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Micah G Nov 2018
Shooter
What makes you this way
Is it the game on your computer
Or is it in your DNA?

Is it alcohol?
Or drugs?
The urge to end it all?
Deathly Spirits, do they tug at you?

Or is it PTSD?
Images and feelings from long ago
That you can’t unsee?
What made us cross the line 19 years ago?————————————
Why?
I’ve always wondered why so many shootings are happening nowadays. What is it individually that causes these, and what are exactly are they thinking?
xmxrgxncy Apr 2017
try to unsee the horrors you've dealt me, the crosses burnt into my thighs.
then ask yourself...
did you ever really care?
Samm Marie Jul 2016
Every place I turn
I can't unsee the horrors I've known
I can't say I have had it the worst
Not by a long shot
But it hasn't been butterflies

No three year old wants to see
Random men in their house with
Their mama when their daddy's not home
And no six year old should have to see
Parents so enraged
And divorcing
Nor should their best friend's parents
Feel a need to adopt them
Even temporarily

No seven year old should
Feel they need to be twenty-seven
And like they aren't allowed to cry
No ten year old should be forced
To choose which parent they like best
Under any circumstances

No twelve year old should feel
Any desire to harm themselves
And watch blood swell on their arms
No fourteen year old should think they're
Wrong because they believed in love
Nor should they feel jaded

No fifteen year old should contemplate suicide
At all
Especially not so thought out
With a grand scheme and everything
Just two months before their sweet sixteen
No sixteen year old should feel betrayed
And forgotten
Or unworthy of any kind of love

Every step I take I am reminded
That life is a widening gyre
Mr. Yeats, you were right
But I can't accept that to be
The only plausible possibility
Which leads me to believe
That with every step I take
Though my heart is torn to bits
By this minefield called life
I get a little bit
Stronger
Inspired by the Sara Evans song
Alexander T Sep 2018
there is another thing that I cant unsee
my brother smile
when he used to see me

he used to smile
but now its clouds

I hurt him so much
I cant even begin to describe what he could feel

his smile was so childish
so amazing
and in less than a second
it vanished
into something...
indescribable

I am full of guilt
I am a criminal
I stole his happiness
I stole his dreams

Im so sorry bro
I wish I could take it all back

me even saying that im sorry isnt enough
nothing is enough anymore
you deserve such a better life

if you can still live
than please do,
but I know that that's venturing quite far

my sad brother
im sorry for the pain that I have caused for you
I should have never done it
I had no brain
no thoughts
no empathy
I never thought

that smile
it used to be so bright
I turned it off faster than a blink
can I even explain this
am I even at liberty
Advent Oct 2014
my eyes are exhausted from seeing things
i need not want to have a glimpse

from looking at people
i need never want to love at all

from catching melancholic eyes
i need in no way want to sympathize


my eyes are exhausted
from observing faces of reality

the crooked
unsubtle kind of hypocrisy


―a.t.
Troy Feb 2018
Some things I can't unsee

Dreams
Nightmares
A  Moment of times
past

The love I lost
The  Beauty in
My dreams

This thing
The beast that builds
In me

The guilt of your loss,
A Loss made by my
Arrogance

Some things I can't unsee

Time and time again
I wish it was me

You come to me in my dreams
As  Beautiful as I've ever seen
I'm Haunted
by what can never be

I beg you set me free

My love
That night
I beg you
Please
Forgive
Me

This moment in time haunts
my dreams

Some things I can't unsee

My love
It should have been
Me.
She was my fiance who was taken from me in a freak accident..
Alexander T Sep 2018
i remember a long time ago
sitting with my brothers
they were covered from head to toe
but not in what you might expect

we were in a big house
at my aunts
sitting in the hallway

in such a short time
they were so content
I didnt realize what it was
at the time I was only 6 or 7

like I said
covered
not in any ordinary substance
it was a recycled thing
very gross

you could not even guess
what I cant unsee

no boxers
no clothes
but still covered

having such a great time
playing in the stuff
tasting their handy work
pretending it was a sandwich

they were covered in
the most stinky thing they could find
or in their case, make
they were covered in
crap
to my brothers. all grown up now. I hope you know better :)
POSSIBLE Sep 2018
Ash to mouth

divide north and south
east and west,

shout  with class of Scout
let it out with griffin clout

we here we out , hear me out
— rhymes in time without

silent shrines to mime
cleared the crowd

covered eyes and mouth
over body desert shroud

if vengeance is your business
then from swords to plow

en lakesh

an eye for an eye binds
the all to be blind
but you can’t unsee the signs

no thoughts unclouded by loss
out the window I toss
mosaic fragments that cost
health and awesome sauce

Nazareth gutted commandments
by anarchy spelled
disaster after culture
massive ego it swell

up the road ahead a pit depress the juncture
so we spit the dirt divide just to touch the other
from pup to wolf so many bites, a pitted puncture
so much disfunct the fight till all be winded lungs sir

you can run
but  from
gamma ray
you no hide
passed a black hole
wand inside
a body died
but it’s alright
(it’s heaven sight
till Zombie night )

animate dead necromantic black ring
the rhythm of life and death a chronic swing

the pendulum blade cross over cosmic skin
consciousness draw out from within

traced the win which wound round tat to skeleton
a dusty tome bound and crafted man

medicine subtracted by the head that spin
in the sky and its happening, blessen-ings
the miracle is mystery u cant guess it

talking 3 eye see
talking vip
climb high as canopy
walking so
my shadow lands under me.

