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Kate Morgan Oct 2013
Forgive me for the ink that strains your innocent purity with words I don't even understand.

Pick up your rubber and erase my right hand with swift flick of the wrist

and a gentle caress for you cannot forgive me for what I have done,

but I can.

Stone me. Cut off my hand and stone me.

Let the blood drip like my wasted children that come and go with each

waning moon,

as the only thing that grows within me is love.

Open up the gates of hell and toss me like Mary Madeline tossed him,

and let me burn; but God, you play with fire

as I will only burn for her so nail me to the cross with my convent robe

and watch her kiss my feet and continue up to the heavens.

You can forgive me for opening my legs but you cannot nail them

shut, and you cannot cleanse my **** with salt from your narcissistic

***** that seeps between thighs in an unconsented **** of fertility.

Eve may have eaten the fruit of they womb but you cannot throw me out

the garden of Eden and you cannot tell me not to love when my heart

smells her sweet flower.

Nor can you curse our open mouths for taking a taste.

Forgive me Lord,

for I do not know what I am saying, and only say the words and I shall be

healed.


Malevolent God, this finger is for you.

But benevolent God, you gave me hands so I can make her tea

when she is dreaming,

and you gave me a heart that will not stop beating at the sight of her

sneakers on the floor.

Her eyes are like crumpets, God.

They make my mouth wet and my lips moist

and cover me in cotton blankets, just like 1993 when icicles clung to the

rooftops like I cling to her waist when she is sighing.

You made the ocean just so I can see her in a bikini.

It does't matter if she covers the curves of her thighs in shorts,

or her soft ******* in a shirt.

The point is you tried, and my God did you craft something magnificent.

Forgive me God, as I did not believe you existed till the day she said

I love you.

I smiled like second grade when I found a muffin in my lunchbox

and I ate it like my life depended on it, as if I don't have her

I fear I might explode.

But unlike 2nd grade each day I open my lunchbox and I find her

next to my sandwiches.

You made us like peanut butter and jelly.

So forgive me Lord, but I refuse to believe that you

condemn

something so perfect

as this love.
Strewn into the world, plucked from the veil
An existence unconsented
A consciousness awoken, now pain can be hailed
A life that has unrelented
I irrevocable, cannot be undone
Suicide not a solvent, I will always have existed
From myself nowhere to run
Pain is all, lacking pleasure, happiness resisted
If prevention of pain is your sole desire,
On my philosophy you should inquire
Exploring different philosophies. This one's about Antinatalism.
Aiswarya Nov 2016
So, much pain,
So, much pain a woman has to go through,
We give, and give, and give,
But in return,
We bleed, and bleed, and bleed,
Both,
Internally and externally,
Both,
By strangers and loved ones.

We are asked, and asked, and asked,
Asked to give,
Asked to do,
Asked to stop.

Asked to give our dignity,
Ask to do tasks, more than our body can handle,
Asked to stop believing, we,
Have a future,
A future,
That involves euphoria, and tranquility,
But in reality,
It’s just, pain and hurt and abuse and, non-stop, unconsented ***,
****.

When,
Will, it end?
When?
When will we be permitted human rights?
When can our daughters, go out during the night, or even the day, without the fear of being robbed their home and dignity,
When can we women not be blamed for others invading parts of our body that we didn’t ask for, that fits manhood,
When will we stop being tools that prove masculinity,
When will we be granted wings to fly so high, without the fear of being ogled at all of us that shakes,
Again something we, never, did ask for.

When can we be human?
When can I be human?
When can I be my dad,
When can I be my brother,
When can I be my husband,
When can I be that stranger,
That male stranger there,
When can I be treated equally as men?
Andrei Corre Oct 2021
I look at her and saw dainty hands gripping an    
  adult’s finger,
Her little mouth singing for the first time—world’s
  sign of life.
I chortle thinking we shared the same shrill cry of
  unconsented
Breath. Now her fingertips know by routine all the
  keys they would press
And her palms—soft and feminine (I buy the same
  hand cream she uses)—
Rarely fatigued in household chores, while my hands
  are burnt and wounded,
Hard and rough ‘round the edges. Our mouths the
  similar absent stories
On the dining table drinking instant noodles soup,
  I see

How her hair is pulled up above her shoulders; the
  afternoon sun,
The scent of soil on her skin, a chorale of
  friends, sneaky attempts to dance
On fiestas with her cousins. My universe is vast
  with book and TV characters
My mind a horizon of imaginative dimensions and situations
I wish happened. Swimming in paper-thin planets
was inherited from her;
My decision to suffer trying to fabricate one came from my dreams that could’ve been
Potential realities. But if I’m honest, the swamp between
us might’ve also contributed

Now it’s a river with such erratic currents, but always the tranquil movement that warns 'bout
Its doubtful deepness. I was led to reach the abyss
  each time
I forget the special way my mother loves me. When I
  was forced to pick up the shards
Of glass under the cooking stove and I bled the
  blood pulsing through her veins.
I found there the apologies. I only then understood
  how wrong it was
Because it blended so well with everything the kids
  and I perceived as right.
Just to grow a little taller interacting with others’ half-full glasses while we glue ours
Back together; so they look like they can be filled
  and can pour from one cup to another

Her fingers are wrinkled
as we resurface the waters. I’m also getting used to their
Caresses. I wouldn’t flinch for all that’s coming is gentle.
I also notice the thinning hair,
Speckle of silver streaks. And despite the seemingly
  ocean of a gap, on the seashore, we
Are connected in the umbilical. In her eyes the
Traces of her youth and how we love the same
Way we are mistreated

#
Lugin Oct 2020
The animals you slaughter

Down your throat goes the life of a son and daughter

What could've been chicks

Is now breakfast for your kids

Chickens cut in fifths fourths quarters and halfs

Fine structure shattered like glass

Its body parts shipped to different places

A leg in Kansas City and one in Vegas

A live and sociable chicken terrifies you

but a roasted chicken no head no feet delights you

Unaware of what it went through

Before it was served to you

You play nice when they're in the cage

But become the monster when they're on a plate

Lure a fish into a life threatening trap

Devour it to the bone

Leaving the rest bare and cold

Then comes a disease

one that kills what it sees

Eliminate the rats for vaccines

we're biologically identical

But that doesn't make it ethical




Before it said fairewell to its family and friends

You took it to that horrendous location

where its life would come to an end

In the air the strong metallic scent of blood

anxiety hits the newcomers like a flood

Dying or dead animals all around

it's scary to look anywhere even the ground

Portraits of blood on all the walls

No chirping birds

only traumatizing sounds are heard

A pile of flesh and intestines in the corner

That a swarm of flies came to conquer

Pleading eyes begging to stay alive

They can panic cry whimper

Nothing changes

except they die quicker

A place with no comfort no hope

As the knife goes through

The last words they whisper are 

"It'll be your turn soon"



A last meal or a painkiller would've been nice

But you just go straight to the knife 

The slaughterhouse is a scary place indeed

It's where life becomes food to feed

They'd call us kings and queens

Doing such things to them as we please

They have no voice no power to refuse what isnt right

Like the sudden unconsented ending of their life

A peaceful and painless death we all desire

Why can't these animals get one thats a little nicer?
I am aware that this is the circle of life but i wanted to show it from an animals point of view.

— The End —