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SassyJ Jan 2016
Human directives, veracities unverified  
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality

My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts

Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed

A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch

Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination

The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling

Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom

Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt *******, offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master

A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
We are in it together.........
So much inequality in the world before and now. Why can't we live in peace.
Stanza 1: Introduction to human autocracies
Stanza 2: Dafür (Sudan) ongoing civil war and people are dying of hunger.
Stanza 3:Guantanamo bay detention. The prisoners of "war in terrorism" are treated in an inhumane way. Who is the terrorist now?
Stanza 4: The Rwanda genocide where divide and rule led to civil war. Tutsi the fewer in numbers were killed by Hutu's.
Stanza 5: Honor killing where people are buried in pit and have stones thrown to them.
Stanza 6: Indentured servitude where white people/ caucasians were forced to sign contracts and then shipped as slaves to various locations worldwide. The wages earned were used to pay for their freedom.
Stanza 7: Slavery of black people. Sold and yorked as labour force.... owned as an asset.
Stanza 8: A failing global world where inequality is everywhere (disease, hunger, child abuse, human trafficking, violence, war.....) For if we have no peace I have none, If we have no rights I have none!!!
Sasha Ranganath Jul 2014
The dark sets in
Her mind is calm,
She sheds the skin
Of social harm.

Her heart beats slow
Then picks up the pace,
No longer below,
Peculiar grace.

A falling crown
But safer now,
A crippled heart,
But not to drown.

No more cries
No tears of pain,
Only joy
And wild rain.

She shuts her eyes
And breaks away
From all the lies,
A diamond ray.


No more burning
In her soul,
No more hurting,
Lips unsewn.

A beautiful aura
Of dark and light,
The night will fade
Into the bright.

Her heart lights up
With ecstasy,
Happy, although
A tragic story.

The true meaning
Of being sad,
Lips grinning,
But not glad.

A peek of sun rays
Through the curtain,
A blinding haze,
A painful burden.

She doesn't want
The happy to end,
But in the daylight
She has to bend.

Monstrous faces
Without a smile,
Hunger that chases
Till the last dime.

The day drags on,
A hurting stab,
Her life is a storm
Without a God.

No rainbow or sunshine
In the light,
But colours so vivid
Through the night.
angelique Sep 2021
Two people, faces on
A screen, and two
Voices telling us how we should be
What’s new in the world, why we should
Avoid doing this, avoid doing that
What’s in, what’s not, what we should all do best

I see some nods
I see disapproval, approval
I see shifty glances in eyes
I see mouths start to move and talk
I see phones, many phones
I see the consumerism kicking in
I see unwavering doubt

