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MeanAileen Oct 2018
You are just so toxic to me
of that I surly know...
But try as I might, I simply can't
ever seem to let you go.
Your lips are laced with venom
killing me with your wicked kiss...
Burning a path straight to my heart
but the taste, I just can't resist.
Your eyes hypnotize like voodoo
trapping me in a trance...
Utterly powerless against their magic,
never did I stand a chance.
Your hands are lined with kryptonite
weakning me with one touch...
Never has something so paralyzing
made me crave it so much.
Loving you is straight poison,
the ****** to my vein...
So very hazardous to my health
but the ultimate high to my brain.
Ugh...
C Davis Apr 2015
Who counted hours out of the sky
And clipped the ends off?
Who quantified
Existence?
Who cheapened the flights of the sun and the moon
And put limits on time
Trapping limitless eyes?

Each day
Is one thousand days and each hour
Is one thousand hours, and
Years pass in seconds
While seconds last lifetimes
Sometimes

But my calendar

Has no capacity for this.

A moment
Lasts as long
As the glow lingers
When it's gone

And all the while
The clocks tick on,

I maintain whoever measured
The day
Was wrong.
Poetoftheway Jul 2018
Ilion gray
poet extraordinary
is away
learning the codes hidden in raindrops

no reason for surprise;

for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays,

neither high enough, narrow blinding,
to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities
to do the right thing

he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our
poem-dreams;
avant-garde he says,
but I laugh,
never felt more misunderstood
and reply take care, be
en garde!

no matter for he is learning a new language,
the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat
once called Indian Territory and eager
await his return so we may
walk along the Brooklyn shoreline,
beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge
where Washington’s men escaped a British trap

and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of
NY
showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now,
the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature

We will walk lost in the absorption of our
different commonalities, holding the hands of
his young son, and my Wendy,
both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes
that give us poems

He calls me me friend,
I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best,
well recalling a late night message that bred
a five year conversation ongoing

not everything need be coded
what you read here
it is not coded,
for the raindrops come clear and clean
and the poems land on our tongues
bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue

7/18/18



^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
#Ilion codes brooklyn by NY
karin naude Oct 2013
street cred makes a boy a man
able to take care of business declares manhood
then why are they actin fools around women
playen, traden and, braken hearts
forgetting that is someones daughter, sister, mother, etc
women give birth to men and are trampled on by men
humiliated, disrespected, disregarded, mistreated, abused and, neglected
all with a smile and honey coated words
sweat melting int he mouth bitter swallowing
disturbing to the stomach, difficult to ***** out
trapping women desperate for safety
proudly declaring: "i am man"
sealed with appalling behaviour
this is how i see the generation, from which i have to choose my mate from
party,high maintenance girls chosen
dependable good women ignored
this begs the question what is a real man
lots declare publicly, i am a good man
bias and subjected words to safe faded honor
honor
a word created to make ego taste better
Growing up in a culture where
you are not supposed to exist,
you become accustomed to the generosity
of people trying
to fix you, to
force you into a shape
they can understand.

I did not know how exhausting it was,
trying to remain elastic
in a world that demands us to be static,
trapping us in binary boxes where
we wilt in our confinement but,
against societal expectations,
we refuse to suffocate ourselves
for your comfort.

Together, we will stand in the light,
heads held high with unmatched pride
for we have fought too long and
too hard for our right
to be here
to live silently with
our heads bowed low
any longer.
My contribution to celebrate pride month this year.
Destiny C Dec 2016
Trapped inside a box.
Everywhere I look,
I see confined emptiness.
My limbs are yearning for a moment's stretch.
Trapped inside a box.
My arms are rendered useless,
as they lay squeezed against my sides.
My neck is straining in it's cramped position.
Trapped inside a box.
I cannot breathe,
my heart pounds against my chest hoping for freedom,
How can one be trapped inside of a small box, when their body is in the midst of a wide open plain?
Anxiety.
It is a box.
A box that cripples rationality ,
trapping you.
Danny Wolf Feb 2017
Here lies all the pieces of my existence
stolen from ignorance,
taken from my hands without question.
Seldom did I even notice I was being depleted.
My hands left to sieves,
even what I wanted to hold onto slipped through.
I created my new existence from the ground up,
debris collected,
what fell through the sieve I swept into bones and skin.
I am made intricate like spider webs,
like little fingers ripping heads -
when did I lose my ability to discern the truth?
I made it hard to find myself.
A couple times swallowed poison I thought was medicine-
takes a while to extract from the bloodstream.
Followed me sometimes into the depths of my dreams,
shape shifting into snakes
and endless seas.
Woke up those nights drowning
in the depths of my own fear infused lies.
I learned to weave quite intricately,
presenting beauty that is a trap for death.
Learned to live without mind on my shoulders,
ripped up my own head
and plucked out each limb.
Funny, though,
how weaving intricate webs taught me
to put myself back together again-
weaving beauty into the veins,
trapping poisoned blood
and killing the pain.
Draw out the demons,
and only truth will remain.
Woody Apr 6
It is the strategy
of the locked door
trapping light like
dusk or love, weary
of the cold weather
inside, the days
not so many dreams
left, a legacy of one
who loved a woman
in a blue dress
a lonely color only
noticed by a poet
in the last hours
of midnights dark
as silk and daybreaks
hard gray stones.
Ye evar 'eard oda' masta' inna swamps?
   E'a man hund wid 'is hands. . .take down a gator inna fide?
Yeah ah-boy, he a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

Issue you'a hundin' widout a ricel? You's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

Ain't nah trapping, nor'a line, no kedjewel, or time,
  -jussa' body inna swamp you's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.        

