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Becka Estrada Oct 2012
So To See That You Are That One That Has Me In The Lies Of Your Perfection
I Am Falling Each Day More For You,
And It Hurts More As We Grow Stronger
You Keep Reapeating You Wont Hurt Me
Wont **** And Wont Lie To Me
But So You Are Lying To Me When You Say You Wont
I Know So Much Of You Not To Believe Anything
So Yes I Am The One Blind And Deaf
But The Heart Has Me That Way
Because As You Lie Those Words Keep Reapting The Sweetness
Of Your Soul. You Drive Me Crazy And I Am Enchanted.
Dont Lie My Untruthful Liar Because I Need You With Me.
I Love You And I Will Give Anyting For You,
Your Touches Are The Best And Your Lips Are The Softest Of All.
Yes, I Am Inlove With You And I Know I Am Getting Hurt...Tonight.
Ciara Jones Jul 2018
Did you know what I felt
When you spoke an untruthful truth
Did you see my happiness melt
When you thought you were trying to prove

Can you look out at the mountains
And see where the ridges formed
Can you look at the many fountains
And see their designed forms

What do you define as perfect
And what do you believe is worth it
Is it the reefs in the ocean
Or is it the truth you consider worthless
mannley collins Aug 2014
and looked into the mirror that the Isness of the Universe held before me.
Seeing nothing but the Isness of the Universes indifference
and glee at the ongoing 26 armed conflicts
it has initiated worldwide.
Seeing it possessing all the vanity and all the narcissism
worthy of a "god" or "goddess"or any "religious" leader. .
I am, as are all others,the individual Isness,
which is a small but equal,
individual autonomous and independent part,
of  the essence of the Isness of the Universe.
I am incarnated in this,the latest in a long lineage of bodies
dating back beyond numbers or clocks.
I am incarnated here to realise my true nature as an individual Isness.
Seeing naught but the Isness of the Universes perversity and destructiveness
manifest all around me,
in the various civilisations that have come and gone
and still remain ever warring and corrupt.
It is a hard thing to acknowledge that one is a part of the Isness of the Universe
when you are a separated part of it,
but truthfulness wins over "truth" any day for me.

Truthfulness is the only way to preserve my most precious possession which is my individual integrity.
I looked and saw corruption and shed just the one tear and  
shook my head slowly and sadly.
And I stood up and walked away ******* myself with hollow laughter
at how impotent and nackered the Isness of the Universe has become,
since it created the universe out of its own beingness.
All of us individual,one to each body,each a part of its very beingness.
I,this particular individual Isness, was there at the beginning,as were all others,
living the pure truthfulness of existence--as all individual Isness were.
In Union with the Isness of the Universe--not separated by bodies
Minds and GroupMinds and Conditioned Identities
and Group Conditioned Identities.
The Isness of the Universe acted biggy bangy turning its self into the Universe.
Then came the transition from less than nothingness
into existential beingness in a succession of bodies.
I separated from the Isness of the Universe and took the first of many bodies,
foolishly believing the things we had agreed on before selbst manifestatie would come to pass.
Naively believing that the Isness of the Universe's word would be honoured.
Fool that I was.
How untrustworthy and sly the Isness of the Universe has become,
hiding behind "religions" and the masks of many "gods" and "goddesses".
Using its many surrogate and shallow identities,
to manipulate and mislead my gullible fellow individual Isnesses
into the slaughter of War on an industrial scale.
Lauding the death of decency and honour and integrity
and non-violence and equality and unconditional love.
How vain and shallow the Isness of the Universe has become,vainly
demanding worship and praise and the blood of innocents
as if this petty narcissism is the raspberry sauce
on its cosmic Ice cream cone,to be licked avidly,
gore running down its chin.
How untruthful and evasive the Isness of the Universe has become,
a role model for death and war and criminality
and sexism and lies and untrustworthiness.
Who will help me talk sense into our progenitor
before it destroys life altogether?.
Is there any one out there who can stand with us
and talk back to our erring and errant beingness?.
Where are the real women and men,not the "seekers" with their endless narcissism and gullibility?.
Hiding behind stolen verses and concepts
taken from a million pornographic philosopies.
And please no prancing posturing chattering "poets" with
their fancy stanzas about love and destiny and
eternal bliss.
Oh and their "sincerity".
You against the world!.
more like you against those who would stop
you ******* the very life energy out of humanity.
Oh Cowards.
Are there no other Men and Women of Integrity alive?

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Becca Feb 2014
you
will
get
better
when
you
stop
convincing
yourself
of
what
isn't
real
© Becca 2014
Momus Dec 2014
I dream about writing you a love poem
One that is not misted over.
One that is not about him
But you, my beloved,
Because you are the only thing that I have ever wanted and I am tired of being so shy.