ten toes touch to the dusty roads
when toads appear throats close

mighta had the Midas touch
still the golden one
was too much to flush

you might live in Laos
you my livid crowd
you might live it now
neva hit my limit how
cause you live in now

when you wake up proud
timid mind plowed
divid-dine fill the cloud
insta crowd wowed
this I vowed
life isn’t life until it’s loved
that is the answer
but so few live it.
Life calls to us to take it and ride as if its our mount,
but there are no more equestrians.

Break the stallion
Sidharth Suraj Mar 2021
Emotions from beyond are slowly seeping in,
spilling over my conscious,
dripping on my skin.
I want to taste it on your lips,
I want to hear it when you breathe.
I have scaled every beat you missed,
I have heard your whispers and whims,
still familiar with what are your needs in play.
Your lips feel like ripples on my neck,
divine interventions I cannot say.
Unlike any twilight skies I have seen,
your beauty is the only hue
I cannot unsee.
All I want is you right now,
this need is killing me now.

Waiting,
with my emotions in chains,
if I let them fly,
you might forget the lines
of lust and pain.
You are the only one,
to quench my thirst
so, make me wait no more
or else the demons might lose their cage,
the chains might fade with age,
you won’t be able to hold me back,
once the chains unclutter,
It’s either you till dawn or
or until I have you for supper.

Let me hold you close,
Let me hear you say,
“I will cleanse you of your sins,
the sins in love you are too afraid to say
the sins from our timeless yesterday.”
Cause my life in a long-distance relationship is kinda funny.
Pauline Celerio Jan 2014
How can I unlove you?
Shall I unsee the luminescent smile you make?
Shall I unfeel the heavy breaths I take?
Shall I undraw your image inside my head?
Shall I unhold our memories instead?
Shall I unwrite the song I made for you?
Shall I untell my heart to stop beating too?
Shall I uncling to my tiny sliver of forever?
Shall I undream of what we can become together?
Shall I unremember the light on your face?
Shall I unrecall my saving grace?
Shall I ungrasp this love I know true,
But the question is...

Is it possible to unlove you?
Skyy Blu May 2019
There're somethings, you can't unsee like you walking away with him, and forever leaving me, you did it out-the-blue I never thought; I'd be in a world living without you. Never thought I'd see the day when you,  would no-longer be in love with me..... there're just somethings...... you can't unsee.
Casey Mar 2019
I hate the word "perfect".


Nobody can be perfect.
It's literally impossible.

They say, "Don't change, you're perfect as you are."
Humans can't be perfect.
It's not in our nature.

Our media portrays perfection as people's personalities painted in pretty pastel.
Don't be fooled.
Perfection is disgusting.

Perfection
is tearing your hair out over a simple dashed line
in front of the "A" on the report card.

Perfection
is raking chewed cuticles across your cheeks
for missing the kick in Phy. Ed class.

Perfection
is spilling your guts out after every meal and screaming into the mirror,
"Am I perfect yet?! Am I good enough for you?!"

Perfection
is ripping apart the artwork you poured your heart into
because someone pointed out a flaw, and now you can't unsee it.

Perfection
is gorging on painkillers
as if they would take away the emotional pain, too.

Don't you dare tell me that I'm perfect
because perfection is disgusting.


I hate the word "perfect".
I'm tired of people saying that perfection is something to glorify and strive for. Some people are literally broken apart by the expectations of perfection.
Ylzm May 2019
Dust, dust, infernal dust:
Mocked! Mortality mocked!
Toil, toil, burdensome toil,
procrastinator born.

I don't see, it's still clean.
I don't see, I don't care.
I don't see, just the wind.
Oh no! Now I see,
I cannot unsee, woe is me!

Dust, dust, infernal dust,
with vacuum be gone!
Toil, toil, burdensome toil,
Adam's curse, is there no escape?
Mikaila Sep 2013
What must you think of me?
Dark
Hungry eyes
Full of hurt and hope,
And
All
That love,
So sudden.
I've never met someone like you.
I know you see it,
And yet somehow I think you believe it,
Receive it,
Understand.
And I don't know what to do,
Because
Nobody's ever known that
And not flinched from me
The way you recoil when your hand rests accidentally on a hot stove.
In your eyes I saw...
Joy.
I saw that you wanted
What was in
Mine.
And god,
I've been trying to recover from that ever since.
It makes no sense to me.
No sense.
You saw
You saw the secret.
It spilled out at your feet
And I wanted to fall to my knees there
And beg you to forgive it.
But your eyes never shamed me-
They glowed
(god I cannot unsee them)
With excitement,
As if maybe my touch shocked you
The way yours shocked me.
In that moment
You must understand,
And every other moment since
When your eyes have found mine
And burned my disguises to dust within seconds,
Every single thing I ever knew about myself
Was overturned.
That's why I can't get you out of my head.
Why I'm scared,
Why everything I do now is a little shaky and uncertain in my mind,
Because everything
Is new.
I based my life on the knowledge that I had to hide.
Everything I was sure of, everything that had been
Proven
Time and again to me
By never being disproved
Dissolved in that moment.
You razed it to ash.
When you touched me with tenderness,
I fell apart.
When you kissed me,
I lost everything
I've been wanting to shed
For my entire life.
Janna B Jan 2021
Emotional manipulation
wielded quietly;
with a reasonable face
or a compelling look.
I see you now.
I cannot unsee you.
Ever.
Feeling a bit freer, understanding the ties that have bound me via guilt, responsibility, fear. It’s empowering.
kyle dionysus Aug 2022
I still remember that day. The unsettling unease.

