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km Dec 2010
The overripe mango that sits promptly on my desk stares at me through its one eye, indignantly asking to be eaten – before it goes bad.
I consider, strongly, the mango’s proposition.
Contemplating the level of hunger, or desire I have for this demanding piece of fruit.
It may be that the latte I just finished burnt off any remaining taste buds I have, or it may be that I find
something amusing about holding a mango hostage of its pride – but I just can’t eat it.
A once firm, confident specimen edging ever closer to becoming a wrinkly, seeping, sack of rotten juice.
Knowingly, I chain it to its fate by refusing to slice the skin back and swallow its sweetness.
It demands to be mutilated rather than aged.
As I sit here writing of my hostage, it continues to stare through its eye – spiting me.
Cursing me with future putrid fruit, with worms in my apples, and with brown bananas.
Oh, how I hate brown bananas.
This mango has learnt well in the time it’s spent in my room, it knows my weaknesses.
I always knew that fruit had character, but this mango – I tell you, it’s something else.
May not be printed for other than home use.
Tearani C Feb 2012
Misunderstood please understand.

You hear, you think what you thought you would,
You remember what you thought before.
You close that door and think some more.
Remember the color of the emerald words I gave?
Do you remember the crisp noise of connections that they made?
Now do you?
Misunderstood.

You hear me through the speakers of your mind,
Little twists and bends and changes, you crinkle all my story pages.
You still remember what you felt before.
You close the door and feel some more.
Do you remember the scarlet words I gave you?
They gushed out of my torn heart like glistening blood?
NOW DO YOU?
Misunderstood.

All the noise running together in your head,
You try to open your moth to let some escape.
And when they pour out I sit down and take in the color.
Dear I fear that you could never really hear.
Emeralds ran into all the simple blue that’s you to blend into the scarlet.
Connections dissolved, you don’t, you
Misunderstood.

The words I gave are gone.
Your mind mixed hear and changed it there and turned it into brown.
I gave you all the beautiful colors of the rainbow,
But you would not take them for what they where.
You changed them, and held them together until it was all different
Until they where made all made the same.
Misunderstood.

This becomes the color of the truths you push away, and the words you mix around.
You find yourself spiting out this endless dingy brown .
I close the door, your spilling out onto the floor.
Keep what you have made I don’t want it, its yours.
Misunderstood.

Your not misunderstood, miss I’m to tired to stand.
Don’t blame the hand made reluctant to help ,
Your to covered with dirt for my brushing to help.
I know you , I love you , but I cannot make my miss understand.
I know my miss understood so I know that she can.

But she wont. I wonder why.
I have no patience to dote on you precious little feelings,
I’m so tired of the brown. Stop mixing colors, oh miss.
Until you make some changes I will have to leave you
Sitting and spiting on the dingy brown ground.
I love you miss I hope you understand.
*Mis I know that you did so Mis I know that you can.
Abigail Madsen May 2013
I’ve met 37 girls named Sarah. My name. Sarah. Five letters, nothing special. It’s not beautiful like Lena. Not creative like Anastasia. No one has any trouble pronouncing it. Which I guess isn’t all that bad. Until they go into that story about that one Sarah who gives my name a bitter taste in their mouth. Spiting out the two syllable, five letter word that defines me, like they know something about me. “Oh Sarah, I knew a Sarah once.” Please don’t say my name like that, don’t elongate that first a, cut sharp the sound of the r, only to drop the h at the end. Five letters said as if there are only four.
Michael Caio Mar 2015
I am the Grotesque
Marques de Sade
I am the Notorious
Giacomo Casanova

I lurk in the Dark Street
Impatiently for the Week
Enthralling and Charming
I smile (vile) with a dimple on my cheek

I see they are vulnerable
Seeking for a God
And that God I become
I am the fruit that will make them succumb

I destroy any trace of humanity left
It’s the Body that I want and Soul I shall bet

As I possess the Boy, *******, the Rich Lady or the Monarch
I cannot impede the images in my mind
Crossing this Arch
Unique Treasures I will find

In my sheets of satin  
The playground of Satan
Tortures of Pleasure
Take place as I make pressure
****** Ropes with humans Cries
Bites of Pain while the Soul fries

To my Chandelier I tie my Slave
I whisper in sinister voice: Be Brave  
My Hand goes where it wants
It has a Will of its own
Unlike its Subject
I shall make it my Object

My Tongue travels the nervous skin
Salt and fear sheen
Sustaining the Evil in me
And the Evil rises vigorously
The Tongue seeks it Moist or Hard
Something of Putrid smell and flavour


Spiking the rib cage with an Object of ******* nature
The Slave inhales Pain
And exhales Lust
I feel it in between the spiting in my Face
And the cries for clemency

I cannot understand why It doesn’t see the Artistry
Of the way I subdue IT to my Supremacy
Are the candles not too hot?
Is the ***** too cold?
Are the Faeces dry and old?
Maybe the splintery wooden **** Pug is slipping out.
Or the Rusty Chain around Its neck too loose

(It is impossible to please
So have this in mind when you fall in Love
You fall alone, you see
Like a Dead Dove from a Dead Tree)