But this is hard.
This is even harder than  I thought it would be.
I am staring at the her at the end of my first sentence and trying to figure out how it will sound when it finally breaks free from lips.
I imagine it will coat my ******* strange new liberation and we will both rejoice.

 I refuse to write of you equivocally
And blend you into a neutral they
Or let yet another poem fall to chagrin.
I will not let shame cast shadows on our glorious love
No declararion of the truth could ever be an aberration.

So I write this love poem to you.
I do not scribble you deep into the binding or dust you lightly across my untruthful words.
I want to stain these pages with the red ink with our love.
You are not my secret to keep anymore.
You are the color I want to paint the sky.
g Nov 2013
Your words cut me like the harsh frost of winter. It's been a while since you've been gone but it's been winter year round, and I've been hoping for spring to melt away the bitterness in my head. There is ice on all of the paths and I keep slipping into a darkness that comes much earlier than it used to. I pray for spring to come, but all I've known is winter and what if it is harsher than these past few months? What if the warmth it promises is covered in morning dew and its smell is wrapped in our sheets?

Or what if the chains formed by the ice of quietly whispered lies keep me trapped against the post of un-forgetfulness? I'm beginning to believe the warmth that the sun brings has been trapped behind that same post you've locked me to, except the post is your bed, and it is the words that you let seep from your lips into my ears.

I have been longing for words delicate enough to live inside my heart but also longing for words of bravery strong enough to dance with my demons until I see the seasons change within me. I've been longing for spring. Desires glimmer in my eyes, grasping for the hope of change. I've been clinging to hope more fragile than lilac's petals when they first begin to bloom.

Spring was warm this year, but the nights were still cold and it froze me to the core. I hid under piles of blankets to keep my demons warm, but the fabric smelt like us and it only fueled the bitterness in my eyes. I could not even admire the flowers, never mind touch them. I imagined myself destroying them in my palm, much like you had done to me with every ungentle touch and every forced word through gritted teeth.

The summer promised warmth, but you promised love and I have yet to feel either. I was still frozen, I was still stuck in winter even if the sun kissed my skin. The ocean looked like your eyes and I will never forget your stare as long as the ocean remains a deep blue. The tide reminded me of every embrace you'd push away from, but I'd always come back for more because you remained there like the sand that matched the color of your hair. You were essentially always my ocean, but your ocean drowned me and I'm still recovering from every gasping breath and every un-spoken cry for an escape.

The salty ocean kissed my skin before the tide pulled it away again. Ill never forget the way the sun reflecting on my drenched skin reminds me of your shoulder the time I cried on it and left tear stains on your shirt as proof that you were once mine. This seems to be my only proof that the words "I love you" once escaped from your lips because I never hear them anymore and the small flower buds I saw when the seasons changed have begun to wilt the same way your feelings for me did, when I could no longer handle being used.

Fall came closer and I could hear it in your words and see it in your eyes when your gaze became more lifeless than your touch. I watched us both fall through the branches of empty promises we formed along side our webs of fading emotions which never seemed to soften our landing as we planned. The sky darkened the same time our chances at being okay again did, and I think I could see love's flame burning out inside of my own body, except I'm not so sure that the flame I was feeling was every actually ever love or just a rush of feelings and helpless falling into the pits of our disillusions.

The leaves were full of color and full of life, but there was little life in your words, and they fell into piles of lies. I wanted to jump in them, but I could hear the crunch of time when I was forced to choose if I would let you continue to touch me with an untruthful hand, or if I would leave as fast as the summer had.

I'm not so sure which month I would prefer to die in. To be honest, I died in all of them. Winter came back and the familiar fear of icy roads and bitter words were all I had left. I don't think I would last more than three months in winter, but spring left little hope. I was as fragile as every petal, on every flower, on every bush. I was broken by your words but to die in spring was to die by your hand and that is a fate I could never obtain in a peaceful manner.

The heat from summer approached and I swear I could feel your touch in every beam of sunlight that hit my skin. The warm rays hit my neck like the kisses you planted there and trailed down my spine like seeds that were meant to grow flowers inside of me. Or at least that's what I thought. Every cold fall day raised goose bumps of fear on my skin with the uncertain thoughts multiplying in my head. The seasons still change every year much like you did every time I thought I understood you.  I hoped one day the seasons would find a balance and allow my heart to beat at ease again; but that has yet to happen and I still live every day in fear that you'll bring another winter storm to me again.
RyanMJenkins Jan 2014
I find it interesting,
The way we mold ourselves to the given situation

Different faces means new spaces
to fill liquid in, intoxicate, and ultimately change them.