The drive, I still remember the feeling of the cool air against my skin.

The silence of my phone. The increased rate of my heartbeats.

Something was wrong, I felt it as if the sky itself was telling me.

The memories that follow I can never unsee, as if it was stained perfectly in my mind.

That day my heart sank into the abyss.

If only I was sooner.
Can’t help but find it comedically painful.
CC Sep 2014
I'm loney, tired, I have no friends
I'm content, fullfilled, I hate everyone
My eyes bulge out of my head
Refuse to unsee
The molestation outside

I'd rather be wiser than nicer
I'd rather you hated me
Love wrenched is the most painful thing
I have ever felt
I won't do it again

Do I bore you?
Fight me
I'm atlas on this playground
Nobody sees me
I'm only a gamer
On the giving end

The cartoon is a rerun
And I got nothing to laugh at
It's not funny
Not Funny
Funny
No one could make love
To my mind like you

I'm loney, tired, I have no friends
I'm content, fullfilled, I hate everyone
My eyes bulge out of my head
Refuse to unsee
The molestation outside

I'd rather be wiser than nicer
I'd rather you disowned me
Love wrenched is the most painful thing
I have ever felt
I won't do it again
Anya Nov 2018
I’m meeting a friend tomorrow, one I haven’t seen in some years save for the incidental meeting a week ago that sparked this reunion

My thoughts,      Reminiscent, tinged with melancholy for that time dotted with puffs of whip cream, sugar, sparkles, and joy spilling from the sky

We were mages one moment,
The elements at
Our beck and call
With a flick of our hands

Warrior cats the next
Loyally guarding
Bravely scarring

We lives in our world of monsters, and magic, and peach fuzz

None of the extra complications, the insecurities, the splotches marring our once vibrant and lovely canvas, turning it from a rainbow sparkle unicorn pony...to a mare

More time for text books
         Less time for novels
More time for homework
         Less time for TV
More time for crushes and heartbreak and insecurities and tears
          Less time to run straight ahead without a care in the world

Reality, setting in like large boulders, so heavy and present, jutting into your life, impossible to unsee


But,

It’s not all planes crashing and burning, because now that she’s no longer made up into a sparkle pony, you can see the mare for the

beauty she is
Calla Fuqua Apr 2019
Louder than Monsters
By: Calla Fuqua

I can’t unhear your ignorance, I can’t unsee your belligerence,
The potential difference you swore you’d make, and the carnivorous path
You chose to take.
You are louder than monsters.

Heaven must scare you and your desire to dissipate,
Your chance to incriminate, the problems you exacerbate,
I can’t articulate your need to intoxicate.
Your laughter is louder than monsters.

You fabricat your pity you pretend to give, as you wait for me to forgive,
That night I have to relive when I dream, of our short lived view of how happiness seemed.
Back then how could I have known that you were louder than monsters.

Your grip on me becomes tighter, the more your desire for me expires,
The more you secretly become a liar, and the more I ask myself why her?
Her voicemails are louder than monsters.

I end up on the floor, after you hit me and you swore,
You don’t say I love you anymore, the way you used to before,
And now I’m just your little *****, you pretend to love as if it’s a chore.
Your silence is louder than monsters.

I pray for you and the guilt you must feel, screaming out our window,
frantic to appeal, for the pain you caused solely so you could heal.
Your lies are louder than monsters.

You laugh when I say no, giving me a messed up world you pretend to know,
Now it’s my turn to outgrow you and your plateau, the one you promised
To let go. While I undergo the pain you overflow.
My screams are louder than monsters.

I still tell myself you love me after you throw your fists, holding tight to my wrists,
As I keep allowing the crimes you commit, to become imprints from the pain you inflict.
This pain is louder than monsters.

Now, nobody seems sincere, every scar is like a souvenir, You leave me speechless, when you sip your beer, like you didn’t just make my whole world disappear,          
You say you are not louder than monsters.

All I can do now is reminisce, look back on moments like our first kiss,
Before you led me into this abyss, before I was unable to dismiss the thought,
“What kind of monster does this?”
Someone who doesn’t know he is louder than monsters.