And having that Epiphany
Altruistic acts shall be only for me

Do not close your Eyes
Do not pretend Death in Disguise
My Dagger is now sharp
Spread your legs
Let us see you Drip

Drop by drop
In my mouth ‘til full
White and Red viscous Miracle
Swallow Seeds and Swallow Beads

Now that Gratitude is paid
And the Ritual complete
It’s time to get Laid
Fornication until Testicular function is Obsolete

I use Pig’ Intestines for protection of my Hook
As ridicule to the Book
It’s funny and punning
The Pork really IS Possessed



The friction stinks
And Burns to my delight
The Pain that it brings
Shows It no Light

Is this the End?
The Nirvana my friend!!!
Can you feel it?
While you chase the Last Breath?

I Erupt and Explode
It Implodes – the Explosion is within.

Oh Glorious Dissatisfaction
Oh Dead Body that dangles

I wish IT could see what IT & I created
Superb Creation
No words can explain
Its Life was not in Vain
It was Art
For me to Manipulate

The Rush in my Veins
Quickly vanishes
Leaving me with this uncomfortable
Feeling???

Another Day another Dime
Another Day another Dame
Another Day another Dammed

I am the Ultimate Pleasure seeker

I am the Grotesque Artist
Definitely not for the week hearted.
This is probably one of the most horrible Poems I have ever written.
I just felt like writing something horrendous.
A little trip into a sick person’s mind that has some sort of meaning to what it does.

I hope you can read it and appreciate it for the Art behind it

Take a little trip into my mind.
Lauren Yates Jul 2012
She—an unrepeated motif—waxes precocious like her ancient self.
Never mind the counterfeit eccentrics,
strange enough to be noticed but not doomed.
Their only burden is imperfection.
She’d die for these people, but they don’t realize omniscience is boring.
In preschool, she learned people are mean for no reason.
There’s no sense in spiting the inevitable,
so she gave away her quarters at bake sale.
Her mother would say, “That money is yours.”
The girl would ask, adjusting her overalls,
“If it’s mine, can’t I decide what to do with it?”
In the future, when repeating this story to a potential motif,
she’d know he’s The One when he’d say,
“What do four-year-olds need to know about capitalism?
Thanks to Walt Disney, they want to conform
and follow their hearts at the same time.”
She’d get off on his grumpy, and then notice his ring.
If he had met her first, would he still have married his wife?
It’s not worth hoping for divorce. He’s built to mate for life.
Instead of turning twenty-six, she’ll choose a chair in purgatory—
trapped between what should be and what is.
As long as she’s sitting, she may as well start smoking.
It’s a fine day for oral fixation.
At least she doesn’t smoke Parliaments like the counterfeit eccentrics.
She’d wonder if in a past life she was a dusty vacuum cleaner,
covered in what she was meant to destroy.
It’s too easy to claim hypocrisy,
too easy to cry genius for discovering what works
when for so long, failure was the only place to go.
She hasn’t been happy since she was thirteen.
The day before her first existential crisis,
her mother said, “Stop being so melodramatic.
You must want to be depressed.” Her response:
“I’m not too young for a mid-life crisis. I just won’t live to see thirty.”
She owes her life to a fear of hell,
knows we all experience hell differently. Hers is a banquet.
The proceeds will go toward ending world hunger.
At the end of the night, the keynote speaker complains
that Alfredo sauce doesn’t reheat well, so the leftovers get thrown out.
Joey Austin Dec 2012
Sand paper bags scratch empty city streets, like nails on chalkboards.  It’s amazing how silence can be scary.  I gaze upon empty playground grass, the rampant, rapacious children are no longer able to climb jungle gyms to be king of the world.  Why?  I believe someone invited the Devil to dinner. He scorched earth and burnt tears in barren city streets, I alone see the beauty in the destruction.  Amongst anguish and anger, lies pure serenity.  An ending is just as beautiful as a beginning, like light to files, I’m addicted to pain.  If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you how demise is perfect.  It’s starts with a smile, broken.  Too many demons spiting languages of hot lava that sounds similar to the solar maximum, It’s my mind that breaks from reality.  Unstable and unappreciated, pain is the only way I can rid the stress, So I have believed.  Starting like a headache, addicting like ****** or cough syrup, The rush of blood spiraling round my upper thigh is something I used to look forward to,
It was the only thing I could say I did for myself.  
Moments spilled into months, months pouring into one self-inflicting year, If only I could show the buckets I filled with the sadness I was afraid to share with the world.  I finally put the blades away when I made a mother watch her baby boy dig scissors into his wrists.  Rosy-red cheeks and rain-drop tears slipping down her face was enough to know I could I do better. I needed to do better.  So, I washed the blood away, erasing every past memory I thought I should regret.  I know life is no ethcy-sketch, the marks I once was proud of bare the same weight of shame.  I consider my addiction to be my savior.  If I never landed on rock bottom, I would never know the power it takes to stand back up.  Now I wake among empty city streets, Sand paper bags sit silently, It’s amazing how silence can be comforting.  I alone see the beauty behind the monster that tore apart my freckled canvas. I look at the Devil in the mirror.
Dinner is finished.
Anna Jul 2014
Darling, I am just a painter.
What more could you want?
There's no more that I desire
Than to watch these colours rot.
Joey Austin Nov 2012
He’s broken promises and lifetime regrets.
He might not win daddy of the year,
he spends his evenings and early mornings wishing he could’ve been a better father.  He’s not a role model,
he made mistakes.
He smoked the things he couldn’t,
he forgot the things he shouldn’t.
He’s so much more.
A leader
an army of youth at his side,
spiting fire that he lit the flame to.
He opened the doors to our poetry,
letting us become the people who we are and what we want.
I never liked having my work judged continuously, until I met him.
His judgement is not for life or death
, it’s for the words I could never speak unless I wrote them.
  A friend,
with the best advice,
a man with a past is a man with experience.
  He can tell you all about late, hazy nights in smoke-filled hotel rooms and polite crack heads in Portland, Maine.
  A man,
willing to address his mistakes and send them flying back to their rightful place,
the past.
He’s the toughest man I know and the only father-figure I like to look up to.
He is.
A role model.
Because,
contrary to popular understanding, a past of mistakes leads to a future of knowledge.
  If I become half the man he is,
I’ll know I’ve lived my life as a good man.
  I can see passion in every word as a slightly under-confident man shoots bullets with poetic lines that can make a room,
pretty **** quiet.
Most doesn’t see him like I do.
  They see tattoos and “*******’s” and assume he a part of the lost youth.  
They’ll never know he’s the compass leading us out of the cave of darkness.
I see a man who smokes too much because he cares for every poet who steps to a mic.
  I see broken promises and lifetime regrets.
He’s all of those things but,
in reality.
He’s.
So.
Much.
More.
Maple Mathers Jan 2016
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…

