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"unconsented" poems
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.
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Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
Redemption (spoken poetry)
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.
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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
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Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 9:42 AM UTC
Philosophies: To Never Have Been
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?
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Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
WOMEN