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This words are my own to
scandalize, throw it directly
in your face, scream them
encrush them and swallow
in silence as a pois a porter
at a tabooed cablooed bar
drinking bottles of brewed
cougar gulping bitter pills
small tokens of forgotten
abandoned little peoples

Taboo Words:
heartbreak, blob, writersblock
anguish, drunkdead, motherfu
ryn Aug 2014
Step into my universe
You'll see only words
In my mind, flurry of feathers
Hurricane of riled up birds.

They amass and circulate
Searching to break free
Storm of ink; doesn't abate
Bleed out for no one to see.

Hidden inside my heart
Forbidden words I long to convey
Teach me how to start
With you I foist to play.


Words veiled by silent secrecy,
Cloaked words I long to shout
Bordering the point of heresy
Tabooed words without doubt.

Almost an eternity I've whispered
With care and only hushed tones
Well kept secret undiscovered
Laying quiet under unturned stones.

Thought myself alone when I heard another
One that sings choral to my own
A mournful call that sang together
Grey melodies embodied in skin and bone.

The cravings of my heart
Your words I wish to fill
In my head occupies the biggest part
Our declaration's the only seal.

A vow you and I made
A love we wish to last forever
Dismissing that opportunities evade
Who would need a supporting paper.

Hidden softness within me
Only you can tap and enjoy
The only one that holds the key
Heart and mind meet to employ.


Our hearts, like kings, would've risen
Adorned and bejewelled on their crests
Let us sing in unrehearsed unison
Crowned words we've locked in our chests.



IamMsIves
rhymesmith
Written by Suckers for Rhymes - IamMsIves & Rhymesmith
wanderer Sep 2013
the droplets of water are singing a trail down the bricks of the houses
through the alleys of the glassy-eyed broken people with soft hearts, a pre-disposition for death
weaving a tabooed trail across the sidewalks that when gazed upon reeks of obscurity
and leaving faint lines on the creased skin of all the sinewy fatalities
the mildewed rain peaks across the rusted windowsill that sighs with familiarity
it sloshes against the children’s playground and slaps at the pavement with a sudden clarity
it empties itself into the spiked maze of the tree branch hoping the leafs will cling onto to it dearly
it mellows into a pond that breaks apart with sharp staccatos when mushy feet run down the street
and it hurls itself into the bitterly sweet lips of two frost-bitten lovers who will soon meet
it daintily steps into the burning embers of the flame, only to be flushed out in shame
it turns to the shower as a last resort, but whines in dismay when it’s slurped down the drain
it embraces the eyelashes until it’s shaken in misery and then watches wearily as it’s blinked away in positivity
it lumbers down the path of the bruised ego, a shattering of phrases that leaves the person’s mouth
and before it has the chance to drop it is scooped up and chastised until it moves no more
the tears and the rain drops wander listlessly for all of eternity
only to be hastily thrown away or brushed into cotton for fear of a restless divinity
it is never to reach a destination and only doomed to be forgotten
and so it seems dear friends, that raindrops are simply you and me
kris evans May 2014
...............................................  on the.................................................
            ­                            moth eaten pages,  
                                                   i pen
                                            the discovery,
                                                i dread
                                             my existence
                                             in this world.
                                in the abode of black men,
                               among the filth of mankind,
                        scattered in those dimly lighten ghettos
                            relaying an unforgivable legacy
                                                i stood
                                   as a moss covered relic
                              silhouetted against the light
                                             a moppet,
                                born in this tabooed world
                                    a scar upon my kins
                                who likely preferred a boy
                                                biped,
      ­                           standing alone in the moor
                                          beheld a future
                                        turned into debris
                                                like flies ,
                                  swarming around a glare
                                  many a cold hapless eyes ,
                                                   i met
                                        hovering over me
                                      eyeing me - a hellion
                                 and soon they drew my fate
                                                every door
                                         shut upon my face
                                                forcing me
                                        to creep in to corners
                                                  and live
                                          under the shadows
                                   to defy them proved grim
                                        only to be hugged
                                    often by heartless whips
                                 or burnt by cigarette thuds
                                          thus like a ****
                                      amid st the bean stalk
                                          they uprooted me
                                             from their lives
                                      and thawed my efforts
                                           to seek the world  
                                           after all who am i
                                                     a girl
                                                  yes a girl
                                                   a taboo....
                                               or a disgrace?
                                                 i was killed
                              murdered...in my mothers womb
                                            my blood spilled
                                            before i was born
                                            before i could see
                                         before i could breath
                                             they choked me
                                                   to death
                                                   from life
                                                    from
                                                       me ....
though female infant mortality rates have gone down in the past couple of years there a still thousands of babies who are killed before birth.......
Terry Collett Dec 2013
Ariadne
liked her *** best