Alison Wonderland.
(Carnival Infatuation)

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016.)
Curt A Rivard Sr Oct 2013
Blessed with children I was asked to be there protector
On a loan and watching my every move
You are looking, for you’re the sole investor.
At a breaking point and thinking all about fleeing
I try and tell myself I can get through this
But why does it seem there’s no end to what I am seeing?
I was wishing and I was wanting, I just wanted it all to stop
Because I was tired of drowning and I wanted to get back to the top.
experiencing torrents of emotions crashing wave upon wave
I can't seem to see any way out and now all I want is to be in a grave.
In this darkness and with no light I'm praying to you please let me win this fight.
You turned my eyes to your words once again
And look there it was, the chapter title all in yellow
Hiding deep within the scriptures that are written
Suddenly right before my eyes I saw the pages turn into a mirror
As the goosebumps all started to rise, I then saw, I was him, I was that fellow.
Starring at myself in the reflection
I then heard a voice telling me to have trust
And throw all my worries over to him
And if I did, I’ll be on my way again to perfection.
Thank you lord for spiting me out back on solid land,
I could have never did it,
Without your loving helping hand.
(SirCARSr 10-18-13)
Joseph Childress Oct 2010
As I lay on my deathbed in the hospital room,
The awareness of my soon doom,
Exudes feelings of gloom,
But more so it ensues feelings of regret,
So many stupid decisions which in my heart beget
Feelings of indecision, unaware of what is next.

The disease that’s ripping me from my life is unknown,
All I know is I had to leave my son and wife at home.
Soon I’ll have to leave from the life I’ve known.
I remember my last words to my son,
Looking sympathetically I looked at him pathetically,
And said so empathetically, I loved him,
So death could see.

But it doesn’t matter, because talking doesn’t work,
So I’m patiently waiting for the coffin and the hearse,
And then all a sudden I started coughing and it hurts,
Then I pressed the button which was calling for the nurse.

The door flew open
But it couldn‘t be her,
Instead I got the black hooded death,
Known as the Grim Reaper.
He approached me, I got cold, time froze,
His hand hit mine.
He got close to me and told me, that it was my time.
Filled with frustration I couldn’t control,
Snatched my arm away from his hand so cold,
Looked him in his eyes, because it was time he was told,
He’s not taking any more lives and it was my time, I spoke.

“If you reap what you sow, why reap souls?
You’re the creator of none, but you can take them and run?
How is this so, the keeper of the souls,
Reaper who sold nothing he sowed?
He only stole, and away he stowed ,
Until he bestows them to the one below.
And we all know that he has no soul.
So your envy controls and even he knows
In heat he chose to fight those he loathes.
Despising those whose demise,
You own.
Spiting foes, despite inside he knows,
That it was he who has chose,
The life as Reaper of Souls.”

After I finished my speech,
He roared with laughter and disbelief,
Then, up I leaped and for his sickle I reached,
Chopped off his head, which fell to his feet.
Now death is dead, just grim from defeat.

But to my surprise, death did have a soul,
And into my body, the spirit arose.
The Grim Reaper’s hood then covered me whole,
From the inside to out my body became cold.
I was no greater than he, reaping what I did not sow.
I was just as Grim,
And now the new Reaper of souls.
Liam C Calhoun Nov 2015
“Tap,” beckoned the door,
A, “knock,”
And signature I’d never forget –
Cross the “t’s, “dot the “i’s,”
An empty night’s forged check
And liquor paved path to be,
To bed, it’s her, it’s her.