So we need our weapons clasped in our grip
catch a bad intention, make sure they're the ones who slip...

No!  We've been doing this all wrong.
Keeping the walls up inhibits growth to be strong
Even if it takes, "far, too long."
Inevitably we exclaim pitches that reside in the same song.

The color-changing, tree-walkers are said to blend into their environment.

This is actually not true.
They change based on light intensity, temperature, and mood.

The personality-changing, free-walkers change based,
On the type of reaction they want to get out of you.

After all you could be the ***** to hold together the whole scheme
Caught in a feverish nightmare, when it seemed to be a sweet dream

Solitary work is needed, *now
, to avoid a potential sting
And so I take the time to rhyme this,
Evaluating the nature of everything.

The mouth can be, but the eyes are not untruthful
They precipitate pictures, from the scary to the downright beautiful
Look deep within yourself, and see your own array of colors.
We may be blind to the importance of some priorities, but I feel we're all lovers.

"Hurt people hurt people," In my life it's a fact.
But remember you can only be responsible for how you act.

No offense or defensive tactics,
Throw the whole playbook out.
Conducting this vessel requires much practice,
Reflect needs of warmth for the seeds to sprout

Make sure you don't love someone, just for what they can give to you.

Highlight their radiance, for making you feel the way you do

The cycle, is only as vicious as one portrays it
The choice is ours, and I choose to change it.

Right here,
right now
Breathe in,
Feel the oxygen go down
Hold it,
For a moment
Every exhale reminds us,
That life's color is golden.
So fold up the clothes,
And walk out the door.
So many illuminated pigmentations to see,
~Everybody's a new world to explore~
Jellyfish Oct 2014
Acidic fury is exactly what I'm feeling, towards you.
The tactics that you've caused me to go through are so painful
I do not understand why you would be so untruthful.
It's almost as if I am floating upon this drift that is full of words you had said in the sweetest of voices.
"I love you."
"You're my stars, my suns, my galaxies."
I keep repeating these sentences thoroughly through-out my mind, every single night.
Remembering the tone, the beat, the eye contact you had made.
Trying to take in the truth, that it was always fake.
Your undying ability to lie straight to my face, was so horrid.
I am feeling betrayed as this 'Caraphernelia' settles in.
I am unaware of the day when my memory of you will fade away.
I hope it's soon.

Your voice is still ringing in my ears as I am dizzily spinning around in my mind,
Trying and trying to just get by this heart breaking of stages.
If only it were easier to forget your name.
Your name.
I will not repeat.
I do not want to say it, I will not cry screaming for you again.
I cannot.
There it is.
The words that you had said to me.
"I love you."
"You are my stars, my suns, my galaxies."
Now I'm crying.
I keep repeating these sentences thoroughly through-out my mind, every single night.
Remembering the tone, the beat, the eye contact you had made.
Trying to take in the truth, that it was fake.
This poem of mine specifically means a lot to me.
R Arora Dec 2015
This world, that we live in,
Is not at all less.
It is full of lies
And a lot of mess.
The innocent being abducted,
The honest being convicted,
There’s no ray of hope,
In this world,
Of untruthful, slimy *****.

It is so not possible,
To climb back up,
Because the world,
Is constantly trying,
To pull you back down,
In this ditch,
So that alone they do not drown.
This is what
You have to watch out for.



Everybody is selfish;
Nobody is yours,
Except your family.
Who is always there;
Even in wars.

People are bad,
And will always be,
You have to survive,
With dear ones to your support,
You have to thrive.
Go on, who stops you?
But watch out for these traitors:
That will always be near you.
Looking for a potential prey,
Every single day.
They will treat you nicely at first,
On cloud nine,
They will make you fly,
But what comes later,
Is something impalpable.
Falling through a canopy,
Into a trench that is
Unfathomable.


Come on! You have to get up:
Be strong,
You have to catch up!
This not the end,
But the beginning,
Of your story.
A story,
That will one day be exemplary,
For all,
In this howsoever bad world.

Success will follow you,
If you follow struggle;
This struggle will become obsession;
Obsession, your passion.
And passion is unstoppable.

That very day,
When you know your goal very evidently,
And the journey is your pal,
Nobody can stop you,
From being on top of the world.
And this time,
Nobody’s going to push you
Because on top,
You will be
All alone.
Larry Potter Jan 2014
Quack Doctor
Fake Supervisor
Bogus Professor
Deceitful Color
Common Denominator.