I dream about the day I can throw out your ashtray, The day
I can cast away you whole, no more arms to control my body’s soul,
A day where I no longer have to be your wife,
A day where I can play a character in my own life.
A day where love is louder than monsters
olivia grace Nov 2013
i sat down on the bench at the bus stop on 24th and 3rd, next to a girl with a black long sleeve tshirt on in 93 degree sticky august weather. she looked about 17 years old, not much younger than i. i noticed her small, elegant fingers holding onto a black leather sketchbook and i found myself yearning to know what was inside of it.
i looked at her and smiled, commented on the weather;
"i would be sweating buckets if i were wearing that shirt."
she looked at me with such repugnance, it was as if i had told her that i killed her puppy and ate it for breakfast.
i looked away into the distance and watched the hustle and bustle of new york city on a tuesday. i held my gaze on a window of a large office building, 17 stories up and 4 across from the left. i imagined the cubicles; small, cramped and disgustingly humid, and the people inside of them; lonely, fed up and hungry.
"i would love to not be wearing this shirt. unfortunately my skin isn't pure and unmarked like yours."
the girl stood up, and looked at me with such sadness in her eyes that i could not unsee them. she walked down 24th towards the subway. she left her leather sketchbook sitting beside me, an unopened treasure chest full of unknown secrets and dreams.
i watched the girl walk with her arms crossed, bag thrown over one shoulder down the street, expecting her to turn around realizing what she had left behind - but she didn't. she kept walking and walking and walking until i could not longer see anything more than a small black dot.
i was brought back when i heard the large bus screech and halt to a stop, the black woman driving stare at me as if she had been waiting three and a half years for me to get on the bus. i picked up the black sketchbook and climbed the steps, popping $2.75 into the fare box.
i sat down in an empty middle seat, and leaned my head against the hot window. i felt the sun beam down on my face through the plexi-glass as i looked down at the black leather sketchbook still in my hands. i found myself holding it as if it were a very important document given to me by a secret agent to bring to the CIA.
i made it home to my stuffy one bedroom apartment with the sketchbook still unopened, still in careful hands. i set it down on my kitchen counter beside my yellow sticky note to pick up eggs, ketchup and lemon juice. which i forgot. again. i stared at the beautiful black leather of the sketchbook for a good ten minutes before finally flipping the cover to reveal two words, written with pencil in the most beautiful calligraphy i have ever seen;
"tragically beautiful"
i was so taken aback by the juxtaposition of these two simple words that i wished i had never opened the book at all, but somehow i felt myself flipping page after page looking at sketches drawn by an amazing talent whom i don't even know the name of.
i sat down at my desk after analyzing each and every sketch and put a fresh piece of paper into my typewriter. i entitled it
"tragically beautiful.

scars do not make an individual beautiful. scars simply add to the tragedy of the beauty shown by that individual. tragedy and beauty are two things that can not seem to be more opposed to each other, but somehow they can not exist without one another."

i wanted so desperately to know how to reach this girl, and tell her to wear her smallest tank top. i wanted her to know that her scars did not have to be covered up by unforgiving cotton. i wanted her to realize that her tragedies don't define her beauty.
her sketchbook is still beside my typewriter, bringing me back to that day on the bench.
if only she knew how impure and marked up my skin really is, that would truly be,
tragically beautiful.
tryhard Dec 2019
i have always been careful
not to reveal too much
afraid you'll eventually see
me in my entirety
the truth of me
is itchy beneath my skin
and i shrink
under your scrutiny
do you see me now
in all my weakness
and nothing else more
for i have found
there is not much to see
except for the cracks
which inside are empty
how could you see
something more in me
you are mistaken
open your eyes
unsee me
self-deprecating? self-deprecating.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
~~~

set aside
the 31st day of every month,
even if not on Gregory's calendar,
in actuality,
it's an always monthly revelation

this 31st day
of everyones life,
is a set aside,
to

set aside

the regrets that
Halloween haunt,
those overly generous ghosts,
goblins, too eager to remind and provide,
the tainted candy aplenty of
failed past deeds,
and worse,
the misdeeds

- the quantity insufficient
of unuttered "I love you"

- the lost, unrecoverable bidding of farewell finales failures,

- leaving unsaid that which
weakness delayed,
sadly now, a ticket voided
by an eternal expiration moment

the lost boys of opportunities
who live in the endless hell of
isolation in the Never-to-be-Land

- the right course we chose to
unsee

- that person we should never have
let go of

- for the easier, less costly,
charm of the error self-deceptions

- the damnable accursed if-onlys,
visible only in the rearview mirror of dreams
that with nightmare blended,
now can only go
one-direction,
forward

- attempt escaping,
both slow and quick,
from the maximum security prisons
built to be inescapable,
where you offer yourself
daily meals of only the stones of pain,
hopes skin-scratched off
as irretrievable lost,
poisonous diet of radioactivity

you own these regrets and
do not deny,
letting them go to partial freedom
even harder,
even worse,
now, when compared
to the bitterness of the
of original errors past committed

no absolution-complete,
these persistent insanities,
found in our possession,
unable to be defeated

and yet,
the thought,
a passerby muttering,
perhaps
by sharing, ours, yours,
mine,
we will uncover where the yellow brick road
to redemption commences