I see lies, a mirage
I see the contours of deception
I see material eyes and material hearts
I see heavy minds and empty heads
I see people wondering about how they should look instead
I see people dreaming of a better life
I see people forgetting their own beautiful life
I see insecurity, stinging idiosyncrasy
I see flaming ******* media hypocrisy
I see romanticization of all things ugly
I see faces that look so young and glossy
I see big lights that cancel out all the imperfections
I see makeup that covers all the unwanted
I see ivory and I see bone
I see a curated life that I’ve never known
I see this image stitched up
And I never see it become unsewn
Something thats been on my mind lately with the influence of media and social media
Then Ulysses tore off his rags, and sprang on to the broad
pavement with his bow and his quiver full of arrows. He shed the
arrows on to the ground at his feet and said, “The mighty contest is
at an end. I will now see whether Apollo will vouchsafe it to me to
hit another mark which no man has yet hit.”
  On this he aimed a deadly arrow at Antinous, who was about to take
up a two-handled gold cup to drink his wine and already had it in
his hands. He had no thought of death—who amongst all the revellers
would think that one man, however brave, would stand alone among so
many and **** him? The arrow struck Antinous in the throat, and the
point went clean through his neck, so that he fell over and the cup
dropped from his hand, while a thick stream of blood gushed from his
nostrils. He kicked the table from him and upset the things on it,
so that the bread and roasted meats were all soiled as they fell
over on to the ground. The suitors were in an uproar when they saw
that a man had been hit; they sprang in dismay one and all of them
from their seats and looked everywhere towards the walls, but there
was neither shield nor spear, and they rebuked Ulysses very angrily.
“Stranger,” said they, “you shall pay for shooting people in this way:
om yi you shall see no other contest; you are a doomed man; he whom
you have slain was the foremost youth in Ithaca, and the vultures
shall devour you for having killed him.”
  Thus they spoke, for they thought that he had killed Antinous by
mistake, and did not perceive that death was hanging over the head
of every one of them. But Ulysses glared at them and said:
  “Dogs, did you think that I should not come back from Troy? You have
wasted my substance, have forced my women servants to lie with you,
and have wooed my wife while I was still living. You have feared
neither Cod nor man, and now you shall die.”
  They turned pale with fear as he spoke, and every man looked round
about to see whither he might fly for safety, but Eurymachus alone
spoke.
  “If you are Ulysses,” said he, “then what you have said is just.
We have done much wrong on your lands and in your house. But
Antinous who was the head and front of the offending lies low already.
It was all his doing. It was not that he wanted to marry Penelope;
he did not so much care about that; what he wanted was something quite
different, and Jove has not vouchsafed it to him; he wanted to ****
your son and to be chief man in Ithaca. Now, therefore, that he has
met the death which was his due, spare the lives of your people. We
will make everything good among ourselves, and pay you in full for all
that we have eaten and drunk. Each one of us shall pay you a fine
worth twenty oxen, and we will keep on giving you gold and bronze till
your heart is softened. Until we have done this no one can complain of
your being enraged against us.”
  Ulysses again glared at him and said, “Though you should give me all
that you have in the world both now and all that you ever shall
have, I will not stay my hand till I have paid all of you in full. You
must fight, or fly for your lives; and fly, not a man of you shall.”
  Their hearts sank as they heard him, but Eurymachus again spoke
saying:
  “My friends, this man will give us no quarter. He will stand where
he is and shoot us down till he has killed every man among us. Let
us then show fight; draw your swords, and hold up the tables to shield
you from his arrows. Let us have at him with a rush, to drive him from
the pavement and doorway: we can then get through into the town, and
raise such an alarm as shall soon stay his shooting.”
  As he spoke he drew his keen blade of bronze, sharpened on both
sides, and with a loud cry sprang towards Ulysses, but Ulysses
instantly shot an arrow into his breast that caught him by the
****** and fixed itself in his liver. He dropped his sword and fell
doubled up over his table. The cup and all the meats went over on to
the ground as he smote the earth with his forehead in the agonies of
death, and he kicked the stool with his feet until his eyes were
closed in darkness.
  Then Amphinomus drew his sword and made straight at Ulysses to try
and get him away from the door; but Telemachus was too quick for
him, and struck him from behind; the spear caught him between the
shoulders and went right through his chest, so that he fell heavily to
the ground and struck the earth with his forehead. Then Telemachus
sprang away from him, leaving his spear still in the body, for he
feared that if he stayed to draw it out, some one of the Achaeans
might come up and hack at him with his sword, or knock him down, so he
set off at a run, and immediately was at his father’s side. Then he
said:
  “Father, let me bring you a shield, two spears, and a brass helmet
for your temples. I will arm myself as well, and will bring other
armour for the swineherd and the stockman, for we had better be
armed.”
  “Run and fetch them,” answered Ulysses, “while my arrows hold out,
or when I am alone they may get me away from the door.”
  Telemachus did as his father said, and went off to the store room
where the armour was kept. He chose four shields, eight spears, and