Bomb Inventor
Rifle Creator
Device Innovator
Reigning Terror
Common Denominator.

Untruthful Suitor
Promiscuous Actor
Love Collector
Artificial Amour
Common Denominator.

Abusive Creditor
Illegal Investor
Unlawful Director
Greed Factor
Common Denominator.

Rogue Investigator
Friendly Assassinator
Double Conspirator
Backstab Traitor
Common Denominator.
Zombie or Monster?

Zombie's thrive for flesh
Monster's thrive to ****
Zombie's are created
Monster's are born.

The night is the time for the hunt
Day is for the epic hunter
Hunting in the public is tricky
Mobs are easily spotted
Single target's is twisted in shadows

Zombie or Monster is my question
I fall under monster
I might appear to be sane
But in reality i'm just purple.

My soul gathers the blood that spills
My heart gathers the chills
My mind filled with thrills.

The body is like a bomb
Once pushed to the limit it explodes
This is not a lethal explosion
Just the force of Truth.

Those who don't get this are UNTRUTHFUL.
A monster might ****
But the **** might just be about spoken words not humans
Zombies are the instigators watching and not reacting
They do without knowing the consequences they expose to others.

I might be a monster
But all I do is **** the silence and shred them with truth
Truth which should be spoken but is dormant within one's self.

Zombie's show no emotion
While Monsters are the Motivators towards a solution.
Nicole Bataclan Jun 2013
You say one thing
But mean another
I feign a nod
Because I know
What you aspire

You keep by the rules
I use all the right tools
We play it carefully
Though we already
Share this affinity

We do not have
To pretend
By now
We are on the same
Wavelength

We say one thing
But we mean another
Such a farce
Because we both know
We are untruthful

However
The beauty of
This deceit
Is that we are
Aware
Of the truth
Behind it

It is a lie
That we need not
Demystify
The truth about
You and I
Being coy is that
You are crazy
About me
And the other way
Around

We say one thing
But our eyes intend
Another

And the heavenly feeling

If
We are both liars;
The two of us
Telling the same fib
To one another
Then quite frankly,
At the core of the
Conversation
Were we not telling
The truth
All along?
Jellyfish Sep 2017
They want me to be the old me
and dislike the way I am now.
Despite what they say behind me,
they smile whenever I'm around.
You only smile when you're hiding things. Just confront me like you did yesterday. I see through all of you.
Clarissa Clark Dec 2010
Dedicated to my mentor, Dr. Douglas Graham.

In a young girl's heart
there is happiness
and carelessness;
and as I hurled my little body
through the fields of tall grasses
there was timelessness
and freedom.

But,
as the days and nights
passed me by,
I began to learn of past and future.
I was taught
to prepare for the future
every moment of my waking hour.
I was taught
that with future
comes a past,
that since others
hold onto my past words and actions,
I should too.

As each day and night
continued to pass on by,
I began to learn of pain
and how to attach and identify myself
with that suffering.
The hurt grew stronger
as I witnessed
words of destruction being spewed
from the angry lips of people;
as I witnessed
the crime and actions of those mortals,
who simply needed love,
yet were justified as “bad people”;
as I witnessed
my own mother and father
express violence and hate
to each other
and themselves.

As the light of day and darkness of night
continued on,
I began to learn of entrapment and authority.
My animated nature
was condemned by adults and peers alike.
I experienced my soul diminishing
as those in authority
attempted to control my inherent curiosity.

And as those days and nights
continued to pass me by,
there was no change
in the substance of my youthful education.
I eventually retained, engrained, and acted upon
the new collective understanding.
The knowledge of society
that I was trying to figure out;
the concepts and beliefs
about the life of others
and the society of humans
that was forced upon
my subconscious mind.
Yet each idea I was unwillingly imbued
grasped no true meaning within
and lacked a sense of righteousness.

In a young lady's heart
there grew torment and fear.
And as I started to forget
those timeless days
spent under the sun and blue skies,
disconnection and sorrow developed.
My head began spinning
within the cycle of madness
that encircled my surrounding society.
A fear change
was controlling my life path,
yet the situations and people in my presence
began to transform.
There was a new understanding to be learned
but at the time of my somber confusion,
I was unaware of this fear-infusing change
being for the better.

As the suns and moons rose and set,
my breath was being suppressed
beneath the heavy burdens
I was taught to carry.
I began to find temporary refuge
in the ruinous activities
of attempting to find happiness and freedom
in untruthful relationships,
late night destructions,
and seemingly innocent masks.
I was afraid of change;
afraid of a change
that I had no control over.