It’s also 3:10 AM,
Better than PM,
Where I’m still awake,
Still at work,
And as always,
Annoyed by the nuisance of
Another.

I don’t say “hi,”
And far from reluctantly,
She grabs a beer,
The only cold one I’ve got,
Frail fingered, cry-stain eyed,
And fresh off the ultimate high,
Love, and again.

She hovers to my room,
A natural,
Where she walks with closed lids
Guided by music that’s
Remnant and
Leaking phantoms
From speakers spiting souls –

And it’s
The song she always played,
And it’s, “ours,”
Once a favorite of mine,
And it’s now if only a melody,
Destroyed by repetition and her
Obsession with “echoes.”

I endure.
I've since moved; last I'd heard, she hadn't.
Vladimir s Krebs Feb 2016
I live in this world that shows only spiting ******* you spread all over with your phones. all the favorite memories of hanging with friends make us never lose being young. memories that sting burning a hole threw my heart. i'm running out of strength to keep the world around me from collapsing killing me. i had to say my time of even caring will blow this world from  my life in a *******. trap'd with no life left. i walk this world lost in my own destruction of what i will show you all. words will be sprayed all over . like every text message you sent to people  i told you i hate them all. why should people follow me when  turning my cards flipping them winning every poker game . i hide my eyes so no one will lose there own soul that i own now *****.



this world leaves nothing but scares that are all over my body turning me into a freak show. lies from words run like knives being thrown at a simple target of lies . don't wast your time cause i'm to broken to even give a **** about any thing else to say

peace out you have told the stories making peoples life hell taking every thing  away from them.


you told me to keep positive but you have reached and pulled out my bad side
tired
Orchid Mar 2021
Roaming the plane soulless spiting rights, spitting facts

Exhausting public eyes whilst rendering a tax.
End
Pressure rising
Pulse subsiding
Outside flying
Inside I'm crying
Problems dying
To much lying
No more denying
I know this is trying
Tired of the spiting
I see you've been hiding
Becoming, abiding
It's time for some guiding
It seems so inticing
To rid the unexciting,
Coinciding,
Whining
Jeopardizing,
Stereotyping,
To only bring on,
A new horizon
Fluffy Dec 2010
Because the sun is coming up, and I still haven’t slept,
They call me crazy. But I’m not, I promise you
-Not in a destructive way. I hope that’s alright.
And I can’t see the technicolor clouds from my window,
But maybe that’s for the best. I’d only be identifying
Images of you floating by in the shape shifting aurora.
False dawn passes, its greyish-blue hue
And fresh scent of rain giving me a second,
Third, fourth (and so on) wind, almost as much as the caffeine.
And I waited all night to talk to you,
But you never came. You said you would, though
It was silly of me to think that you would show;
That’s me: silly. But you like me that way.
And with my words failing on a pendulum locket,
Copping like they’re coping with the treasonist panic,
Backstabbing, hair-grabbing, pinching; biting; mother-spiting.
Falling through with mad devices, a lost prolific parody of
Gasping fools, so desperately grasping to the notion of an ending
That they insist is only the beginning to something greater.
I put a sign up in my window: Prozac and papal blessing- 2 bucks a pop.
(c) 2006- From I Don't Know These Words
Sisilia Feb 2016
I am a star that looks upon all at night,
I am a star that is always by itself,
You'll probably know me as the one that doesn't shine as much,
or the one that strays from the 'popular' constellations.
i am a star that gets picked on from the others because i am the smallest, even the man in the moon laughs at me.
But instead of spiting back at them i laugh back....... you wanna know why?
because i am a star that is alone for a reason,
i stray from the constellation because when one burns they all burn,
i am that star that is the smallest but is the most constant star there is,
i am a star that will always be looking out for you from above,
every night,
i am the star that is sometimes out during the day,
the one you tell your secrets too, the one to cherish them
or the star that cries with you, for i am the star that is alone for a reason...
to be a constant reminder that you will always have a friend and that  you are not alone..
Yes, I am that star.
#firstpoem  #yeahdontknowwhatelsetosay.
Samir Nov 2015
...or at least being under the naive guise of youth, tainted with the dementia of infatuation

What if I really believed you were my one and only?

What if my love for you is as real as it ever was?

I still make love to you every night
Even though you left me
Alone I stoke the fire...
Together we shall burn-
Perpetually.

I let you live here rent free;
My beauty,
My lessee,
& naturally I
The lessor.

You spite me.
I allow you to

Every night is that same day
That same fight
It blurs a little bit more with every play

Every night I go to sleep in that day.
Every night I relish in the fact that...
As insignificant as it may seem
I'm the one who had the control that day

Every night I get to relive that moment.
Every night you are forced to see it my way.
Every night you are to face the me you tried to avoid so desperately.
Every night you are made to face the love you neglected so miserably and I remember every single detail.
Every excruciating detail of your struggle, to the breakdown, and finally acceptance of what you had comin to you; my love.
I ***** you that night.
I raptured you that night and I relive it as I ******* to the idea of spiting you and you just took it and let it happen because you knew you were finally coming clean about who you really were and how it made no difference what happened to you one way or another...