four brass helmets with horse-hair plumes. He brought them with all
speed to his father, and armed himself first, while the stockman and
the swineherd also put on their armour, and took their places near
Ulysses. Meanwhile Ulysses, as long as his arrows lasted, had been
shooting the suitors one by one, and they fell thick on one another:
when his arrows gave out, he set the bow to stand against the end wall
of the house by the door post, and hung a shield four hides thick
about his shoulders; on his comely head he set his helmet, well
wrought with a crest of horse-hair that nodded menacingly above it,
and he grasped two redoubtable bronze-shod spears.
  Now there was a trap door on the wall, while at one end of the
pavement there was an exit leading to a narrow passage, and this
exit was closed by a well-made door. Ulysses told Philoetius to
stand by this door and guard it, for only one person could attack it
at a time. But Agelaus shouted out, “Cannot some one go up to the trap
door and tell the people what is going on? Help would come at once,
and we should soon make an end of this man and his shooting.”
  “This may not be, Agelaus,” answered Melanthius, “the mouth of the
narrow passage is dangerously near the entrance to the outer court.
One brave man could prevent any number from getting in. But I know
what I will do, I will bring you arms from the store room, for I am
sure it is there that Ulysses and his son have put them.”
  On this the goatherd Melanthius went by back passages to the store
room of Ulysses, house. There he chose twelve shields, with as many
helmets and spears, and brought them back as fast as he could to
give them to the suitors. Ulysses’ heart began to fail him when he saw
the suitors putting on their armour and brandishing their spears. He
saw the greatness of the danger, and said to Telemachus, “Some one
of the women inside is helping the suitors against us, or it may be
Melanthius.”
  Telemachus answered, “The fault, father, is mine, and mine only; I
left the store room door open, and they have kept a sharper look out
than I have. Go, Eumaeus, put the door to, and see whether it is one
of the women who is doing this, or whether, as I suspect, it is
Melanthius the son of Dolius.”
  Thus did they converse. Meanwhile Melanthius was again going to
the store room to fetch more armour, but the swineherd saw him and
said to Ulysses who was beside him, “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, it
is that scoundrel Melanthius, just as we suspected, who is going to
the store room. Say, shall I **** him, if I can get the better of him,
or shall I bring him here that you may take your own revenge for all
the many wrongs that he has done in your house?”
  Ulysses answered, “Telemachus and I will hold these suitors in
check, no matter what they do; go back both of you and bind
Melanthius’ hands and feet behind him. Throw him into the store room
and make the door fast behind you; then fasten a noose about his body,
and string him close up to the rafters from a high bearing-post,
that he may linger on in an agony.”
  Thus did he speak, and they did even as he had said; they went to
the store room, which they entered before Melanthius saw them, for
he was busy searching for arms in the innermost part of the room, so
the two took their stand on either side of the door and waited. By and
by Melanthius came out with a helmet in one hand, and an old
dry-rotted shield in the other, which had been borne by Laertes when
he was young, but which had been long since thrown aside, and the
straps had become unsewn; on this the two seized him, dragged him back
by the hair, and threw him struggling to the ground. They bent his
hands and feet well behind his back, and bound them tight with a
painful bond as Ulysses had told them; then they fastened a noose
about his body and strung him up from a high pillar till he was
close up to the rafters, and over him did you then vaunt, O
swineherd Eumaeus, saying, “Melanthius, you will pass the night on a
soft bed as you deserve. You will know very well when morning comes
from the streams of Oceanus, and it is time for you to be driving in
your goats for the suitors to feast on.”
  There, then, they left him in very cruel *******, and having put
on their armour they closed the door behind them and went back to take
their places by the side of Ulysses; whereon the four men stood in the
cloister, fierce and full of fury; nevertheless, those who were in the
body of the court were still both brave and many. Then Jove’s daughter
Minerva came up to them, having assumed the voice and form of
Mentor. Ulysses was glad when he saw her and said, “Mentor, lend me
your help, and forget not your old comrade, nor the many good turns he
has done you. Besides, you are my age-mate.”
  But all the time he felt sure it was Minerva, and the suitors from
the other side raised an uproar when they saw her. Agelaus was the
first to reproach her. “Mentor,” he cried, “do not let Ulysses beguile
you into siding with him and fighting the suitors. This is what we
will do: when we have killed these people, father and son, we will
**** you too. You shall pay for it with your head, and when we have
killed you, we will take all you have, in doors or out, and bring it
into hotch-*** with Ulysses’ property; we will not let your sons
live in your house, nor your daughters, nor shall your widow
continue to live in the city of Ithaca.”
  This made Minerva still more furious, so she scolded Ulysses very
angrily. “Ulysses,” said she, “your strength and prowess are no longer
what they were when you fought for nine long years among the Trojans
about the noble lady Helen. You killed many a man in those days, and
it was through your stratagem that Priam’s city was taken. How comes
it that you are so lamentably less valiant now that you are on your