~~~
have oft confessed

the sadness of the
loss of living children, ex's,
who cannot forgive mutual trespasses

wasted anger that won't cease,
bile-ing and piling up,
like ten pound weights ankle permanently fastened to
the bitter buds of your tongue

the security of every wrong fork
incorrectly chosen,
calculating, over-valuing,
safety over risk

for within the chances untaken
lived the far better possibility
of a life without regrets

struggle everyday to
not allow the days
tween the first and the thirtieth,
to infect
the 31st day

this monthly maker reserved for
confession and atonement
and forgiveness granted by pardon
by you,
the one absolute ruler

for sentences that already deserve release,
if only for time served

all ready for forgiving,
and if yet still deemed unforgivable,
be eased by the the finer quality of
the humanity of
the overlooked blessing
that in the
never forgetting,
are deep buried in the roots of
caring...

~~~

October 31, 2015
7:10 am
NYC
http://blogs.webmd.com/art-of-relationships/2015/10/burdened-by-regret-how-to-break-free.html?ecd=wnl_men_102615&ctr;=wnl-men-102615_nsl-promo-4_title&mb;=zNOFoqgNPBRY1krNNKlXzhXFE73IOX1cv%40KF%2fM%2fVd7s%3d


You carry the weight of a regret – maybe even a bundle of regrets – that you just can’t seem to put down. Perhaps in your more honest moments, you think you don’t deserve to let it go. By carrying it around, you feel you’re doing a kind of penance. But somewhere inside you realize that carrying it around is not doing you or anyone any good. It’s not making the situation right for others. And, it’s not making you a better person. Still, walking away from the regret seems impossible and, perhaps, irresponsible and uncaring.

This dilemma is more common than you might think. Being human practically comes with a guarantee that you will do things you regret. Even if you haven’t been able to move on, others do. They find a way to come to terms with their regret, freeing them to enjoy life. You can do this, too, if you choose to face your actions and the human error behind them.

If you struggle with regret, you may have already taken a step in the right direction by taking responsibility for what you did or didn’t do. It’s important that you acknowledge this responsibility – or “own up to it” – without making excuses for your mistake. It’s okay, and even important, to understand the reasons for your actions, but that does not excuse you.

At the same time, though, it’s important to balance “owning” your actions with acknowledging and accepting that you’re simply human. Everyone has limits. There are some things you can’t, or simply don’t, know – that’s just part of being human. And even when you do know better, you will sometimes make errors in judgment. You will, at times, act emotionally and irrationally. You have weaknesses and flaws and you will make mistakes.

Think about the friends, children, or other family whom you accept and love despite their imperfections. Your acceptance of them as human is the same feeling you need to practice for yourself. Because, in reality, your mistakes are a testament to your humanity, not your failing as a person.

Even as you come to terms with your regret, you will still feel upset about it – whether that means you feel guilty, sad, or some other emotion.

Here are 5 steps you can take to help you start working through those feelings.

1. Don’t deny or suppress these emotions. Allow them in. They are part of you. Just as you would soothe an emotional child, choose to soothe yourself.

2. Tell yourself that you will be okay. Act compassionately toward yourself. You might go for a hike in the woods or take a long, hot bath.

3. Reach out to a caring and supportive friend who can help you feel better.

4. If you can, make amends. Say you are sorry. Do something kind for the person you hurt.

5. If that’s not possible, you might commit to helping others in similar situations. For instance, if you realize that you haven’t been there to help loved ones through troubled times, you can choose to help those  in need now.

Maybe those you’ve hurt will forgive you. Maybe not. Maybe it’s less about what others think and more about your own disappointment in yourself. Whatever the regret is that you carry, you are ultimately responsible for lightening your own load. You must see that you are more than just the mistakes you’ve made.

You may never feel good about the thing you regret. But you can still feel good about being you.
Nigel Finn Dec 2016
Nothing exists except atoms and space,
And everything else is opinion,
Yet we can't determine the time of their place,
And relative distance between 'em.

If I could understand,
With a wave of my hand,
All that is, and what lies in between,
I probably wouldn't,
For fear that I couldn't
Unsee what what I might think obscene.

What if, for example,
I could indeed sample
All knowledge there is to be known?
Would I be enlightened,
Or possibly frightened?
Depressed once all mystery's gone?

If nothing exists except atoms and space,
And if everything else is opinion,
Then surely opinion's mankind's saving grace;
The source of the beauty within 'em
I'm stealing another quote outright in this one. This time I've borrowed "Nothing exists except atoms and space, and everything else is opinion." from Democritus, or rather from the person who translated Democritus if you want to get technical.

To say my grasp of physics is almost non-existent would be an understatement, but I know just enough to know this may offend a few physicists out there.
David Adamson Jan 2019
In this place
The air is so dry that water sulks.
The sky is a viscous brown mosaic.
The sulfurous fumes of old suffering linger.

A woman stares as if trying to unsee creation.