I remember my being a romantic
Every single night before I go to bed
I still love you to this day you see...
I said it back then and it still holds true.

I remember my being a romantic-
BUT NOT AS MUCH AS I REMEMBER ******* YOU!
Jessica Jarvis Aug 2018
I’m stuck between impatience and time moving too fast.
If only certain moments could hold off and last,
Yet let me be the first to set the record straight.
I know that, in the end, it will all be worth the wait.
I’m not here because I want to relive the past.
While times have been perfect, the idea is too vast:
To stay where you are, red, and not look for what’s ahead.
However, why is the future an idea i’m urged to dread?
While this time is exciting, and often inviting,
I see the circumstance filled with crying and spiting.
No, I’m not scared, or maybe I was.
I’ve learned that I can’t live that way, only because
I’ll suffer that way in this current time I’m in,
And living right now is already hard enough to begin.
I’m not here to sulk, i’m not here to brag.
I’m just impatiently enduring the drag
Of time, of now, wanting it to slow to yellow,
While I’m eager, insisting on life’s green light, “go.”
Time, a constant thing, still looks me in the face
To say, “you think you know it all, but I will set the pace”.
No matter the task, the toll, the race, I’m in it for the ride.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell my impatient indecisiveness that it’ll have to subside.
Maybe time is like traffic. “Do I gas it, or hit the breaks?”
Either way, I’m afraid of collisions, so that’s a risk I just won’t take.
8/4/18
Sam Temple Sep 2015
transfixed by the vastness
pinpricks carrying galaxies
and the death of one far off light
means the potential for new nebula
a black beetle's journey across my arm distracts
displaced hairs create a path
his trail marks my own
looking back into the night sky
shimmering distant worlds hide
orbiting barely visible star systems
falling asteroid streaks from the northern sector
to a south-eastern resting place
most space rocks find the desert
to be most to their liking
soft cricket chirp  
drowns out the rumble from a
passing air liner
the chemical strip left behind seems a shadow
spiting the universe in half
much like the ecliptic
keeps Aquarius at bay
Kimberle Killips Oct 2010
I see you there,
Walking all over the world like you own the place.
Pushing nerds into each other,
Then laughing your *** off.

Disrespect is all you seem to give.
And yet everything is what you seem to take.

Spiting, hitting, cursing,
The only things in your repertoire.
The only things you understand.

Then the real world comes
To slap you in the face,
And there I am, slapping with them.
I said "hey check out the captain", and the sailors all agreed, so we strung him to the masthead and he flapped there in the breeze.

We were sailing past the dover cliffs with neptune on our side, and I walked into the captain's cabin with the crows nest in my eyes.

The Druid winds kept up our sails with an aztec tiller man, and up from the depths came Jonah's whale as we sailed across the sands.  

With the cannons spiting broken glass we passed the coasts of Africa.  The amazon flowed underneath and the snow began to fall, with hail stones as big as clubs they joined us in the hull. We spent the nights in holocaust but our blood it mixed below.  So we put a **** in Panama and Hawaii loomed up slow, with burlap sacks of psilocybin from the volcanoes rotting shell.  The fire gushed up from underneath, we were on our way in hell.

Electric raindrops filled the sky, like a insect's buzzing din, it seemed Zues was coming with us and the light began to bend.  The sun it cracked wide open and in the chain reaction's swell, our whole galactic nebula was shattered and we fell.