But as the suns and moons
continued to rise and set,
I began to dread and have pity on my life.
I realized I was searching for the light
in my self-created cloud of darkness,
so I started to accept the reality
that ongoing evolution in oneself
as a way of life.

So as the sunlight and moonlight
shone their passing luminescence,
thus began the opening
of my eyes
and heart.
I came across a familiar,
but forgotten,
way of life
that stood out to me
for the first time.
My dreams longed
for change in the world,
but I was unable to pinpoint
the areas that needed transformation.
I remembered meeting a man
living a strange kind of life,
and I thought I should meet with him
once more.

As the days and nights
walked on by,
I learned with enthusiasm
for the first time.
I grew content with letting go
of the attachment to the past;
letting go
of my fear of change;
letting go of the collective understanding
I couldn't make sense of.
My father introduced this man to me
who opened doors in my brightening life
that I didn't know existed until then.
This man
spoke without contradiction
and focused on who I was
as a living being.

And I conceived,
as the days and nights
continued on,
that this man
shared a vision
with the minority of others
and I;
a vision
of recreating the paradise on earth;
a vision
of unity,
well-being,
and peace
among every living creature;
a vision,
I came to realize,
that I can help expand and grow
if I started the change within myself.

In a young woman's heart,
there is happiness
and carelessness.
And as I run through
the familiar fields of tall grasses,
there is timelessness
and freedom.

Because of two men,
early on in my life,
I have taken on
a different kind of path.
I now seek happiness and love
through my connection with nature
and personal congruencies.
I have liberated myself
from my past life
and have embraced who I am
right now.
And I have forgiven those mortals
who are involved in the collective dictation,
acting upon anger and hate,
because their heads and hearts
are painfully swirling
with the insanity of society.

Because of these two men,
these simple human beings
who guided me to the open doors
in my life,
my existence is dedicated
to our powerful
and profound vision;
I am dedicated
to helping those suffering lives,
lost in their clouds of darkness,
to the everlasting light of paradise.
To help them realize
that they don't have to keep living a life
void of such a resplendent reality.

Thank you,
for helping find my own light
and allowing the freedom
to radiate that glory
and let it brighten my life
as well as the life of others.

We,
as a whole in our minority,
have created a ripple of truth
that will expand to the mass consciousness
and transform every aspect
of life on this planet
to our vision of an absolute
peaceful,
loving,
brilliant,
unified,
thriving,
compassi­onate,
vibrant,
growing
and everlasting
heaven on earth.
Randy Johnson Dec 2015
I've been going to a Kingdom Hall and I've become a Jehovah's Witness.
The people are very friendly to each other which means we are blessed.
The Kingdom Halls have different preachers on each Sunday and Tuesday.
Unlike other Denominations, our preachers never receive pay.

At the Kingdom Halls, we are taught that Jehovah is God's name.
Some people tell lies about Jehovah Witnesses and it's a shame.
One lie that people tell is that we don't believe in Jesus.
We are good people, I hope that you'll come to see us.

Unlike other churches, we don't pass around a collection plate.
People at the Kingdom Halls are treated like family, it is great.
Besides listening to the preachers sermons, we study the Bible as well.
When people are untruthful about us, please ignore the lies that they tell.
syhlent blue Jan 2016
To love and be loved

We all crave the same fiery temptation

To feel and to be numb

We contrast the beauty of love

To be broken and to be rebuilt

We have all seen an illusion of love

To smile and to cry

We fear love because sometimes love hurts

To drown and to float

We sink in despair, waiting to be rescued

To be confident and to be insecure

We weren’t born the same

Most of us hate ourselves

Wishing to be remade

Or maybe wishing to never exist at all

To be heard and to be ignored

We hold everything inside because everyone on the outside is too busy to listen

To be untruthful or to be truthful?

Truthfully. .

We are blinded by our fears

So far deep in our tears

We run from love because we never been chased by love

We accept less because we think that’s all we deserve

We reject love because we are tired of getting hurt

We feel like we are ugly because he or she is more appealing

We camouflage ourselves because we feel like society will judge us

We die inside because we never felt alive

We limit love because we never experienced it’s measures

To love and be loved ?

We will never understand it’s depth

Why?

Because first we have to **love ourselves
abbey-b harrison May 2012
The word Friendship is hard, painful, mean and not fair
But if you treat it with care then the word friendship is the lullaby that sings you to sleep it can be a poll when your bout to mold but its not a fairytale that can be told because no on can see it but you.