Words on a man’s tongue sound
like rhythmic coughing.
At the only stoplight
the crosswalk sign flashes “Don’t waltz.”

Strangers recoil from me
as if from an embarrassing stain.

People stream to the town square
for some indecipherable ritual.
Probably a funeral for the sun
or a snake oil sale.

Welcome to humankind’s true garden.
Not paradise but a place of desolation,
and what comes after is not exile but striving
and getting the hell out.

So long, mom and dad.
There are too many things to unsee in this city,
the night street holds dark memories;
traffic jams, phones blaring
the static complacency of the bourgeoisie,
faint screeches of beat up vans
and tire explosions, schizophrenic
sloth of industrial machinery
drilling roads, houses, three metres apart;
the fragmentation of the nuclear family -

if only life were a gothic fable;
we would all be mythical
deities to the dark regions of earth -

for the night is oceanic,
Atlantic, revolution
turns upon a fixed axis;
tonight’s ocean
opening, first ionization,
breath as oxidation -

the middle
the midnight

in the air where the air is alight
and the light contains substance,
the fine saturation of salience,
lust for dopamine, we light

the silk in the fire, remember the earth
spirals around a sailing sun
like a strand of DNA,
everything circumferencing
in swirls of cataleptic cinnamon,
and we are space dancers,
free in the infinite,
the embroidery of all edges,
small, but
insoluble
and dissolving.
Sarah Pitman Jul 2014
Seventh Grade.
I wrote a poem about a solider
who couldn't unsee all the damage
wrought on his friends and brothers.
My mother cried.
Asked, “what have I done?
For you to write such
despairing things?”

Eighth Grade.
My English teacher tried to
“Harness” my talent,
in the raw.
Pushed me into competitions
Of which I had no interest.

Freshman Year.
I got accused of plagiarism.
After all,
What could I possibly know
of the world's tragedies,
after a mere 14 years spent here?
I was told to “stick to something
a 14-year-old girl would right. So
it isn't obvious.”

Sophomore Year.
I wrote about
the boy who held my heart.
Because that's what
15-year-old girls write about.
Or so I've been told.
Anthony Steele Jul 2015
"call me spoons"
said "be giving you what you need,"
pause.
like a toddler, sat in high chair
mess face consisting mostly of chocolate pudding, eviscerated green beans, promises
promises
promises
promises "you are one of a kind."
a hand that can't win.
"you're special,"
the kitten no one adopts
"unique"
alone
"perfect"
can't be fixed
can't be fixed
can't be fixed
can't
be
fixed
broken boy sitting at dinner next to cracked mirror metaphor
mess face consisting mostly of bruises and that's it.
bag of frozen peas on the eye
green beans became useless after dad ran out
spoons across the dining room
no words; body language says enough
"i failed you."
said
"couldn't give you what you need."
"what you need."
what you need
what you need
what you need? you.
you need you.
you need you.
spoons at the end of a rope
black eyes toddler can't see
blind reach
spoons isn't there
spoons isn't there
no object permanence means that while spoons aren't around, baby can't get what it needs.
object permanence means in 1997 when you cheated again and she found out
that there was no running away this time that you in this state will exist in abject permanence.
she can never unsee
bent spoons stained with street glue
black tar lungs and inability to breathe
mess face consisting mostly of
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
Mane Omsy Mar 2018
Invisibility cloaks all around
When the scene comes, sirens
Screaming across the streets
Because of you, we never find

Why is it simple to push away?
Like you did in the 50's
Like you tolerated strikes
Why should it be alike now?

.....


Mourn for their lives
When it didn't matter
To you
You'll pay the price
Sooner or later
Negligence is the poison injected on every slave and victim of human rights violations. Everyon must act against this inhumane behavior of the world organisations and countries. Peace
Barton D Smock Sep 2014
i.

a child’s edition of your father.  in which

the unused
scarecrow

is found
hiding
the *****

mags, the cigarettes

of a sister’s worry, and other

inanimate
markers

of accounting, meant to be

traded
for fireworks, for fat frogs
not given
to snake…

that is, had the boy
lived
to unsee

the water
he didn’t
make…

ii.

(my handle on death)
is holding
a book.

an overfilled
pauper’s
grave / transcends
its archaic

reference
to belly.  all mothers

are single.
lu Mar 2018
i have been writing a lot recently,
all about the same thing.
i can't unsee your bright blue eyes
or the small gap between your two front teeth,
that you hate so much but i love so dear.
i can't forget the words you said,
and the song you named after me.
those words which are now out under a different name
for the rest of the world to hear.
the words that used to be my favorite song became the melody
i hated the most.

but,
at the same time, i'll do anything to hear your voice.
and no matter how mad i am, i can't stay that way forever.
i see you smile once and i fall all over again.
i don't think it's fair that i think about you,
when i know **** well you aren't thinking of me.

i spoke to your mom recently.
she said you've been doing just fine.
how nice.
she also mentioned how you talk about me.
why talk about me instead of talking to me?
i know you write about me too.
she told me one of your band's new songs is about me,
and i have a feeling i know which one it is.
it made me cry the first time i had heard it.

i've tried moving on.
i've tried singing it away.
i've tried writing it away.
i even tried seeing other people.
but somehow,