Only to be born again on tomorrow's distant shores, for each atomic particle was as fertile as your soil, and the motion and the friction was only nature's oil.  But just as death must balance life when nature's had her fill, we probably will rise again and learn to hate and ****!!
MOMENT IN THE SUN
When you shall shine bright
Like light glows within you
Like your skin is a bulb
And your eyes
Shall
Prove delight
True love not hidden
that is the time you will say
‘Thanks  God, today’s my day’
A day that will be  unique
Your  best moment
within the
sun
success
shall be rewarded
you shall be delighted
you shall sing the best song
best dancers shall participate
the secret is only one sentence
press on, keep work alive,
Meaningless stories
kindly forget
for time
holds
for
them
and others
you may wish for.
My CUP
I hold my cup
My trophy is
Awarded for success
This far I came,
Wasn’t simple at all
I cracked even harder walls,
People were surprised and asked for the secrets I had
Ofcourse I had none,
The faith within me
The driving force   that kept me going
The patience and perserverance
All, I kept that were so painful
All I fogave, for the unforgivable they did to disappoint me
For the mocking and the spiting they did behind me,
All were meant to be like they war
I cracked through them,in no big blows,
I never fought to win
I kept love,
I kept patience,which was so hard to
And like a termite,
I picked one soil at a time, to achice a very big anthill
Man can spent time,only t be defeated…
That was my secrets
And they handed me this cup
This throphy to be specific.
Wrote in school
Angel Hoffer Mar 2013
The cruel words you’re spiting at me make me wince and wonder what I’ve done wrong. Like poison it sinks into my veins, burning and decomposing as it goes. My tears start to fall like rain, you start up again, word harsh words coming. Ugly, useless, fat, stupid. They whip me as they sling out of your mouth. You’re finally done and you yell at me to get out of your sight. I let my leaded feet take me to my barren room. Nothing significant, just white. Like an insane asylum cell. I grab my blanket off the floor and wrap myself in it and just let the tears flow. I curl up, screaming my heart out. It all goes blank. Just lying there, Quiet, finally I open my eyes and look at the door and slowly walk to my bathroom, I turn on the hot water. I limply shed each article of clothing and walk sluggishly to the awaiting bath tub. I fall into it and just sit. Thinking of everything that has happened. I stare down at the secluded razor at the corner of my tub. I gaze at it longingly and then grab it. I tare in to the skin of my left arm. I watch as the blood flows freely. I laugh at the thought of you finding my lifeless body.
Madison McEnroe Jun 2015
Fractured, ruined, lost within my thoughts.
Soaked too the bone with baneful memories,
Like vines entwined in my brain banging at the door just to breath,
Your insensibility, absurdity and nonsense is like a fire burning deep within me,
because if it wasn't for your ignorance we wouldn't be in this reality.
Your words like venom spiting cruel ****
Always saying I love you but,
“Your thighs are too thick”
So choke on you articulation on this proper occasion,
suffocating on your enlightening *******
as if finally you taste the appalling choice of your vocabulary,
Instead of feasting on the frightening idea that you’ll be alone.
Forever most likely.
Instead of feeling the warmth of an embrace,
the sweet softness of a kiss,
or the burn of passion between two bodies.
You'll shrivel up like skin that’s been adrift in the ocean,
wrinkled, wreaked, and wicked ******.
I feel sorry for you and the way that you’ll die,
Cold and heart broken like a vase that was dropped from the sky.
Ill pry that one day you’ll awake from  this malevolent slumber
And be forced to endure the endeavoring of your madness,
To feel every verbal scar you left on anybody.
Tearing away from beneath your skin,
Slowly forcing you to mask holes of athencity to your past.
So release me from your obnoxious, vicious grasp,
Allowing me to be free from my entrapped sanity
And leave the minefield surrounding me,
Just waiting  for it to backfire and convulse right here in front of me.
Take back the conversations,
Take back the fights,
And late nights.
Cut the memories right from the root and untangle them from my mind.
You may have wasted my time,
But I swear to you I lied because I wont love you any long for all time,
I wont care for you,
You’ll be an old bruise on my fragile body.
Because I’m Fractured, ruined, and lost within my thoughts.
Chaotic Melodic Mar 2013
Why is it hard sometimes,
feeling so different and so
capable
yet your lips barely speak above a whisper.
Where your spiraling eyes see
through the disguises we play our lives behind.
And yet you hang your head
all the same, as if starlight
wasn't shining from within it all.
Your life,
as broken shards of
smiles trying.
As voices clash and
messages spiral out of sync like
two blades
spiting the screws that hold them tight.
And rust they will,
your eyes if closing them
feels better.
For a bitter taste settles on
tongues that hope to dance
yet barely dare to step
beyond their teeth, they quiver.
And these footsteps that find you
lost amongst the promise
of empty bottles you have found.
I wish to hear them,
your hidden breaths from under
what slender cheeks you turn,
to the ground.
From what pages your
lashes spark
and spring from as the world
whispers wonders in your ear.
The trickling words
that tickle you
to smile.
You know its funny,
one day I was nothing,
One day I was no one,
Every day on my own,
Only darkness was I shown,
Was taught to raise my own throne,
Fight and be right,
War and no law,
More and no core,
But,

Never in my life was I taught to think,
Turn around! Miss, I need a hand,
But sure thing,
I had to learn to draft my own Sphinx,
Build my own lift,
Learn my own things,
Like,

I was never taught how to drop a rhyme,
Nor how too read time,
So here in my sick mind,
I was left with torturous lines,

But hold up,
Where did the skills I possess manifest?
From the milk in my mum's chest?
The bruises on my left leg?
Or just these messy scribbles of words,

Hey, ley needs a pay of pure hay?

That's a shame, I write the same,
Nothings changed my writings still lame,
But that's just it,

When I started scribbling these words down,
I always feared my fathers sound,
The things I wrote,
The pain he took time to provoke,

It changed me,
I guess it kinda made me,
Rhyming made my mind free,
Found my tree of purity,
Or is it my deepest sympathy,
Maybe rhymes are just me?