One minute you look into their eyes you see hope and dreams that are at float.
I can’t explain friendship in any language or act
For a fact I know that a friend brings

Pain into your heart
It stabs you over and over again like a dart it cuts it open in half you cry your alone but why keep hanging on for just another cut why stay there when there is only a rock in your girlfriends heart
How you wish to go back wishing bigger and laughing louder pretending like you don’t give a **** or being beasties for the whole world to see
How can someone’s eyes have love and care but behind them there scared and untruthful.
You can’t delete the memories, you cant forgot the time they were there when no on else was or being that person who kept loving you back and forth.

And when they call your name you smile even thou it doesn’t reach those tearing eyes and how easy it can be to trust them and believe again.

If a tear goes down that cheek or your heart is a water creek then why hold on to the memories why not delete the last part of them.
The answer you were trying to find is not that easy to seek.

Because deleting theses memories would just make the memories bleak and cold and set to stone.

Cutting my hart ripping it apart is not a game I would like to compete in.                                                                                                                                                                                     you can stab me hurt me and be untruthful towards me but the thing that makes keep  holding on is why you leave a tear in my heart.                                                                                                                                   Every time you rip my heart apart with those hands every time you leave a scar you always leave a tear because leaving is not as easy as you want it to be .                                                                                                  it never seems like there still there but when I ask you the question why keep holding on why do you clutch your heart and say I’m never going to leave because there is a tear a cut and scar left on my heart for me to remember the times we stayed up and cried the days were we laughter till we died the deals the future was speeding  by  and the only thing we had left of each other                                                                  is my ripping dripping soul that sings my favorite lullaby my girlfriends heart.
hoped u like it plz comment no one usually does. sorry about spelling but i'm more looking at the creative side not grammar. :)
LiquidMetalFox Sep 2013
Entering the void with rainy eyes induced by the manipulating agent who was undercover under her covers. And as the rush came this lush dame was soon abandon in the emptiness which were her hopes and dreams/ she could not cope but scream in the darkness that now became her home. She graps at truth but it eludes her, only the false promises that were pumped into her heart remain. They whisper to her constantly, spewing poison in a fading mind, eviserated spirit; body laying in twisted sheets staring at a pitch black celling that reminds her of the heart that was cruely tricked and abandoned longing for the simpler times, but is now choked by the thorns of lost love.  Faith fades, confusion takes hold of once unshakable consciencness of oneself, paradise is lost; a dystopia now surrounds a once blissful secure island of Elysian splendor. Left alone, scorned; this furious angel is being driven maddingly insane by the cold silence that has taken the place of a loving embrace. A million thoughts and questions flood her mind but only one replays itself, "why"? And each time a tiny piece of her heart falls into her hand and slips out of the cracks like grains of sand. But this once radiant muse that would make even the mighty aphrodite envious must pull herself together for the burning light of reality is shining through the darkness cutting through revealing the vacancy which she did not think was possible and face the truth that her thoughts were not her own, but a well contructed fairy tale told from the parasitic snake that fed off her passionate trusting heart. She cries for release to come soon, but alas a new day is steady approaching and now she must hide that pain with a untruthful smile to take attention from the empty void left in her chest; as for the rest? That is unknown......
I drink in moonlight
like the lemonade hours of sun
that leak in through
broken windowpanes
wasted hours
like honey droplets of time
sink in bones and tint them yellow.
Hands so big they could swallow me whole
wrap around my waist
and lick swollen elbows with fire.
Rotted fruit with
sickly sweet perfume
penetrate my
memories
and imaginary kisses.
I used to think I liked melodic voices
and soft leather jackets
winks like untruthful sweet medicine
melancholic lies and performances.
Conversations stretch like
curly cords of telephones
glowing screens wash rooms
with blue light
and sink in mattresses for future dreams
Jeans laced with smoke
and signals
questions and confusion
the sound of my heels on pavement
all little love songs
singing your name.
sk.
Seema Jul 2017
I have dealt with this before,
This feeling...
I am dealing with it again,
This feeling...

The outer look matters
Rather the taste of inner
The shape and color of a bottle
Looks fancy and appealing
Rather its contents, so bitter

Beauty on face, complexion
So beautiful
Inside a dark, deep infested nest
Ugly and untruthful

Painted figures, expensive makeup
Lucious lips
Pleasing to ones eyes
Caring heart, kind soul, unpleasant appearance
Yet, doubtful cries

Whatever is beautiful, matters!
Regardless to the consequences
Most see the outer appearance and judge
Hardly see the innocent smile,
                            ...of the less fortunate