on an armchair
or the sofa

with her lover
Bernice, in charge

of the *** games,
especially

those involving
sweat cream being

slowly licked off
of her body,

or a warm tongue
moving between

her naked thighs,
which, through pleasure

over again,
brought the warm tears

to her dark eyes.
And in moments

reflecting back
to her childhood

and her father's
cruel sadistic

abusive ways,
she wondered how

over the years,
she kept intact

inside her mind
and injured heart

and tortured skin,
the deep seated

capacity
to allow love

not to be spoilt,
or the places

he had tainted,
to be tabooed

to her lover,
especially

when she slowly
slides her finger

along her spine
or between legs

satisfying
her paradise,

her pudendum,
as her lover,

laughing, calls it.
But most of all,

despite the past
of abusive

hurts and foul touch,
she still has that

ability
to overcome

the dark years,
to love her hot

lover, Bernice,
that **** *****,

all too human,
and all too much.
Raymond Ortserga Sep 2015
Oh! that you were born on Wednesday
then thou can doth as wednesday does
tis not thy fate to ply that road

Look away now child, fight not the cards
tis not your fate, tis not your fate
for only maidens wend to war and horses ride

for ye are the offspring of Wednesday
tis not your station to question wherefore
think not of it my child, let fate decide

It is tabooed to search for the eagle's nest
only they were borne to doth these things
thy worth, tis ransomed by thy skin
resplendent as a future past, that never beest

and lo that road was never walked
By him
Or her
Or we
Or they
heavy bored Feb 2013
we tripped up the stairs
when we were kids
not knowing it was a metaphor
for what was to come
together, we huddled over laughing
when we reached the top
since the stumbles
left bruises on our knees
but never on our souls
unlike the steps we climb now
that take us to floors
we never meant to go to
and though I have seen you fall
so many times, my brother
each time you rise
with a grace that triumphs
your exhausted eyelids and
burned brain, remnants of
the tabooed chemicals
we made pinky-promises
never to do
none of it touched
the sincerity behind
your crooked smile
the boy that walked me home from school
when our mom was too busy
is still in those baby brown eyes
that wave at me
even over the telephone
to be honest, my brother
you give me more hope
than any self-help book
through the struggle, sorrow, and Celexa
never surrendering
to the stairs of life
and just like children
you hold out your hand
to help me up
though my knees are too sore
my heart too battered
one day I will join you
on the second floor
you just make me so proud.
Eriko Aug 2015
the spoils of ego
have created the vile
and the grasps of men's malevolence
will raise the hairs on the fallen arm
the snaking graze bringing diaphragms to a chill
and the eye of lost men reflecting to the churning sky
brimming with echos of lost contraptions in time
the pockets of dream viewers upon heart's decline
and the whisper of one final, sweet bliss
the clamor of doubt sunk like wounded icicles
the gleam of one's bone under lampshade glow
and the lingering touch of medallion thrones
the greed of man washes over ashore
upon the silhouetted fingers of children tomorrow
and the affection of what's promised will wander
soon to the forages of tabooed swelling yonder
simmering in the ashes broken into fragments
eroded into sands of time to slip through palms
and as the day spin on its axis
twisting men's gaze to crunch into manifesting feats
to brink a think that they must all abide
to the fists of iron and crunch of another bone
how they dare treat another soul
in such fruitless fashion
and ambition lacking in direction
their virtues of moral must stand on a compass
without it, they cease to be
pinned to a brick
because their heads are too thick
and don't for a second think
that they are able to keep
the walls fortified, for it too will sink
and they shall fall to their knees
if they refuse to listen
and keep their shiny egos
shaved to a comfortable narrow
Eriko Jul 2015
for all the things labeled  
in the exterior mirages
of turpentine reeking layers
worn lavishly by red lipstick
and silver tailored suits,

light illuminating marble counter tops
dusted by the next-thousand-block immigrant
the mother of four beautiful children
she clashes with the detriment of money

which filters back to champagne of that red lipstick,
the silver tailored suit a million floors above
encased within their own skeleton
they peel their skin so not to feel a thing

stuffed in a daycare tabooed because of its door handle
touched by mothers working wage to meet end's meet
children skipping their shoes
on the stains of the concrete underneath their feet
and not realizing a thing

the mother bustles through
alone but surrounded by grease
seething into the cracks of her heels
while her children grows by the tick
into the template configured by society

the smear of red lipstick
the wrinkle in the silver tailored suit
the system of trickle down economy
have gone down the throats of so many lives
as a diluted joker waving a flag sewn with white  

this age of decadence
chooses to blind its kin
reality has been remodeled
into a Hollywood basement
His bright, white haze had always held him trapped,
Kept him blinded in hallowed embraces,
Scarcely breathing, trying stiff to adapt,
Teasing him with glimpses of tabooed places.
He lusted for freedom from perfection,
To fly vaguely in dangerous waters,
Incessantly gaining disaffection,
For the lastest fictions he had uttered.
Another offered a chance at freedom,
Skeptical of the darkness surrounding,
Clouded mind knowing that accepting him,
Results in a contract always binding.
Exhausted of sacred blessings he turned,
From angel’s love and in Tartarus burned.
Michael Sorley Mar 2012
Sometimes we don't know why?
Sometimes we don't understand
When we look into each others eye's
We know deep down, We are meant to be

