"tared" poems
I stopped breathing two years ago
I don't know if it was because of him or not
Maybe it was coincidence
But I was choking, sputtering for fourteen years of my life
Gasping for just one
And now for two years
I have stopped breathing altogether
My lungs are tared black
But I don't smoke
My skin is charred and burnt with open sores
Yet I freeze more with each passing second
I feel like I'm inside a trash bag
Or I am a trash bag
Certainly though I'm trash
I'm a corpse in a body bag
Soon
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
Halloween is a night when all the Ghost come out,
Some come from right here that live among us
Some only make the trip on Halloween night
They even come from the grave yards,
The Ghost from here never made it to the other side
All the Ghost are spirits some were feathered and tared.
Only on Halloween night do they all coincide
Some walk among us all the time leaving no foot prints
The feeling some one is there but when you turn to look there's no one,
Halloween can mix among the living and the dead,
they come out freely walking along side us unnoticed when we are having fun.
Dressed up in disguised as ghost and goblins and pumpkin heads
Its all in fun for earthly people but one never know the trickery of a real Ghost.
They move in space among us and play trickery games because their among the dead.
We wait for the door bell to ring for all the children yelling trick or treat for their candy
But one never knows on calm Halloween night why the door keeps slamming on the\old wood shed.
Locked it was but not tonight, as the Ghost are so busy, but I keep on the table the bottle of Brandy,
I pour a shot to calm down my fear realizing it's a very busy night among the dead..
Even tho it's a calm night you can hear the ghostly haunted wind and dyed leafs blowing over your head,
Yes I am scared on this Halloween night and every year at this time it excites my fright,
Who would really know their among us but what they can not say their not living but dead.
Walking on the rickrack porch every step that creeks,
lit Pumpkins carved on the old unpainted chair on the right,
on the left are tall corn stalks and a bail of hay as the tall scare crow sits so still with no life.
I will always remember this Halloween night for the dead rises as the living play.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
I am hear and I am there
One home two home
Blue home new home.
scattered shattered as-if-it-mattered.
I've paid cost for my moms loss
I have learned and I have yearned
day by day with my new say
with her toss I can't feal lost or I'll cry and they'll ask why.
I get scared when i get tared,
over and over the story's bin shared.
with all her cries made into lies,
no one would lisson help her with this mission
they distroyed her they deployed her
she's old and untold just a mess by the guess,
with her cold man the beast with a hand
knew how to hit and not how to quit.
I was young and showed him my tounge I didn't lisson he belonged to the prison.
I'm her last choice , she just burn't her voice.
I'm her gold key to setting her free
why'ed she say yes when he stepped to his knee?
to be with him she thinks he'dahhh lisson.
all he would do is give her a *****
Give me my Mommy! stop making her drain all you have gave her is a lost brain.
and my heart?.
just a pain ....
I can't live to be her I can't stand to see her.
all that we had you turned into bad every last bit you made a big fit,.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
I try so hard just to scream!
I feel this is only becoming a dream.
Why can't I even breath?
is it all because my grief?
I think im beginning to sink...
or is it just me staring at the water on the outside of my drink?
I think this is called depression.
so sad how fast a brightly world can be turned blacken.
Im already drowning.
I know, I can see you frowning...
please give me your hand..
i'll be your biggest fan.
if you don't its okay, I guess im not really scared.
in death im just alittle tared....
you're the one who broke my heart
you should be happy to watch me break apart.
but sadly im afraid I can't stay for very long....
Cause don't you see that im already gone...
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
I am hear and I am there
One home two home
Blue home new home.
scattered shattered as-if-it-mattered.
I've paid cost for my moms loss
I have learned and I have yearned
day by day with my new say
with her toss I can't feal lost or I'll cry and they'll ask why.
I get scared when i get tared,
over and over the story's bin shared.
with all her cries made into lies,
no one would lisson help her with this mission
they distroyed her they deployed her
she's old and untold just a mess by the guess,
with her cold man the beast with a hand
knew how to hit and not how to quit.
I was young and showed him my tounge I didn't lisson he belonged to the prison.
I'm her last choice , she just burn't her voice.
I'm her gold key to setting her free
why'ed she say yes when he stepped to his knee?
to be with him she thinks he'dahhh lisson.
all he would do is give her a *****
Give me my Mommy! stop making her drain all you have gave her is a lost brain.
and my heart?.
just a pain ....
I can't live to be her I can't stand to see her.
all that we had you turned into bad every last bit you made a big fit,.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
You tared me away
Away from my bubble
The bubble
That kept me
That kept me
In place
And now I just struggle,
Not knowing which day
I should live to the fullest,
Live to the fullest,
pretending it
to be my last.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
he asked me my country's future? And
was startled I pointed to my smoking scars—
they are the path where I entered my pains.
I said.
my future wear prayers like sunglasses.
we only show others what we want them to know
lying to ourselves, thinking out body is a single person.
drowning in the arms of our potentials.
he asked me my country's road
where the
past had tared for our journey
through my eyes, he saw a fog future
linking only through to an un-motorable road —
where museum of scars and blood
are the only vualable display antiquity
and the violence a home where our beds are death
my country is a pregnant ******
whom everyone sleep with but no one want her baby
we call people friends just to suit our purpose
they are all fake because we are too. now i know.
don't **** yourself umar yogiza jr. don't die.
your heart is not full, no one's heart is.
i cannot go round waiting to be loved
everyone have themselves to love, and not enough.
The city walk, no one claim.
the village I left, no one claim.
stranger at home and outside home
all people care-for is their room.
yogiza, this city eat you like breakfast,
yet you
make your ancestral home stranger to feed you.
every eye on me is suspicion —now even mine.
if you ask me where am i going? i don't know!
the past, present and future had been claimed
i won't **** myself, i love you everybody i meet.
this is not my poem but yours. i want to smile.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC