Fourty enemies I counted
and deadly were all
my first attacker was a
poisonous snake it bit above the ankle than came the thief's of my fathers land and deadly they were there's was a trail of bodies left behind and I had two wounds in all
one worse than the other
the one in my mind was quickly hidden within where it could not be found to hurt me
as if by default
I was born with this blessing
and this a curse the Tzolkin says
its a knife that it cuts through pain
its a transformer
my extrovert enemies ill intent was flunted and the less deadly every other wore a kind mask
they stung the worst
unprovoqued others assassinated my character despiced me for me because they lacked
my forgiving nature
my heart of gold
Gods light on my face
must have shown them their own sin as for
you the human predators
along my wrong path  
you poisoners
Athenian many medeas who
tortured my babies newborn
narcissitic kidnaper deceivers
you were no husband!
rapist mad trelo
your Greek Medeas blood thinners
arsenic cyanide strichnine
your evil chemo to my babies
to destroy our RHO!-DNA
but we prevailed we won
I see the injuries you caused to my daughter chest you bashed my Rosy's skull just to a peace your filthy mideas you scum of earth all twelve of you
your are every mother's nightmare
you died but you were never alive scum of this earth
your jealous medeas
asked you to sadomise a new newborn baby may hell give you
the same remedies and
shub your Geek mythology
in the darker pit abyss of seol
all I did wrong was love you
for your well inked lies.
as for you in America
number two psycho another
pit bull husband from hell even your name Henry was a bad owmen
with a trio agenda you too wanted
my child for his ex and me dead giving birth and all for a life insurance
all for greed and dope two faced
you almost knifed for surviving you and bbeing a good Mom
impotent white trash
you weren't worth my trip
to maternity isle but my child is holy to me
Satan could have been a better father and husband
my dear audience forgive my bluntness I am, just a poem reader many lives have I lived before but in this one
I failed myself and God
please bare with me
from all the bad sons and daughters of God
the poisonous snake bite
was the most benevolent one
it just put me to sleep
inoculating me for what was of me to become in this life a sacrifice to my Lord
To my ONE true love Rickie
my road not taken
thank you for your true love
please I repented in supresing
what pained me and wounded me so utterly deeply I hid the God sent love that you
offered me so lovingly
know that your love was a healer I thank God for all
that you are a Light on this earth
Believe in me said the Lord King Arthur-Lancelott christ in my name no poison no weapon prevails  and all enemy is defeated and with this Mom it was for God knows my heart and my identity.
Amanda 5d
Fear: what keeps me up at night
Can't escape its dark hand
I wonder if I will ever be free
From torture I can barely stand
Oh sickly poisonous flame
Darting back and forth
I hear you call my name
It's not what they think, for what it's worth

One slip of the finger
And a tingling sensation
Smells of gas linger
Now for use of personification:

Its seems that you love me
For you never let me go
I feel pitiful in your embrace
And it seems that you know

You always take control
And oh how I'm fascinated by your flame
Skin swells and pain holds
In this endless torture game
Ivy Leigh Mar 8
I always thought you were sweet and unique
with a love for those who needed it most
and a forgiveness of those rejecting your arrival.
You told me stories I only now am skeptical of
a deep sadness you now so abundantly flaunt about.
You are very ambitious for a person who will so
willingly throw aside those who made it hard for you
to see the truth about yourself.
Tell me again about how much you care
if you ever told me in the first place.
Speak aloud your lies upon lies upon lies
while I, gullible, take it all in, not
knowing to take it with a grain of salt.
Where is the friend I once fought so hard for
who lifted me up and thanked me for all my good taste?
My taste hasn't changed at all, but the flavor has gone bad.
Rotten to the core by it's own spoiled upbringing
and living lavishly on one grain of rice
still obese with dumbness and recorded thoughts.
I will torture you as long as your continue to torture
me with whatever lies you spread to keep yourself afloat.
Tell me more about how I was only a stepping stone
to your femdom of sexual assault and he said - she said.
I hope you risk everything to be talked about by
everyone and remembered for nothing.
No one will pay respects to a thing that ultimately
respects no one and will do anything to be filled.
Let’s get this straight.
I could write this,
using visual metaphors.
As architects build,
or painters paint.
Instead, my blood boils,
with oil and puss at the thought.  

Poems are a release,
for the empathic.  
I could tell you,
nothing is something.
How there is always,
light in darkness.
But, most importantly,
love is cruel.

I could look to,
Emily or Li-Young.
Study the beautiful words
and the mastery of pen.
I protest and reject this,
I will break my rhythm.
Then I will cry,
self-doubt and blood.

You see the word emotion,
is the world to me.
Absorbing as a typhoon does,
all the good and bad.
I could proclaim,
that this is a gift.
To me it is torture.

Even as I write this,
it fills my glass.
Hot magma rises,
boiling to the top.
It will fucking spill over.
I want it to.
The release will feel empty.
Vacant.

There is nothing more,
I could say or jot.
Scribble my protest,
to the heavens.
Why do I feel?
How do I feel?
Why do I feel this much?
She's just a bit too raw
A little TMI
It's just a bit unnerving
But she holds your eye.

She's just a bit too wild
All signs point to a little crazy
But when she smiles
All that you know is
she's as pretty as a daisy.

She's hot n cold
But standing next to you
she feels so warm.
You breathe her in and fill with love
In its purest form
But shes a Dormant storm...

You take her hand
And she takes yours in turn,
Until she shakes it off in fury
Over words gone wrong.

Youll watch her shift
then altogether Disappear.
Youll reach for her
but she'll be nowhere near.