Like,
I can't explain my inner pain, without writing a song about love,
I can't walk around, without a beat playing louder than drums,
I cant say a few words, I gotta spit them all,
I guess that's why my songs, they ain't ever small,

I won't say I love you,
Instead,
Back at the start when I fell for you, never did I think I could be worthy of you, cuz
When I was younger I had a dream.
I was kicked out with nowhere it seemed.
I never thought the face I had seen.
Was the one right there, within my reach,
And,
Looking at the girl of my life only saddens me, why ain't you my wife, years and years I Could carry on my search, for the treasure that lurks, me and you like clockworks,

Now baby,
I wake up every day with a frown cuz your not in my lounge,
I see the morning dew, and instantly think of you,
Baby this isn't 1 or 2 days of the week,
Its every day I cant see,
You or the happiness you give,
Me or how u make me free, N ill sit in bed for hours, fantasising me with super powers, so I Could, give you what you wanted, soar like an eagle if you wanted, be right there when you wanted, id be, something like how I see you, my angel, super hero, sometimes my restraints, and for that you have my forever thanks, even if I go insane, your walking me up n down love lane, my love for you, higher then any plane, top score of any game, higher then I get n thats insane, but it's true, too you ill stick like glue, call me coo coo, ill say so's you, you'll know im right, cuz together we'll fight, baby for you ill fight any blight, ill save your kite, Run through the night, all for this great highlight, of the vision I see every time, I look at you, I look at me, the only thing I do not see is the ring that shall bound us together, but I can see, you walking down the isle, then standing across from me, can I hear the vowls already? Or am I over ready, wanting you so very, to be in my arms more than any, or am I just lost again? I'm sitting here, maybe i need more pens, perhaps more friends, more enemy's, well that's a tease, for you I'm on my knees, begging please, take my hand, allow me too be your man, and protect you, never would i neglect you, even if by gods I was sent too, baby you'll never understand how glad I'm that I met you.

You know its funny,
one day I was nothing,
One day I was no one,
Every day on my own,
Only darkness was i shown,
Was taught to raise my own throne,
Fight and be right,
War and no law,
More and no core,
But,

Never in my life was i taught too think,
Turn around! Miss, i need a hand,
But sure thing,
I had to learn too draft my own Sphinx,
Build my own lift,
Learn my own things,
Like,

I was never taught how to drop a rhyme,
Nor how too read time,
So here in my sick mind,
I was left with torturous lines,
And that's where we are today,
I write these words but these words are my shame
In my mind, all they doing is dragging my name
And here i am, i aint looking for fame,
Just wanna show people my lane,
Show you what its like to be insane, dude,
Feeling like your wrapped up in chains, rude,
Take a bullet straight through your brains, mood,
Feeling rain dripping pain, true

Now ain't nothing more painful then your mother crying,
Cuz in your hospital bed you are dying,
With the doctors hiding,
On the walls sits your writing,
A terrifying sighting,
Only inside now are you fighting,

And yeah i ain't been there before,
So you may ask what I'm spitting it for,
Maybe my sister, maybe bit more,
But I'm telling you now, were rotten to the core, of that i am sure, hents why my lines are all raw, and my mind is all sore.

And i don't plan on spiting ****,
If I'm saying it, you can assume I'm living it, and it may seem easy, the way i am putting it, but deep in my mind i'm dripping, slit
Haven't posted in ages, but i just finished this write after 3 hours
JP Goss Jun 2015
The day will exhaust itself if it keeps running away;
Shadows may fetch its hills as they fetch the floors—
There is all the grime of family life portraiting
Seamy corners perfumed with stale smoke
Blackened as it comes with twilight,
Narrated by cracked smiles and “some’re” teeth
Stories of the happy winds, the simple views
Pits of bromide comforts and steely prides
And all around resilience to spiting one’s face.
Even as the sky waxes intense the pink of waning day
I find no hope in the west, but a weight pressing
On the very outcropping of my birth—
These modern monks, these pretty babes
Calmly lie in for the new day; it is behind the mountain.
It is from there the stars themselves unfold
From their translucent dirt and the last beautiful word
Of home is heard, something like country tears
And watching myself grow too fast for my liking,
The stars are not ready for counting,
They’ve lost that allure
Puffballs glow on the hill, lost souls on the grazing lands
Finding, at once, where the winds of change will take them
Everywhere, nowhere, freed and sobbing and mocking the
Birds and the flowers all praising themselves natural,
Taking my lungs’ air to the milky distance
As it starts to run and on and so on…
Kurt Philip Behm Apr 2023
Building a bridge
for others to walk
light burning at the end

It’s never enough
to stand and wait
their crossing must begin

Toeing a path
in another’s steps
fruition comes in view

Toll again paid
in memory script
—to spite the dark eschewed

(Dreamsleep: April, 2023)
The Butterfly May 2014
Spiting words out like daggers,
as she trips, walking with a stagger.
All dizzy with confusion,
falling down filling with contusions.
Blood pooling under her eyes,
from all the tears falling as she dies.
Little by little she's draining away,
with not much left to make her stay.
If she could taste the words wisely,
maybe then she could live finally.
But all the anxiousness
leaves a pit of deceptiveness
that can't seem to be shaken
leaving her empty and vacant...
Brucey Liu Sep 2014
I have a mission to understand,
The mysteries found within thy hand,
Cloaked in sour yet so sweet,
Bleeding me dry from head to feet,
Spiting all time and space apart,
Shining your light straight to my heart,