my mind always comes back to you.
it's always going to be you.
i love him and that's what hurts the most.
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
The stars do not just whisper,
they cry and yell and beg.
"Someone,
someone,
we are ill,
from this horror show we cannot unsee."
The land was filled with gas,
the stars,
too high to cleanse.
The stars are begging,
"Someone,
someone,
put this horror to an end."

Though on the other side.
The one that plugs their ears,
clipped noses,
zipped mouths,
and the society alive,
we say nothing to the stars,
instead we simply watch them cry.

I know we let you drop the shine,
and dazzles of tears
to our revolt and vandalized land.
I'm sorry we cannot let go,
and give you all demand,
but society has this image,
and it may not go away.

I'm sorry crying, yelling stars,
but no.
Not today.
Rj Jun 2018
He looked like heaven
And smelled like spring turning into summer
And maybe you left because you knew you didn't belong there
Maybe you know your place in the realm of the dead,
You certainly have the ambition to get there
And it feels too much like home, so much so that
You know that you could explore every corner of the universe with him
And never find anywhere like here.
Although the city keeps you up at night,
The sound of people weeping and gnashing their teeth in the streets
You throw yourself into the fire
"Burn me!" You cry, and you are burned.
"Cleanse me!" You wail, and you are made blind
Because there is not way for you to unsee what you have seen,
Except maybe forgetting what the world looks like
Plunged into eternal darkness
With only the scorching, dry heat of the flame
The sound of pain outside your window
And the ghost of the smell of spring turning into summer.
Tell me that you detest the memory of his eyes,
Tell me you do not cling to them like a lifeline.
He is roses and quick fingers.
He is bright eyes and a sharp smile.
He is the scent of spring turning into summer
He is heaven but this is home.
This makes no sense to anyone else sorry ALSO if u think this is abt u ur wrong
AnnStacia Nov 2021
The way you lived
Everyday
Living in fear
Of somebody seeing you loving me

Cause that alley had eyes hidden in the bricks
That parking lot had lights hitting our lips
And you were hushing me
We were always walking on a tightrope that was too many years old
I wonder where you went too when you wouldn’t show up for the 5 minutes you were supposed to

The way you lived
Everyday
Living in fear
Of somebody seeing you loving me

Cause people were noticing me love you
That school had monstrous eyes
That window of your truck had my breath melting the ice
It had the smell of me, my missing earring

The way I lived
Everyday
Living In fear that no one would see me love you

Cause I was the most prized secret
Perfectly kept on tight sealed lips
Losing myself in you
I still remember the weight of you
I still remember the first taste of you
And I remember your stories of the boy you once were and I remember wishing I was born in the 70’s just so I had a chance to be chosen by you

The way I lived
Everyday
Living In fear that no one would see me love you

Everyday for me was like a 10 mile race
I tried with everything I had to be the woman in your frame
But I sunk down deep and lost the game
There I was chasing you like you owed me
Cause I never accepted the fact that you were bad for me

The way you lived
Everyday
Living in fear that somebody would see you loving me

Cause I thought you wanted longevity and I was overtaken by our chemistry
I had dreams about the silly things like your jeans and the way you would smirk at me
I bet you dreamt about mornings with me
But all we ever had was foggy evenings
I had a feeling you were going to make me blue
With your name on me, a blue tattoo
Instead the colors of me are a pinwheel of hues

The way I lived
Everyday
Living In fear that no one would know I love you

But I tell myself that art is meant for periods of time
You made me into a heaven and you made me into a hell
Tell me how do you get the sun to set on you
All I ever have is the moon
And I know that time will pass over and over but I am stained with you
all over my body you lay
After the 8 hour school days of staring at you I can’t unsee you

And I know I was never good at accepting
But you accepted that I was a broken young
And you chose to make me anew  
Did it **** you too?
Tell me did it enlighten you?
Did the first time for me overtake you?

Every day
I was there

You were there

Every day
I was there..

The way you lived
Everyday
Living In fear
Of someone finding out you love me..
I’ll never relate too..
JJ Hutton Oct 2010
I lap a bit of the water out of my cupped hands,
then splash the rest on my battered face.
Evan looked at me like I was obscene,
left the room, slammed the door, burning,
Tyler was still nauseous, buried in the couch,
talked light about being surprised at his survival.
I made him some toast,
we tried to piece together the night,
but we only remembered that
he concocted some White Russian rip-off and called
it a Grey Romanian,
I talked to Rachel about *** and respect,
Evan wasn't very appreciative of the cake I baked,
nor was he kind to Shawna or Kara when
they gave him kickass gifts,
Bobby kept Tyler from drowning in his *****,
Lauren brought me a blanket when I was freezing,
I passed out in the bathroom,
and the general consensus was we need to slow down.

Tyler told me he felt like he needed to go to church.

I felt ***** too,
but it was more from the things I have seen,
I have touched, and God never could make me unsee, unfeel.

Tyler and I sat and talked like ancient men,
men who had far outlived their time,
and were just waiting for death's hour
to claim its ****.

Pure things come and find us,