Shell lash you with her tongue of hate
She'll cut you deep,
To see just how much
She can make you bleed.

And when you've finally had enough
And you resolve to walk away,
The girl you love will reappear
and beg for you to stay.

Shell hold you close
and coo and whisper in your ear,
Say all the things
You always love to hear.

And though she kills you slowly,
you will stay.
I know because
you're with her to this day.

You'd rather die for her
than live without her.
This isn't love, my dear,
It's what the sane call torture.
i stole a cigarette.
no, this isn't a metaphor.

there's just times where I feel
like I deserve to be what falls in the ash tray.

I don't know why I keep trying to harm myself,
If things are going okay...

It's like, I'm so used to the torture and pain,
I don't ever want it to go away.

No wonder I had clung to my razor blades
No wonder I had clung to the trauma
No wonder I developed depression
and look at me now, stealing cigarettes.

Desperately trying to find a way to destroy myself
Fill my lungs with smoke
A stench that is more than just stuck on clothes.

It's the past, coming back to life
inhale
inhale
inhale more
cough

You want to smother these thoughts
Lose them in this smoke and fog

But no, there's no escape
Not even when the cigarette is done

The scars still string your skin
The pain woven deep into your veins
The bloody scabs you keep picking at

It's a coping mechanism
Or a way to slowly die

Is it that... I need to feel something, always?
Is it that... I have fallen in love with Death?

The couple of times, where he teasingly came
close to...
give me a fatal kiss.

Is this what I lust over?
Is this... what I want to feel?
...

In any case... this cigarette is still lit up.
Drifting me more out of myself.

And I disappear like the smoke in the wind.
I stole a cigarette.
Bee Jun 1
To this day,
She can still feel the poison in her veins.
It may only be a ghost
But the reminiscence of her past still harbor the same violent sting
Constantly reminding her
Of when her life changed forever
And what she’s become.

To this day,
She hauls vivid memories wherever she goes.
Memories only allowed to appear
Because of one choice,
That wasn’t even her own.
“Don’t worry,” she was told.
“This will make everything better,” she heard.
Lie after lie, spat right in her face.
The harm they caused wasn’t intentional, she knew.
Trauma that manifested through a veiled attempt to heal.
But by ignoring her desperate pleads,
“Please don’t make me go,”
They were to blame for her suffering.

The girl knew she was a hopeless cause.
Even the most skilled doctors could not help her.
She was too far broken.
Only a few delicate threads held her together,
Stitching up the pain she endured for countless years.
The girl would have been happy to leave them undisturbed,
If she had known what misery lied ahead.

The hospital room may as well be a prison cell
And the doctors the executioners.
Fear was the first form of torture laid upon her.
The girl’s worst nightmare crept its way up from the abyss that was her mind.
This was the thing that would cure her?
An evil, crooked, nasty beast was her savior?
And she had to somehow trust it with her life?

The pungent smell of the first swipe of alcohol across her skin
Followed by the guileful prick of a needle.
A plastic tube nestled in her arm
Would be the girl’s only companion for the next few days.
It too, promised her relief,
But only offered agony.

Then came the venom.
Empty promises fed throughout her body.
Miracle cures for all her ailments.
But no matter how the doctors dressed them up,
She could feel their truth.
Poison filled the girl’s delicate body,
And she could not escape their wrath.

Excruciating pain, radiating all throughout her body.
Her head was dizzy,
Vision blurred,
Muscles weak,
Lungs constricted,
Stomach lurching,
Throat burning,
She could not have imagined something worse.
Over and over again,
More and more drugs were pumped through her IV.
She almost forgot about the pain they were trying to treat.
A battle was waging through her veins.
Eventually, one of these chemicals would cure her,
Right?

Days felt like years.
An eternity spent inside of the hospital.
Till the young girl could fight no longer.
She wanted to scream until her throat burst.
It wasn’t fair.
She was so young,
Too young to be tortured against her will.

She spat lies right back at the doctors.
“I feel better” was written on a white flag.
But the war was not over.
No, scars were not only etched into her body,
But her entire world had suffered the consequences of battle.
And she could only watch as it crumbled away.

The pain left her debilitated
Unable to function.
For the first time in her short life,
Her perfection slipped away.
She was forced to abandon activities she once loved,
Neglecting friends that counted on her.
The eyes of her peers were filled with disgust,
They only saw her as sick.

Confined to her bed for most days
The girl was utterly alone
With only her pain as her only friend.
When asked how she’s doing,
She couldn’t help but utter,
“Fine.”
It was easier than describing what she’d been through,
Impossible for others to understand.
She was completely alone.
Her suffering was disregarded,
Everyone was going through something worse it seemed.
She knew they expected her to be strong enough
To fight the battle in solitude.

Then came the anger.
A vicious spirit clawing at her sanity.
It almost felt like a dream.
This situation was inequitable,
What had she done to deserve such suffering?
She had spent her entire life helping others,
Offering her wisdom
While tending to her own ailments.
Now, suggestions were being forced down her throat.
Try this, try that.
As if they knew what was best for her.
How dare they.

The girl felt her life crumble away,
Like sand falling right through her fingertips.
Her heart ached of desperation.
She wore a fake smile most days,
And did her best to keep up with life,
Hoping for anything that might rescue her from pain.
Even if it meant death.


And to this day, she can still feel the poison in her veins.
She knows that the sting may never dissipate.
A vile reminder of pain she was forced to endure.
Leaving invisible battle scars,
And a prayer that one day,
She might be free.
this was my first endeavor into the world of poetry -- a description of the most vivid memory of my young life.
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