own ground, face to face with the suitors in your own house? Come
on, my good fellow, stand by my side and see how Mentor, son of
Alcinous shall fight your foes and requite your kindnesses conferred
upon him.”
  But she would not give him full victory as yet, for she wished still
further to prove his own prowess and that of his brave son, so she
flew up to one of the rafters in the roof of the cloister and sat upon
it in the form of a swallow.
  Meanwhile Agelaus son of Damastor, Eurynomus, Amphimedon,
Demoptolemus, Pisander, and Polybus son of Polyctor bore the brunt
of the fight upon the suitors’ side; of all those who were still
fighting for their lives they were by far the most valiant, for the
others had already fallen under the arrows of Ulysses. Agelaus shouted
to them and said, “My friends, he will soon have to leave off, for
Mentor has gone away after having done nothing for him but brag.
They are standing at the doors unsupported. Do not aim at him all at
once, but six of you throw your spears first, and see if you cannot
cover yourselves with glory by killing him. When he has fallen we need
not be uneasy about the others.”
  They threw their spears as he bade them, but Minerva made them all
of no effect. One hit the door post; another went against the door;
the pointed shaft of another struck the wall; and as soon as they
had avoided all the spears of the suitors Ulysses said to his own men,
“My friends, I should say we too had better let drive into the
middle of them, or they will crown all the harm they have done us by
us outright.”
  They therefore aimed straight in front of them and threw their
spears. Ulysses killed Demoptolemus, Telemachus Euryades, Eumaeus
Elatus, while the stockman killed Pisander. These all bit the dust,
and as the others drew back into a corner Ulysses and his men rushed
forward and regained their spears by drawing them from the bodies of
the dead.
  The suitors now aimed a second time, but again Minerva made their
weapons for the most part without effect. One hit a bearing-post of
the cloister; another went against the door; while the pointed shaft
of another struck the wall. Still, Amphimedon just took a piece of the
top skin from off Telemachus’s wrist, and Ctesippus managed to graze
Eumaeus’s shoulder above his shield; but the spear went on and fell to
the ground. Then Ulysses and his men let drive into the crowd of
suitors. Ulysses hit Eurydamas, Telemachus Amphimedon, and Eumaeus
Polybus. After this the stockman hit Ctesippus in the breast, and
taunted him saying, “Foul-mouthed son of Polytherses, do not be so
foolish as to talk wickedly another time, but let heaven direct your
speech, for the gods are far stronger than men. I make you a present
of this advice to repay you for the foot which you gave Ulysses when
he was begging about in his own house.”
  Thus spoke the stockman, and Ulysses struck the son of Damastor with
a spear in close fight, while Telemachus hit Leocritus son of Evenor
in the belly, and the dart went clean through him, so that he fell
forward full on his face upon the ground. Then Minerva from her seat
on the rafter held up her deadly aegis, and the hearts of the
suitors quailed. They fled to the other end of the court like a herd
of cattle maddened by the gadfly in early summer when the days are
at their longest. As eagle-beaked, crook-taloned vultures from the
mountains swoop down on the smaller birds that cower in flocks upon
the ground, and **** them, for they cannot either fight or fly, and
lookers on enjoy the sport—even so did Ulysses and his men fall
upon the suitors and smite them on every side. They made a horrible
groaning as their brains were being battered in, and the ground
seethed with their blood.
  Leiodes then caught the knees of Ulysses and said, “Ulysses I
beseech you have mercy upon me and spare me. I never wronged any of
the women in your house either in word or deed, and I tried to stop
the others. I saw them, but they would not listen, and now they are
paying for their folly. I was their sacrificing priest; if you ****
me, I shall die without having done anything to deserve it, and
shall have got no thanks for all the good that I did.”
  Ulysses looked sternly at him and answered, “If you were their
sacrificing priest, you must have prayed many a time that it might
be long before I got home again, and that you might marry my wife
and have children by her. Therefore you shall die.”
  With these words he picked up the sword that Agelaus had dropped
when he was being killed, and which was lying upon the ground. Then he
struck Leiodes on the back of his neck, so that his head fell
rolling in the dust while he was yet speaking.
  The minstrel Phemius son of Terpes—he who had been forced by the
suitors to sing to them—now tried to save his life. He was standing
near towards the trap door, and held his lyre in his hand. He did
not know whether to fly out of the cloister and sit down by the
altar of Jove that was in the outer court, and on which both Laertes
Hidden face Jan 2013
Broken. Time. Her only token. She's fallen from grace. He just wants space. Broken. Disgraced. Yearning. Rocks. A shattered window. A broken heart. She's quite distraught. She trusted him. Jaded. **** him. Broken. So far gone. Withdrawn. A broken glass. She resembles. Crystal clear. Translucent. Underneath. Deceit. Her heart, unsewn. Her mind, so far blown. Broken. She can't see her token. Her life. The value. Broken.
Harper Oct 2012
Midnight honeycomb
Songs of being alone
Funk chunk xylophone
Ribbons untied
Capsules split by
Things unknown
Rips unsewn
Floating free for all
Casket creep crawl
I dug you out of things too heavy
Too heavy
Too heavy
Broke the levy
We all drown
But the sound of things unfathomed
saved us from ourselves
I think I'll take a trip to I don't know
So I can sit back and whistle low
Thinking about all the loves I've come to know
Thinking about how they go

