Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Generations pass as autonomy eludes us denying us the opportunity
to reach for liberality.
Indifference, being a predecessor, digs shallow graves in so many ways,
Watching heritage that once was become something uncanny,
Unrecognizably lingering; lifeless.

Racial force fields, forces fields of incarcerated thoughts to take root,
Keeping us from seeing beyond ourselves,
The barriers built to keep those out,
only keep us,
from letting us, to allow others in,
and trust is placed on trial,
looking at a life sentence of death, unaware of its opportunity
to freely avail or elude it’s predicament.
If only it would appeal to the counsel of the majority.

Stubbornness sometimes refuses to embrace what we know needs to
be confronted in order to bring about change,
unifying an outside world
where life is not always fair and those around us calculate thoughts to hinder our progression.

We live in a place of democracy and disdain where street corner pharmaceuticals
****** the weary,
where adolescent girls are forced to become
teenage mothers or prostitutes,
where empty baseball diamonds and dugouts
are replaced by thick scaling barb wired walls and gray barred cells,
where young men and women trade their age multiplied for the number they will where in a system for life, and
where the sound of a crying disappointed child is exchanged for anger and abuse,
in the absence of a father or mother figure,
figuratively disfigured and lost in translation;
an abandonment of generations past.

Who will lead and guide us?
Who will plead and advocate on our behalf?
Who will stand in the gap?
Who will lead us past the captive mind to captivate hearts?
Who will provide the keys to unlock and break us free?
Free from the broken barriers that divide us?
Christina Fox Jan 2014
I realize now how hard it is to see through the dark stains that have tainted the past.
How difficult it is to remember how lifted I felt,
how utterly blissful,
how completely cared for.
The delicate words flowing from your fingertips soothed my soul.
Your light filled every crack in my body.
You made my glow.
You made every daunting task,
every mountain I knew I had to climb,
seem as easy as lifting a finger.
With you, I could've changed the sky.

Now, there is dark red pouring over every memory until they've been
completely, and unrecognizably distorted.
Now, they match my own alteration.
I wish I could've kept them the same:
unsaturated, and untouched.

Before, you kept me safe, warm and loved.
Then, you changed. You judged, hurt and broke.
Now, you do nothing.
Lappel du vide Mar 2014
i want to be touched by somebody
with burgundy blood on his hands;
red handed
raw palmed
legs strangled in maroon bedsheets.

a murderers kiss must be a rush,
blood exploding from every pore in my
bled out skin,
wounds opening willingly for his searching
hands to make
a sort of house out of my bones.
creating a home for something
who has only ever met closed doors
and distant, fearful faces.
i'd prove i wasn't scared of
the dark eyes,
and hungry lips,

knowing at any moment he could push the
cool lips of a golden .45 caliber revolver
and splatter my ****** through the
wooden bedpost and the
flaking, collapsing drywall.

i've followed thrills ever since i was
in third grade,
convincing a boy to take off his clothes
and show me what "men" are made of
and sneaking behind my mothers
injured back
stealing things i wasn't supposed to know about.
i liked putting myself through the danger,
it rushed up my legs and
rendered me breathless and craving more.  

i've always wanted to hold
something shaking
and cold
and let them tell me stories
out of their biting teeth
of when when it all started:
they were small and rode their bicycle
so fast they fell and skinned their
soft pink cheeks on the black cement
and went crying to their mother with blood dripping
a mixture of tar and red.

i'll tell them there's some place in hell
in the beating, drumming heart of the earth
warm darkness compacted,
where you can buy cigarettes for
50 cents a pack,
and whiskeys in water bottles and skin is naked
guns are loaded to shoot down the moon
and eat it with crunching, crumbly golden crackers.
where there is no sleep
only midnight writing furiously on the stark pages
of a shredded journal
dawn walks down the lively sidewalks where
other sleepless figures of orange peel flavored darkness
and coffee bean stained teeth dance and laugh and touch
in the darkest parts of the invisible morning
sweat intermixed unrecognizably with tears
and people hold their belongings in
the drooping bags under their bright eyes,
where screams of pleasure echo in every
cavern and creaking limb you touch
to the atmosphere
and people make love easier
than they
destroy necks.

i'll whisper
"when you're rotting underground
with your teeth in a
waxen, strained smile with lovers flesh embedded
in your own homely skull,
and your fingers are feasts for writhing worms,

and i'm dancing chaotically as ever in the raging wind,
a desert flower reduced to
bright-eyed dust
thrown lightly into the sinking seeds of a garden
with flowers growing out of my decomposing
echo of a body
like an
articulate oil painting decorating the earth to remind them
of my eternity,
i'll sink all the way through the soil
and follow the heartbeats

i'll meet you there."
ask them to bury you with 50 cents in each of your pockets
Ryan Kane Jul 2014
You wrote me like a book.
You made me who I am.
Before I met you I was a boy.
After you, I was a man.

A broken man though,
Unrecognizably shattered.
Heart ripped from my chest,
Then stomped on, and left battered.

It's my own fault though.
I was a man, but immature.
I was blinded by personal problems.
When I should have been blinded by your allure.

But your heart is more broken.
I can tell from when we talk.
I can tell every time we texted.
And I could tell on our last walk.

Trust and kindness is what you sought.
And trust and kindness is what I brought.
But as we developed. You saw different.
Our love was free but became imprisoned.