Glittered in gold and diamond I see,
Making a complete fool out of me,
Lusting and wanting and making me roar,
Take me so high until I can soar,
Wings of freedom I express evenly,
Letting you go is not easy,

Lets ride on wave to change our fate,
Heading to hell is right through the gate,
My armor and sword with shield in hand,
On wards to battle until I can stand,
Victory is mine for I shall not wield,
Defeat is yours so ******* steel!
Alaina Moore Jun 2015
Spit it out. Let it go. I am screaming, pleading, wishing the words would come. Yet they don’t. The page sits empty. Blaring white into my eyes as if to say “you’re not creative.” I want to say I am creative. I am supposed to be creative. However, when I thought I was creative it was chemically induced. So where the chemicals creative? I think about those old mixes of Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Chlorine, and Oxygen.

C16H13ClN2O was my writing partner and my best friend. We went through so much together, though I’ll admit I was a bit clingy. These chemicals blended like warm water through my veins. Like a cool breeze on a spring day. My chest fills with Helium and I could float away.  Milligrams pass through time; the words just fell onto the paper. The letters rained down with tears and blood until the sun was rising and I was no more found than before. The venting was relentless and filled no more voids than it created. The rhymes were so easy, the stanzas formed into beautiful verses of a lost soul with too much weight of the world crashing down. I wasn’t spiting it out, I was throwing it up.
C17H13ClN4 was the voice I never had. It was the confidence to tell anyone to *******, and that meant everyone. When this chemical melody was carried throughout my bloodstream. The only creative thing it brought out of me was my creative ways of finding food in an empty kitchen. This re-uptake inhibitor was just the pill to get me through the day in a world that I hated. It was the personification of my hate. I literally was spitting my words into the universe. No paper could withstand.
C11H15NO2 was the lover you wanted to cook you breakfast, but ***** on you instead. And C18H21NO4 was the catalyst to the end. All these blends changed my mind in many different ways. At times they made me feel like an author, at other times they made me feel worthless.

Years later now and the sober me enjoys the absences of these chemicals for I like the natural mix that is me. Though, I do crave the words. I lust for the flow. Creativity is a luxury of the depressed. Because now that my life is happy and settled I can’t find anything prolific to say. I have much to say but no way to spit it out.
Not really a poem, I can't seem to write them well anymore. I am rusty and I am trying.
Lucas LaBounty Oct 2011
I love your harsh voice in my ears
telling me what you want to hear
so sing your voice behind your mask
telling me that you know best
but all things good and bad shall pass.
Telling me to leave it all behind,
so now that i'm all on my own, i burn the pages
unleash their rages
Telling me how to live alone,
but you think i'm the only one
Telling me this isn't like the last time,
I'll show you why I lie in wait
spiting you, i lie in hate
Step out of this dream, no thoughts of nightmares
Telling me you speak no lies,
but it's not the truth that drags me over my line
past my limit, let it go and give it up
Telling me that you won't quit,
but you forget- it's just my luck
BeautyinChaos Sep 2017
I kept you chained to the floor
beating on your body like the high tide against the shore
Every blow that fell upon your skin
caused a smile to play upon my lips
and security to encase my heart
Because you
can never
leave.
You've stopped screaming to be let out
My body aches for a sound from you to confirm my existence
I'd give anything to hear but a whimper from you
that sweet melody of doubt and fear
but you
should never
leave.
Your lifeless body haunts my dreams
as part of me dies with you
I beg of you not to leave me alone
You were the beauty in the room
will you stay if I say the whips were but a game
Now I
should let
you leave.
I kept you chained to the floor
your freedom was but a distant thought in the stale air
once granted
you malnourished body stood proudly
belittling the years worth of chains
spiting me for having buried you so deep
but my dear,
I'm glad that I let you out.
Most likely a draft, but needed to write.
Graff1980 Jun 2015
There were greater writers
That no one will remember
Sinners singing for their dinner
Tale weavers not award winners

But they were better than some of those
**** famous deadbeat poets
Those dirt dry boring heartless poets
Anthology barn describing
Empty mind driving
Generation after generation
Stale lifeless shells of poets

You missed the raw talented
Death seeking reeking writer
While you were pursuing some tired muse
She was riding through the darkness
Spiting you while inviting you
To partake of the snake that eats itself

The academic was systemic
Of the social sickness
That wants grammarly fitness
Till the point they cut the fruit off
And ate the bark
They plugged in the tv man
But ignored the spark
Lost the heart in pursuing
The same style the old poets were using
Till they changed styles to the new old poets

Meanwhile the cutting edge
Was in back water cities
Bleeding all deep poetry
Feeling everything but pity
And writing it so fast and beautifully

But you never took the time to see
Wrote some stuff that puts us all to sleep
Now we are creeping toward the two thousand and twenties
And I have found those once lost voices
They are rocking the twitter feeds
The facebook pages
The tumblr streams
Welcome to the digital age
Don’t need the old guard
To raise us up
It’s a true poets dreams
Were voices scream dissonantly
But still form a social harmony
They won’t forget me
And I won’t miss out on them

— The End —