I'll sit warm with morning sun
Kidding around can be so much fun
Golden rays upon my plate
Eat up my waffles , it's getting late

I wondered where the pale moon went
He's out moonlighting is what I think
All last night he was certainly a no show
But who am I to even know

Somewhere there's a distant dream
Hiding behind the unsewn seams
There's a tear in the universe
I guess it could be so much worse

The clouds are playing tag in the sky
Fumbling around , putting on a show
Watch out as one falls down
The tears are falling , I might drown

I think I'll take a trip to I don't know
This world is running 'round,
Further out of my control.
In everyone's tears, drowned.
Coursing in my blood, runs phenol.

Burning everywhere I go,
That poisonous mix pumps.
Seeping through icy veins so slow,
Making me a useless fleshy clump.

They see me running, screaming
****** ****** in this awful town.
With great force from within, beaming
These filthy lies in full meltdown.

Yet, no one sees my frightful scene.
How can they? I'm sitting alone.
This moment, so wretchingly serene.
Still, my life is coming unsewn.

I feel it laying down now,
My life, so quietly it snaps.
So regally it suffers, I must bow,
For this substance causes collapse.

Burning inside I smile, so small,
Thinking of the glorified cause.
I gave up, taking this horrified fall
And making it to life's last pause.
Orion Schwalm Nov 2010
A podium stands out against the Heavens
Decorated with the bodies of forgotten martyrs
fire from the sky sears the flesh of those undying,
forever locked in a space where the world's memory does not
reach.


I can see this podium
                                          as fate flashes dimly,
projected onto the screen of my unsewn heart...
strewn across the clouds, covering the hole in the sky where Hell breached long ago, the blood dripping demons into the destinies you venture.

As I stand at the top of the mountain
carved from my predecessors
And scream to the stars
         With a sound that would make gods' lips quiver
                    Busting lungs to ask for my heart back,
To seal up the hole that spawns the darkness in your life so the skyfire burns away your torment...light strikes my face...pierces my bones.
                                                I fall from my podium into your night.