Our love is tabooed
I want you to take me out of this dream
I can't live another day without you in my arms
You are the only one I trust
I am nothing with out you

You make me feel better when I feel down
Our love is like a never ending high
Why do we hide our love for each other?
Lets not let our love fade away
Elijah Master Jul 2014
anger was tabooed to death.
but it never meant to hurt anyone
it only wanted to protect ....
After the funeral someone had to replace the  job.
after the burial of the emotion
depression moved into office
Alyalyna Nov 2017
Strangulation marks on necks
Tendon scars on wrists
Someone wants them near
Who is the normal one out of here?

They are the ones who bring on troubles
The ones who are troubled
Doubting, scared, tabooed
Pills and needles; we’re subdued

White robe opening the blinds
Who is this guy
Let in some light
Into this shady existence

They are the ones who are distanced
Brought to the state of nonexistence
Something’s wrong in mechanism
Of playing a certain role
In this world

And no way to repair
They are there
And still they are not there

Stumbling, crying, wanking
Cutting, suffocating
Fighting, hating
Forever waiting…

They can now stop from doing this
They’re masters of their flesh and bone
But what is it like to live a life like this
To fight and be fought when you’re left all alone
Selena Ybarra Jun 2015
Hurts to see him smile as he seems to be happy without me
I sit and wait for him to come back to me but there's nothing I can do right now
I have that gut feeling that he's hurting and longing for me
The feelings I get from him and the mixed signs
Yet all he can say is
"I'm sorry, but I don't feel that way."
But when his actions speak otherwise I started to see his love for her is no longer deep.
He knows I know he's trying to get my attention
yet I feel the need to push him away to save him
Maybe he's hurting and hiding his pain as much as I am
Is she the reason this happened?
Why hasn't she satisfied him when all he seeks is true love?
He's not who he use to be because of me
Sobbing and heartbroken you hear them say
"He's not a man. He's a waste of space!"
But they're wrong I say even if I was his prey
I still found myself loving you to this day
But that doesn't mean a thing to them
We all know the truth will come to the surface and
If only he understood my love
We wouldn't be here, pretending to follow the rest of the sheep
He's not alright I see it in his eyes but yet he tells her "Don't worry. I'm fine."
I know he's lying and running from the tabooed beliefs that were instilled in him
To keep him from loving me
Since the last time, he asked if I was alright.
All I could say was "Yes, I'm fine"
I'm not, not right now, at least
I still wipe tears from my eyes
Wishing that you had stopped them from denying what you felt for me
You should have pushed her away as she was placed to keep you in control
And now I hope you think to yourself when you hear my name
"By God if only...
If only you were mine..."
Tabooed twice
Makes me want it double
Oh the trouble
But I’d get in it for you
I don’t know how it works
Opposities in every way
Yet the magnetism is of massive proportions
The fireworks we lit
Were right under us
We soared high into the sky
In order to fly
We must sacrifice
But the pinks and purples the yelllows and reds
Make me see only you
It’s as if you see things with crystal sharp sincerity
And seeing you from across the room just knowing your presence is equivalent
An ice bath of stardust with somehow still steam
Just compares to nothing
You are my dreams
Ephraim Feb 2021
I am the word
the glyph, the rune
that speaks and sings
through time, in tune.

I am the hive
the bee, the bonnet
the couplet, haiku,
verse and sonnet.

I am the book
all pages turned
accused, tabooed,
torn and burned.

I am everything
and nothing at all;
the scroll on which
a kōan is scrawled.
Aditya Roy Oct 2018
The architecture set me free
It delved deeply into my soul
Keeping my mind occupied
And body an arduous vacancy
It was the Sistine Chapel
And the paintings were someone's
Draconian nature painted in
Snakes slipping through dreams
Of Adam with his manliness
Complimenting Eve's comeliness
Serried with innocent dreams
Slipping into as Biblical studies
As tabooed
**** entities
Ever been considering
Of Adam
Couldn't leave God's Index
It was recorded
In benediction
It showed strength
In liberty
"Do unto others as you have them do unto you"-Cristo
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
The mundane nature
Of something
That can be maintained
By the force of nature, and the pressing matters
All fall into some kind of unconscious wiser self
That, your own nature
It isn't tabooed by your ideology
By simple tautology, you can make the logical connections
Some kind of fluid motion in the large but infinite place
There's your hope in your own self
It's your indecision
That makes the entropy of the universe
The chaos that presently brings
Tomorrow is your own perception of this hope
Maybe, if you can take your time
If you tried
You could probably think that this void
Is filled by that point of view, and it gives you acknowledgement

— The End —