?

A work of art made of a million layered stencils
Where nothing makes sense until the last dot dries

Nothing, no one,
                               abstract, confusion,
                                                      ­             dot dot dot,
                                                                ­                        and then,

there it is.
                       THE MASTERPIECE.


A violent bruise of emotion that is so
                                                              ­      S T R O N G

You see colours.
                            Light peels across your eyes

Fazed. Dazed.

Feeling everything at once
                                             you take nothing in

Numb to everything
                except -
                        your heartbeat

beat
We are so perfectly broken -
                                        that it
                                                  
           ­                                        almost

                                                        looks like we are complete.

And we are.
I am.

In so many way.
                       So. Many. Ways.

But,
It's just,
            I mainlyyy

                           Kindaaa
                                         Don't feel
                                                         okay.

And I spend most of my time,

                                  Left wondering,

Is it just me?
Yes, I'm a girl and I'm not trying to justify my body language nor am I positioning the rights of a feminist on the top, but
Yes, I was questioned always, even when I was right.
Subservience was legitimized as my trait ever since I felt this world.
Every time when I was buckled under by his lecherous eyes, I was asked to adjust my dupatta well.
Every action of mine substantiated the height to which I'll hold the name of my family.
I was asked to cross legs while sitting, speak amicably, yet not solitously.
Every time I'd to hide my period stain like a ****** blot.
I was asked to gallop my cramps because letting it out is a bitter sin.
Yes, I get my body scanned by their lewd gaze day in and out even when I put my baggiest of clothes on.
Yes, I'm a girl, and I have beautiful synonyms, call me maal, patola, bomb, *****, *** or a girl? May be, let yourself decide.
Yes, I'm questioned on the extension of the Roti's that I make and the smiles that I couldn't fake.
Yes, I'm a girl and I'll stand, and question your authority if it calls for, call me stubborn. Okay!
Remember, I'm a girl, and if you accuse me of being a feminist if I know, and can raise my tone up and against your authority, humanism needs to be checked then.
-APARAJITA TRIPATHI
Nobody Feb 2018
It’s the name of the game.
We're slaves to our secret place.
Even if we discreetly meet,
since we hate being apart.
Safe and sound with you baby,
all I need is your sweet heart.
Our secrets intertwine,
We play and tease and test.
The tension simmers up inside.
We form an explosion of emotions,
as powerful as the windiest storm;
but we only see each others eyes,
lying naked on the floor.
And when I said
“No I love you more”
you melt and slam the door.
Gently kiss my hair,
and nibble on my neck.
Caress me everywhere,
till I softly moan in your mouth;
and it drives you wild,
so you quickly go down.
Kiss my legs, then my thighs.
Now my whole body shakes,
you **** on my every curve.
I pant louder and louder,
then scream “please don’t stop”;
but you want me so bad.
Oh and you are rock hard,
so you slip right inside;
and we make passionate love in the dark
Kay-Rosa Aug 21
There are things
I wished I'dve said to her
when I had the chance, There are days
when I wish I would've spoken my mind.
And there are times
when I wonder why I didn't, But now in the revelation
of my possible success
I wish her
here
by my side, though metaphorically and emotionally she always will be
but physically
I need her support.
Just like she needed mine.
But, millions and millions of miles away it feels
from her comforting glance, from the inexplicable
Freedom
she granted me, the
Confidence
she bestowed in my heart and now I wish
I wish she was somehow here again.
This was an original piece I performed at a poetry slam in Jersey, enjoyed the rhythm of the delivery.
c Nov 2018
I look in the mirror at a person I don’t recognize anymore. Prodding and pulling at my skin just to make sure this is who I am I only cake on so much makeup because this is the me I don’t want them to see.

So they don’t

They don’t see me and time is just running away and what if I can’t make them see me before time is up?

It’s not that I’m invisible, I know they can hear me and they tell me that really, I’m fine, and I’ve never been an issue but then why do I feel so out of place in my own day to day routines?