                                                It is storming here.
Melissa June Dec 2013
Silken curtains raise, strings firmly yank 
controlling my feet I unwillingly rise
my mouth woven shut, eyes blank
as I'm secured by knots, my master ties
 
Fastened, onto imperious boards 
once attached vivid strings dim
he manipulates my body, with his cords
maneuvering my every limb
 
I hang, by his dominating twine
my mind thus not my own
until I snip the facilitating line
once his strands of thread are unsewn  
 
Awaiting for his strings to be disintegrated
for his binds that own me, to disappear 
though curtains remain open, threads integrated 
I still, his marionette and he, my puppeteer.
And the time will pass me bye
As i sit around and wonder why,
As to whats lifes plan in minds eye.

Schooling perhaps to strike it rich,
End my struggle and find lifes glitch, take that life you're now my *****.

But not so fast as things are known,
Family wrought to cast the stone,
To **** me dry, to leave unsewn.

Raised by wolves, the weak shall die, or find another, to hear thy cry,
Found another, relief, a sigh.

Marriage bells ring as love unfolds
Secrets rise and become untold,
Was i loved before her heart grew cold?
Ceida Uilyc Aug 2017
Subtle miseries
Curled, twisted and Coiled
On a burlap
Of satin sheen or silk
Flowing Red in Veins of Rugged Black
She paused to look back, but once.

Needle Street was not Panicky.
Today.
Walk Away.
You can.

Amber flutters
On a glittering silver
Iris bores
Until it zizzes
Gorging the blue embers of torment to loll

Cringe not, brop.
Why Live
When you don't live

My pithy and Apathy
Why Ever Did I Mourn
When all is a yarn
Unsewn and Fierce  
Rolling Lint Unworn
Unleash the Dragon to See another Dawn

When all was lost, never coming back
Shed a drag of teary-eyed-remorse.
Repose with a dab of poesy
Linnea Dee Jun 2013
Let your mind flow.

Let the thoughts swirl.

Let your words come out of nowhere.

Out of nowhere.

But somewhere something happened.

No cliché figurative flickering fluorescent set you off, no slight nudge sent you *******; no, you've been lit on fire. You don’t know it, but you’re burning. But that flame is not the one nestled neatly in your grandmother's fireplace, nor the uniform petals licking up at underside of her tea kettle. It is a forest fire, raging and impatient, intent on turning over and devouring every leaf of your inspiration until you let it out. From far away it might appear to be merrily orange, but underneath it's blazing blue and white.

Maybe you can feel it. A burn like that would leave a mark.

Those stories that crackle from your tongue are going to tear this world down and replace it with one of their own. The energy they create is irresistible. It will consume you like old newspapers in an autumn bonfire.

Yes, it will consume you, just like the search for the perfect word. Remember? That tickling on the tip of your tongue that will not go away, not in hell, until you can name it. You’ll wrack your brain for hours, sometimes days, as though it were a cluttered attic and in the most hidden corner huddles your word, grinning impishly when you stumble upon it. That quest that devours your mind again and again is only the beginning, the end, the in-between, the pinpricks of color on your canvas that make up your painting, your masterpiece. And it will be a masterpiece. Your beginnings and your ends and your in-betweens will become a wonderful whole.

But, a warning. The window to your mind is not the lens that everyone will look through. Those whose opinions distort their sight will tell you your beginnings are simply weak scaffolding, your ends have loose threads that remain unsewn, and your in-betweens are only the unoriginal fluff of a muddled mind.

Their words, however, are only kindling for your fire.

Watch them burn.

They will learn to respect the writer.
jennee Aug 2015
I hear the clicking sounds
The reloading of a gun I do not own
I feel the weight of the object on my hands
And the mountains I climbed crushing my soul
My fingers dig deep into the skin,
Trying to find the demons that hide within
I entrust my secrets to them
Enough to confide my fears that I keep
They listen but their lips stretch wider into smiles,
Their embraces are welcoming,
But they leave me with marks and open veins
"I'll take care of you, you'll be fine", they lied
They kiss me with their razor blade mouths
I give in, trying to let them into my secured mind
I strip my clothes, almost like a salutation
They accept me with a bouquet of lilies,
And patches of unsewn skin
My body, my arms, my thighs are exposed

The next thing I know,
I am left with trails of fresh crimson,
And my life dripping into the mouths of my demons
Feeding the core and the blackhole I am engulfed in

n.j.
Lora Lee Oct 2015
Small Issues

When she unlocks her heart
It all comes out
Pouring in a stream
Without seeming end
Everflowing, not always like a river
But rapids
Frothing and bubbling
Heart flushing out poison
Like after a hard night of drinking
When a friend holds hair back
And all the ugliest, nastiest parts  roar  out
Pushed , upchucked
Without control.