Swimmin' inna ***-eh got skin made-o' armah,
  -inna mud, inna grasses, eh-no teachin' it in classes,
strike wid juss a knife inna hand he's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

Issue you'a hundin' widout a ricel? You's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

No ricel, no Glock, no light out innna night,
  -jussa' body inna swamp you's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

If you's can **** widout a ricel you's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.
Marissa Jun 2018
You see me as a charity project,
The misfortunate
Lying here
Crying out for help
The one that can turn you into a hero
But I'm too broken to be saved
I need more help than drugs can provide
And I cannot drink the pain away
My demons follow
Swallowing me whole
Trapping me inside this car
With the doors locked
And water seeping in
But the air burns my lungs
With toxic fumes    
Not allowing one last breath
Before the water consumes.
nabila s Jul 2018
afraid of having you wholefully
for a fear of losing you pieces by pieces, slowly
from trapping you inside of me 24/7
to letting you go entirely
by saying i love you each and every single night
doesn't mean i want to be yours
i just wanted to feel, be loved, by loving
in case i don't get any of you
either because you're not used to me
or you choose not to
it doesn't matter
cause every time
my eyes scream 'you look beautiful' in every light i met you
my heart runs a marathon for the hope of welcoming yours into mine
even my nose sense a tragic yet desiring story of one who fell so deep
one became so in love
and for each time you smile, not for me, for who, but the world,
my existence has been blessed for letting you be one of thousands i've seen
one of hundreds i know
one of few i befriend
one of one i fell for

and when the time comes,
i know my invitation never really went away
still, didn't give up yet.
Destiny Odeh Jul 2015
Dear Mum,

I fell in love with an angel,
Although these feelings run deep but I can't tell.
Nothing hurts like loving from afar,
Because she doesn't love me the way I love her.

Her deep seated issues made her weak.
With the blush of innocence on her cheek.
At different intervals I would stare at her for long,
She was the beautiful theme of my song.

Nothing gave her tranquility like a blade and a cigar.
Her face like a Hollywood movie star.
But her arms were a gallery of secret scars.

Loving wholeheartedly was her undoing.
An imperfect being - A human so broken.
And the final nail in her coffin,
Was seeing her lover's lifeless body in the morning.

The words "Live Forever, Fly Away!" scribbled with
his blood on the mirror next to his arm.
A bottle of ***** on the sink, empty bottles of xanax
and a blade in his right palm.

Trapping herself in a room with no door.
Suffering from a kind of depression with no cure.
She gave up on everything.
Had nothing left, but emptiness within.

She got on a ledge and tried to return home; to the sky.
She ruffled her arms once more, as if she could fly.

She fell.

Tear drops bounced off the skies and washed her blood away.
I didn't weep for the moments we never had. I shed a tear
for each word I never got a chance to say.

Three tear drops ran down my cheek, lubricating my lips.
- "I love you".

After midnight; under the cloak of darkness, watching the stars dance.
I solemnly whispered to the heavens seeking guidance.
I say a quick prayer begging God for repentance.

Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly.
Waiting for a miracle, a sign, an epiphany.
Just anything to stop me.

I found Dad's old revolver under his bed.
Please forgive me as I place it against my head.
I hope in this life you will someday understand,
The reason I'm pulling this trigger is to hold my angel's hand.

Yours Forever,
Elijah
Lila Timberwolf Dec 2018
I was young. A girl of just 13 when my life was taken away from me.
He was a leader to me and someone I trusted deeply. But when doors were closed and rooms were dark, he was a demon.
He took little pieces of me away. My sanity, my trust, my everything.
No one knew what he was doing but neither did I. I was young and naive. Always trusting someone.
All I could do was feel trapped as he touched my innocent tiny body. Touched all the parts that he shouldn't have. Parts that were mine and mine only.
I felt trapped and suffocated over the months it accured. I felt more and more disturbed and felt like this wasn't right.
My mother told me to say out loud if things like this happened.
But I couldn't.
I would disappoint her. So I lashed out at him. It was sudden anger and trapping myself in my room for him to stay away. Countless knifes littered my room if he ever forced himself on me.
That little girl disappeared with his hands.
And to this day he is still in the family. The demon I am forced to consider my father.
No one knows.
Not that I would ever tell them.
John Gallant Nov 2017
Spiraling whirlwinds of despair
sling sand against crepe-paper skin.
Etching raw the leathery landscape
meandering between jagged scars.

Scouring splatters of rage red,
angst blue, shadow black, elated opal,
from the smock cocoon
that encapsulates pure radiance.

Spindly driftwood pillars splayed wide,
wobble with each gentle stroke
upon the foggy canvas
cradled by this rickety easel.

Gradient of choice drips
from the curved edges of life's pallet.

Shall I let this abrasive erosion
thicken into a callous curtain
trapping in the light?

Or, shall I let it perforate the surface,
allowing the glowing marrow
to be drawn into the kaleidoscope vortex?
دema Jan 29
once upon a winter,
a storm made a victim out of you,
and so you sleighed to warm embracing arms,,
but they called your feelings out as faulty,

you tried to supress the past,
indulged the present,
and disregarded any grudges into spring,
but you didn't linger for warmth anymore,
your heart ached in ways it hadn't before,
you doubted the only soul residing in your body,

sleep was your only escape from reality,
but your dreams were forearmed,
trapping you back to a survival
which you felt unfortunate to have,
next thing you know,
you become a living metaphor for, "can this get any worse?",
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