In fact nothing is routine anymore I have no constants. Eating, sleeping, it’s all ireggular and sometimes I can’t remember doing any of it at all.

I have pictures filling my camera roll of happiness in a moment that I can’t bring back, why do I keep them for happy if all they do is make me sad?

The clock is ticking and I can hear it but they can hear me so I can’t scream, they don’t see me but I’m tearing at my mouth trying to get out the words that I really want them to hear.

And they tell me, that it’s okay to be yourself.

But only around certain people. Because society wants you to have curves but never in the wrong places. They want you to feel free to speak your mind as long as it’s something that they want to hear. If you keep your secrets to yourself you’re hiding something and if you share them you’re being too open.

But time is passing.

I need time, I need routine, and I need to remember happy so that I don’t fall in love with sad because far too many do.
So I will scream into the wind where they cannot hear me.
And paste on my paper facade.
Someday, they will see me.
Now you don’t.
I tried to make this in the form of slam poetry, which I’ve never really done before. Any feedback is appreciated! :)
Lost Soul Nov 2018
I don't need a ******* knight
No shinning armor, your a coward
All you cared about was yourself
While I couldn't fall asleep at night
Stop saying that it was to protect me
I don't need a ******* hero
Why couldn't we have talked about it
That's how a relationship should be
I don't need a ******* dad
You are not the deciding factor
You don't value my opinion
My feelings for you are over
Now I'm just mad
I don't ******* need this too
I have enough on my plate
Maybe you would know that
If you had your head out of your ***
I don't ******* need you
Your a selfish coward
Guess I'm not worth it, to try to make this work out
Wouldn't want to hurt you .... well boo ******* hoo
I've had the ******* months of my life
Trying to act like everythings okay
Not to be a ******
Snap you in between sobbing
Trying not to start a fight
Still cant eat,sleep, or do school but that was okay cause
I didn't wanna hurt you
I always put you first
but I guess you never did
that's why it'll never work
Being around you hurts.. so I cant stay
I'm done
I don't need a knight
I don't need a hero
I don't need a dad
I don't need this too
I don't ******* need you
Shea Apr 1
I'm not a good person,
It's not too hard to see.
It's pouring from my sweatglands
And lingering in my sleep.

I'm not a good person,
It's pretty obvious to see.
Cause everthing you tell me,
I seem to believe.
Corvus Mar 2018
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the slow braking of a car,
A seamless transition from driving to a standstill.
Sometimes you need to slam on.
And it never happens silently,
There's always a screech or a thud or a gasp,
It takes you by surprise and it lurches you forward.
You have to hold on for dear life.
The unexpected nature of it wreaks havoc on your insides;
Butterflies are woken up from your stomach and become nausea.
You check to see if all your limbs are intact, or in fragments.
Then you do the same for your heart,
Searching to see if it went through the windshield
Or if it managed to stay held inside by your unyielding ribs,
Only ever collapsing under the strain of breaths,
Hyperventilating into an airbag.
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the steady sigh of relief,
It's the jagged, shaky breaths that never fully extend
In or out, and there's no calming halt afterwards,
Just a process of continuously hitting the brakes.
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
Olivia Lake Mar 21
Shh
Shush
Shut up
Shut up!
Stop it!
Will you just
Listen
Why does everybody talk and nobody listen?
I know! I know...
You have the right
But it seems the only progress is made by the people who
Talk and talk and talk and talk
They rake in the votes and the likes
but they never once thought if it was just...
or right
"You're a socialist!" "Gays are ruining this country!" "You want to be class president, not with that fat ***" -
DO YOU HEAR YOURSELVES
What is supposed to bring us together is tearing us apart
Differences need to be celebrated, not feared
When is the last time you complemented someone's hair?...
Or smiled at them in the hallway?...
But no
It's only about what you think, what you feel, what you want, what you say
What... you... say...
That's all you'll care about
Until you start to listen
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