It's still locked up.
Serving 25 to life.
But if it ever gets out.
I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with you.
Follow me on Hello Poetry
Follow me on Twitter: @RadicalMartian
Silent Zee Mar 2013
The American Flag, though left unfurled,
strains against its own pole, curled
taut, obscured, unrecognizably meek,
blown off course by the very wind it seeks.
Wrapped so tight around a pole
which promised to let it fly, whole
and unhindered, as a sign to all,
but has worked against it in this squall.
The very freedom it believed to gain
has shown only to be false and vain.
A very particular metaphor that came to mind the other day, as I saw our nation's flag struggling to flutter after being wrapped around its own pole from the wind and rain.  It was near pathetic, and brought to mind many allegories and such....
Caroline Feb 2013
I dreamt of war
Of a glassy sea breaking from its bounds
Of skies opening with unrestricted flashes of light
I dreamt of war
Of a world smashed unrecognizably into itself
Of continents clashing against one another
I dreamt of war
I saw life leaving the eyes of thousands
I watched dispair and fear engulf the innocent
I dreamt of you
I witnessed hatred consume your soul
I witnessed you lead the slaughter of thousands
And I came to know evil
I learned of the intimacy of pain
I learned of the severity of fights
And amongst the war and fighting
In the aggression and death
I cried for life
Sean Bork Feb 2016
You sit looking so smug and satisfied,
cross-legged round the *** that boils softly.
Faces glowing and oily lips shimmering,
laughing greedily as you take another bite.
So here’s another piece of me
laid out for you hungry cannibals.
Just separate the flesh from the bones
and leave the heart till last.
Save that part till the end.

Oh how you fooled me, yes you did.
I saw the *** and the fire,
I picked my way through the scattered bones
of the others that came before me.
You must have drugged me with your kisses,
your fawning hands and painted on smiles.
Because you led me to the *** and I stepped inside.
I felt the first piece taken, and yet there I stayed.
But the cannibals were starving and ravenous
and bite after bite they fed
till only my bones and my heart remained.
Saving that for the last.
Saving that till the end.

I wonder as the last bite is taken
And at long last the framework
of my naive bones collapses,
mixing unrecognizably with the others.
Will who I was remain inside you,
or will I pass without a second thought
like the **** you left behind?
One thing I know for sure and say with a grin
Is that we are the same, you and I.
And someday you will find yourself alone in the ***
no longer the cannibal but the captured prey.
I just pray they leave the heart till last
That they save that part till the end
copyright 2016
Sean Bork

Bit of an angry tone in this one.  The lesson learned is that trust is a precious gem and its not to be given lightly.  Guard your heart because betrayal can eat away at it.
Gigi Tiji Jan 2015
I am a gloriously amorphous glob of tidal identity waxing and waning from unrecognizably dissipated thought systems to cohesively recognizable energetic structures. Behold, I am typing words and as I do so I am dismantling the very foundation of my preexisting paradigm because as it is dismantled it is no longer the existing paradigm but even so the existing paradigm is always the existing paradigm in that it is operating currently. Hurrah!! Onward, to where no one has gone before, to where no now has never evered till this very now! To infinity, and before that!
Jennifer Weiss Oct 2014
I have never felt
Nor have I ever felt
such dangerous

being made
in a backseat.

I stare at you
staring at me.

I realize now
twas I
who needed
to be

Make me feel this way
until I am old
and unrecognizably
riddled with crows feet.

You are
the captivator of
my entire being.

"Don't stop"
is my only
AK Dec 2015
I try to open my eyes
But feel an ache as
another seam rips
down the middle of my heart.

Hungover from the tiny white screen
I stared at for hours.
Investigating your once love-drunk smile.

Stumbling to the bathroom,
I meet my shower in desperation.

Hoping the water running down my chest
will act as a threat and
fix the ever-widening tear.

I emerge wet
to find a foggy reflection.

I’m beyond repair.
Rissa Lav May 2017
again and again I tripped.

the first time
my shoelaces had been
pure from the silt.
I noticed a stain from
the grime,
not bleak to the
first glance
but I knew my lacs
had lost
their purity.

one more time,
a piece of thread unraveled.
again, not drastic
to perception
but it was clear
my shoelaces
were erupting due
to the results of my reckless

again and again I tripped
and by the time I decided to face
myself in order to
reflect upon my ineptitude,
I didn't know who I was
or where I had been.

I was forced to ponder
my shoelaces
for what they really
were: unrecognizably filthy

my shoelaces were now charcoal,
fringed and covered by all the them for were
their ruined mess
muck and dirt I put them through.
I wondered if anyone could
tell that they were
once untainted and unattained
or if all they saw of them
were their ruined mess.

again and again I tripped
and I began to wonder
if there was any reason to get
back up again?

I gave all that I could give
and the result was
anesthetic sentiment
obscene shoelaces.
Rishawn May 13
frigid, fragile, flustered

unrecognizably nervous

my name? what could it be
lover boy

Im just her toy
play with me? only when it works for you

lay me down to charge, you've got a new fascination

but where would I like to be?
nowhere else but next to thee

its inescapable my love for you
idiotic, irreversible and irrational

yet im your lover boy

it comes down to a smile
when i spend time with you
even if not a while
my ***** turn blue

lust, trust, i hope you dont ever see me with disgust

not sure if i could handle it

woah woah who am I ?

I'm your lover boy

set me free or be with me

set me free or be with me

leave me be or set me free
if you cant bear to be with me

— The End —