Outflow of bitter
Salt of tears
Tears, unsewn, sometimes ripping bigger
Sometimes just bearing it
The worse for wear.
The fabric of her soul
Is often many-layered
And multi-hued.
Rough-spun jute
Next to softest silk.
But today, as heart is opened,
The key misplaced,  
She cannot hold back.
Dizziness and nausea take over.
Silk is torn and waves like a flag.

She raises hands, in supplication
Before holding onto the nearest
Steadying object, be it chair or rail.
Hope arises
for sweet beneath bitter
for clean, warm blood
pumping with life, and flowing  purely
for feeling clean after all the poison is out.
She knows it is there, deep down under
muscle and tissue
She knows
light-filled energy is
somewhere shining
in a low rock pool
right around her solar plexus.

"How we only need,"
she thinks.
"To work out
a few small issues."
Relief
And exhaustion
Take over
As she reaches
for tissues
to wipe away pain
and lie down to rest.
There is some down time
before the next test.

Feb. 2014
Matt Walsh Jun 2013
Just a little something to make you smile
Something to keep you warm for a while
The love from friends that can be felt for miles

A tripod has three legs for us
Stitched, secured and sealed by trust
Friendship over the cracks and
Good jokes are always a must

So while you read this please
Remember you aren't alone
There are still two more legs
Even when seams become unsewn
They will be there to take care of you

Friends forever,
                            Down
                                        To
                                             The
                                                     Bone
In memory of Alex Kane
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
Most love stories follow a similar pattern.
One which unfolds in chronological order.
How quickly that pattern grows mild,
underwhelming.

What if the same love story was told in reverse?
(Hear me out.)
What if the story started at the relationship's end,
and progressed to the beginning?

Two lovers being slowly unsewn from each others' memories.
Back to a time before the two had ever met.
Then what?
Samuel Carl Oct 2013
Am I him or am I her
Sometimes I don’t know .
In real life, I'm timid
In her life, I'm a bold soul.

I do not hide, I do not flee
And every door has a key
People love her, she's endearing
And her lovely eyes are searing.  

Time breathes on, and she is down
People look at her with a frown.
Oh they know...how can they know?!
The weaves of manipulation unsewn.

...and here I am now.
It's just like purgatory.
You float and think of what you've spun
And how in the world it can be undone.
I'll play the tinker toy,
You play your game.
Use me, abuse me.
For boredom, I'll take blame.
Emotional backboard
My role and my place.
I'll keep you happy
Til you forget my face.
My role as your keeper,
One of tarnished brass,
Is full of rewards
Seldom worth all the gas.
And please hear me beg you,
A toy of my own,
To fill in the space,
That you just leave unsewn.
Sophie Oct 2017
This is not what I expect'd from the fall
Life took turns that I could not have foreseen,
Asking me, begging me, forcing me: "preen".
People, gone; as though life's no love at all,
For the ones I might need, ones I might call,
In darker hours. But why not intervene?
I gleaned knowledge I did not want to glean,
Of time, of love, and of death's quiet call.