we won't find you,
not down the road we've been taking.
Pure things,
the world should hang its head in shame
at all its ***** things.
Give us a revival.

The Grey Romanians, the depths,
and the *** aren't giving the answers
we expect.

I told Tyler I loved him,
walked out the door,
the sun was too bright,
I walked past an Asian lady,
her smile was insane,
I climbed in my car,
put on some Thelonious
and mended myself with each erased mile.
Copyright 2010 by J.J. Hutton
Carebear Sep 2018
A final letter I'll write,
For everyone to read,
For when I'm gone,
I will no longer impede.

A gun to the head would work,
But then so would a noose -
Tie it, hang it, and leave it for later.
Oh no, this is too loose.

I wish I could unsee it,
I wish I could unhear it,
I wish it never happened -
And I don't want to believe it.

Talking to her,
It's all a blur ,
For during every session,
I weep through her slurs.

I have been debased,
I have been misplaced,
And every time I see her face -
I feel like an absolute.

Disgrace.
In her eyes...
you see her sorrow,
you see her pain,
yet you can never explain,
you can never feel
exactly as she feels,
but you can't unsee it,
when you have seen it,
it's obvious.

Her eyes are the windows to her murdered soul,
Her murdered soul is the door to her broken heart,
Her broken heart is the key to her mind,
and her mind is what in the end is going to **** her.
Esther L Krenzin Apr 2019
Don't discard me
like a seashell
with a blemish
yes
I'm cracking
of course
I'm crumbling
no amount of polishing
will sand away the bits
of me
you'd rather not deal with

Again
and
again
I am picked up
examined
and thrown away
always falling short
never the right shade
or shape

Forlorn
in the sand I await
unable to unsee
everyone
but
me
being chosen

One day
as the sun sets
I let myself release the childish
dream
that I was enough for
them
that they were enough
for
me.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Atelophobia: the fear of imperfection. The fear of never being good enough.
Rory Hatchel Mar 2011
I'm trying to see God everywhere
But these days I can't help but suspect
That my eyes are faulty, I require Holy Spirit -
tinted glasses to see between the lines of atoms
Because it's hard to find God in these eyes
These eyes that have beheld my mother's tears,
That behold brokenness like beaches hold sand,
These eyes trained and conditioned by the media,
That shapes these eyes to be blind to God.
These pupils dance with delight at the sight of
Jerry Springer and Jersey Shore, they search for
Victoria's Secret and Waldo with the same roaming eagerness
Surely God does not reside there.
These eyes have been scarred with the
burning image of forsakeness and shame
I have seen the naked forms of sons and daughters,
Shameless as the day they walked in Eden,
but the shame resides in my eyes as I,
perched on the branches above like Satan, have lusted.
These eyes that have seen children exposed,
Vulnerable, abused, violated, and forgotten.
These eyes that have seen things they can't unsee
But God is not among them.

But these eyes, these eyes, are all we have.
Shannon, your eyes are beacons on this foggy night.
Their cat-like allure is my desert mirage,
I know they glow because of the God you see.
But Shannon, this world hates your eyes,
Hates them for their widening awe at seeing miracles,
And blessings, at seeing love and grace.
Hates the dew that kisses your Irises as
You lament and mourn broken hearts about you.
Hates your furrowed brow in the face of injustice,
This world that hates the hope that hides
In the corner of your eye, the residue of dreams,
From the night before, it wants to wipe the dust away.
But most of all Shannon, this world hates your eyes
Because they are beautiful.

They are beautiful to see, beautiful to behold,
With them beauty is seen and by them beauty is made.
Because if my eyes are trying to see God everywhere,
Your eyes, Shannon, are succeeding.
Your eyes that have not beheld His crowned silhouette,
Or mountains moved or fire on tongues,
But you have sat on benches and watched children play.
The drooping sun ornamenting the playground,
And blowing purple and red kisses on their cheeks.
Your eyes have watched them like cherubim.
Singing sweet serenades and tapping the children's halos.
Tap Tap Chime, Tap Tap Chime, like the seasons they play.
And all the while Shannon, your eyes see Holy.
They see immaculate in every conception,
Your eyes see miracle and grace in every cell.
And that is beautiful Shannon.

Beautiful like the hallway wallflowers,
The abandoned convict and triumphant gangster,
Beautiful like the stay-at-home dad,
The single mother, the middle child, beautiful.
All of them beautiful with beautiful eyes,
Eyes like yours that capture brokenness like cameras.
The same eyes that see Sacred in every shade,
Hallowed in every ground, Divinity in every breath
That kisses windows and reflections and mirrors
All folded within these eyes.

So Shannon I'm looking for God everywhere,
Simply in every glance, every frame, every shot.
Looking for God like you've found him,
I am jealous for your eyes, those rare gems.
I am jealous like the world is jealous.
But I do not hate your eyes like they do.
For Shannon, you are a prophetess,
Speaking God into being, painting him with your eyes
That see through this maggoty flesh,
And begin to mold my soul into something beautiful,
Because of your beautiful eyes, Shannon,
I can begin to believe that I am beautiful.
That somehow you see God in me with those eyes,
Those sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet eyes,
They do not see what the world sees in me.
They do not see what my shame see, what my past sees,
No they see God in me, and that is beautiful.

— The End —