©sim
Judging people by their outer appearance is a disgust. Love yourself and appreciate others how they are.
mannley collins Jul 2014
All these whinging intellectual poetic wankers,
scribbling Conditional Love "poems"that boringly
lament why they are such obvious  failures
at the game of life and self realisation.
Spewing out weasel words of poetic hypocracy while
wrapped in navel gazing infantile emotions.
Writing degenerate untruthful words about a love
they'll never know or never have known,
as if unconditional love can be bought
at the local Walmart.
Voluntarily assisting the machinations of mind and groupmind,
since their birth into a lifetime of Conditioned Identity,
in the servitude of the Amerikan Oligarchy .
Strings of meaningless associated words,
lines of lies about life and love that are ever popular with "poets".
Starting with every one of the so-called "holy" books
from millennia past--calling for suicide bombers
and child killers to strut the world stage
spewing  religious racism and sexism like enlightened beings..
After all words have NO SHAME
nor have poets..
Sin Verguensa.
Words have NO GUILT
nor have poets.
Words have NO EMBARASSMENT
nor have poets.
You cannot hide  behind your lies from me.
I see you--I have nous.
Your beard is transparent.
Your unceasing lies deny to others information
to which they are entitled,
"poets" are the worst LIARS of all,
so easily spottable .
Read these pages--see for yourself,
through my eyes .
See the silly ****-fed children of the Amerikan Oligarchy,
wrapped in spangles and colours --posturing like super-heroes.
Vomiting verbal diahorea in lifes gutters,
appealing for just one more chance
to play at love and humiliation.
People with low IQs and lower morals
pretending ,as always, to be mature and human,
characters moulded like products of talk show hosts .
No integrity.
No truthfulness.
No honour.
No decency.
No morals except those learned from Readers Digest.
No to these escapees from the gallows of decency,
torture instruments dangling round their necks,
their prophet validated by being nailed and denied.
Robyn Neymour Oct 2010
I saw the hawk,
Steady, awaiting, eager.
Violence await the clouds,
You can see it in the sky.
Earth drums beat loudly.
Thunder clashes,
Like symbols from afar.
The eagle at a set pace,
Laughs at his friend.
For he has nothing
To worry about.
Happiness the evidence,
Of untruthful love.
For what is real,
In the hawks eyes?
Willing to pretend,
The seagull comes,
And glides over the sea.
Only to be eaten,
By the shark that awaited,
It’s loving peaceful return.
The hawk stares,
There is no way out.
Captivated by love and lust,
Which door shall be,
The way out?
The eagle sees the confusion,
But the owl seemed wise.
In his delight,
He ate the rat with pride.
The hawk decided it was time.
So he flew,
Through three doors,
And behind the seagull,
He waited in line.

©
© RGN - Oct 25  2010
B Irwin Dec 2016
I have been depressed. I will not say am. This is a six year ongoing illness that is formed itself into a personality trait, and now an uncomfortable, casual day to day topic.
I wish I could take the heaviness out of the words “I want to **** myself.” because they have never felt like a heavy sentence to me. They are words that string themselves through my brain at least twice a day and occasionally can be formulated into joke at my expense.
I tried to **** myself when I was twelve. It was a two week long ordeal. I was a hospital project for a week, an out of home charity case for a week, and after that, it became a running joke.
“Do you still have a few screws loose?”
“Are you still a basket case?”
“How many pills you think you could swallow?”
Over six years, I have become a great actor. I am best at holding my tongue, swallowing my spit when my throat is closing, and pretending like I am breathing steady. I often laugh in the face of my problems and I distance myself from people when I feel rocks sitting on my chest so they don’t smell the rot of a dying conscious. I have never been untruthful either. Just honest in a way that wears a theatrical mask and relinquishes an audience from an awkward state of “wow, I’m really sorry.”
But some nights are the farthest things from jokes.
Some nights are all choking up on words that don’t make any sense and some days are “nobody actually likes you.” Some days are not having enough energy to do laundry or dishes and then  hating yourself because how could you, you’re so lazy. Most nights are complete self hatred and manic heaving into a wet pillow while your brother sleeps quietly in the next room.
The worst thing about depression is that it’s so uncomfortable. It’s become such an awkward conversation to me. It’s like coming out as something that nobody has ever seen before until it’s living in front of you. It taints everything I do with a feeling of disbelonging with the people that love me because I don’t believe that my depressed presence is comfortable enough for others.
But I am trying. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up to a sun that still shines, even if it is covered by clouds and I will still be depressed. I will pick up a book that  I haven’t started, and wait in a sitting room full of other people who are emotionally sick. I will be the same person that I am, and have been. And I will know that right now, I am also trying very hard to become so much more.
An open letter about how I have been feeling and trying to describe mental illness in a way that makes sense to me.
Maya Caroline Nov 2012
It is all in me yet seeping out.
Spilling onto the thick, clammy ground.
My motives gain no ambition
and I will toss my untruthful tactics into the abyss.