I also, although, did not expect light,
Nor strength, nor courage. I was gathered up
By one, well aware of my hopeless groans.
Renewed with Spirit, I leaned in to fight.
Pulled in, that I might witness You closeup.
This season no longer seems one unsewn.
Lucia Urreta Aug 2021
clouds roll across the sky
in an overture heralding the coming of
storms, of flashes of light in a spectacle of
natural birth and suicide. thunder rips apart the
fabric of the heavens, leaving seams unsewn to rain
upon the damp earth agape. were it that sunshine was rare,
that amber light shone only through the darkness of stratocumulus
and curtains of raindrops would we beg the tempest to stay.
trees tremble in the prelude of wind knowing that they
must too bow down to the deluge. the first ripples on the
water paint labyrinths over duckweed and tadpoles, the afterbirth
of the floods, so does petrichor. that fragrant herald of life
and destruction place itself in fractals throughout the golden
air, filigree all but invisible to verse, and the poet that creates it.

it could be just a drizzle, nature watering her creation
the only electricity the excitement of the mosses and ferns
to recieve communion again. the war-drums of thunder may not
sound, only drops falling on water in a steady
percussive rhythm hypnotizing and maddening, accompanying
the wind blowing the trees in a millenia-old melody.
this poem could only be Romantic musings of the grand
memories of an antediluvian hurricane that never
occured or was witnessed, images and sounds that can
never be seen or heard, known by storms.
SassyJ Jan 2017
Ropes are left unhang
at the demise of the fangs
as the babies cry on the arms
of unopened protested farms

No kin or even kings
but there is a keenness
as the wood toss on a saw
of the trims of time unsewn

I'll let them run and bathe
under the sunsets tale
I'll feed them rhythm and blues
as the skies covers all their hues
One day.... just a thought.
Fish The Pig Apr 2014
I'll play a song for you,
you who told me I was strong
when the bruises raged on.

I'll write you a melody,
for you who was the armor against their words
and happily sat in the sinking ship alongside me.

you who turned your back on the world
because nobody understood us, like us.
You who knew every inch of me
and I of you.
You who knew when I was lying
when I hadn't eaten-
when my stitches had come undone
in the middle of the night
there you were,
needle and thread in hand,
without warning,
simply because you just, knew.

This song is for you,

For the years you kept me company,
for the looks you gave
for the undying trust
from keeping the knife from shedding my wrist
for letting me know it's okay to break the rules
to know there is no shame in who I am
for letting me know day after day
that I'm stronger than any,
and I'm kind,
and I'm worth it,
and awesome,
and... that I shouldn't care what people think because,
because I'm all I need,
and
you'll always be here.

But you're not here.

So, I guess despite the unsewn stitches
and long nights
and month where I convinced myself I hated you...
I guess it's true that I'm all I need.

I've left behind who I was,
our names no longer rhyme,
you found someone else to rhyme with.
But it's okay because I'm ignoring
the pit in my stomach,
the void in my heart,
the voice I once used so often,
I'm ignoring it all because-
I'm all I need.

so indeed,
this song is for you.
You who told me,
from the start,
I can do this alone.
You,
who is more like an imgainary friend
I see ghost from place to place
every now and then...

This tune is for you.
This is my unshed blood
my nonexistent blade
my unsewn skin
Samantha Symonds May 2018
skeins spiral above coffee
where the screen remains unsewn and
blank as the seawater that
day before you flung stones and
disrupted the smoothness of my stomach
sending concentric voices
whispering to the shore where
tongues in conch shells
lapping say they won't be here long
we can break but we will not move
and I don't know how to tell you
that these letters we crochet
and stuff down wires with blunt pins
may stitch holes fraying in our hearts
but cannot knit a staff
that can part the sea
angelique Jul 2020
~i am a feeble sun, lurching,
my light bleeding through
phantasmagoric clouds of
dreams outgrown,
of spiritless contradictions,
of flesh and touch and stone

you are the half-moon ripping
day from dusk, a charcoal fugitive
stealing away emotion and trust,

and as the water runs salty
from the faucet in this room,
drawn into view
just like the coldest muse,

you evolve, meander,
you age and question and fall,
though you never seem to understand it,
still asleep inside your own walls

how do you survive in this asphalt amnesia
of punctured love and reluctance?
for nothing shows
on your woven face
of tusk and bone;

and love is just
another mistake
you've left to become unsewn
~
bitter
A Friend Oct 2021
How easy,
To rip the unsewn stitch
Or tear the thread of an untold tale.
Often these tapestries,
Tattered and stained with red,
Have experienced one reign after another.

— The End —