Exhausted, worn-out, pale and quick.
First sighted, then gone.
And again and again.

My fists are coming back to me torn and beaten.
My soul is attempting to return to me.

Torn and beaten.
Shay Ruth Nov 2012
Surrender proceeds jingling bones
A path remained unfound
In it's place stands
No option but up
Or down, or any other way possible
Protection comes from
Ambiance; choked on the woes of wooing branches
What have they seen? Who will they touch?
What corpulent feelings protrude
From a vacant, verdant lung
How now will screams fall?
Like the buoyancy of oak, suckling
Syrup, sweet, from
Distressed veins of age
When air stands taller
Untruthful containers, thoughts swell
She never may know of her inevitable bliss
Am I in Love?

At night, laying sleepless,
I bemoan the treacheries of life
with my love
and appreciation....
And though,
in my dark,
and cavernous foundations;
Roar the pillars of stone,
and shake them.

Waked,
by curiosity,
and interest,
I stare intently at you,
and though I cannot see,
You are there.
Tangible,
by my creativity,
and invisible,
by my negativity.
And through the secret game
that to many, has forbidden name
we speak.

Fear,
and pride,
my greatest hatreds,
now run through me,
though the game of
Predator, and Prey.
I am the prey,
of myself,
in the black vapors
of my confusion,
you two rought me
with confusion
elaborate,
and woe,
despicable.
My thoughts now strand
off into many divisions,
all joining together,
to reveal my fear,
of disappointing you.

The thing we connect through bings,
and so we remain in contact, it seems.
But ever, we thought beautiful
I am marred, and proved untruthful.
You do not deserve me,
but somehow
in this void-feeling heart of mine,
I sense you care.
I care.

Am i in love?

My Mind craves you,
and I put much emphasis on that,
for that, might,
just might,
be my undoing.
Should I look to the East,
to find you, riding, in
shining, and metallic armor,
And see only dust clouds
roam aimlessly from North to South.
But I hear banners, in the West,
all risen high,
as high hopes,
and high spirits,
to guide them.
This, is what I've waited for,
for years,
as do we all.
But my misinterpretations,
now lead the banners,
with silver swords,
bearing the name of hate.
with this,
I deserve only
to lay my head down,
lamely, for you to hew it
from me, and call it,
Victory.

This, I forsee,
this unsensible
and crazed
sight,
that passes through me,
and guides me
to all darker paths of light.
So that I may be dimmed,
and in a cycle refrained,
I should, as a doomsayer,
say my doom,
and I, as a fool,
should subconciously make that true.

This is what I see.
I fear, for you,
and fear,
for me.

I burden all, though a child
and my will is heavy, upon you,
and wild, is my desires
and should you penetrate my curtains,
you should see,
the cold bitterness, of my truth.

But all the while,
mind and soul crave you,
and body revives,
slowly,
but surely.
I sense love,
and my stomach churns,
knowing I shall hang my head
in Guilt.

Am I In Love?
KA May 2014
i confess, i started hiding.

fake words with fake meaning.

i feel pain and real emotion in reality.  i will be ok.

i need to let out the real.

real me.

pain, emotion, fear and prickly sensations running down my arm.

i need to really feel now.

i thought maybe if i was witty fake me, that would be enough to bridge my self-loathing and fear......

...on to me. real me.

forgive me for my lie, the untruthful self i now expose.

i am me, i really feel.

i  am .



KT May 13, 2014
T'yana Brown Sep 2015
In a dark place
where everything use to feel so perfect

Lips are Silenced
where words held meaning and use to be spoken

Two of us we gathered
where the world may have thought we could've been broken

but ......

here's where deception came
and disappointed the both of us.

Forgiveness was given
Promises were in order
Until they became broken again

How could I trust thee untruthful
or look in the eye of someone who cant look into mine (Thee Cowardly)

My mental thought of you as mine everything but NOTHING'S TAKEN for one day you won't just see you shall understand what this could have been
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
i can't remember whenever i had a points
system for women,
i'm classical in my ****** tastes,
in that i do find plump women attractive,
as the black guys in school used to
say: more cushion for the pushin',
ha ha, that's ******* lovely,
that's like a christmas present without a
christmas...
  chubby girls really are the sorts,
then again, enough *** and that african
**** comes in handy real good...
imagine poor whitey with an african ***
of a woman:
        is it even in? is it? is it?
  i don't know, can't tell...
                     i thought it was in,
but then she clenched her ****-cheeks and
i started thinking about david hume,
road cones and copper hollow statues...
     seems there's a reason why african men
have 12" *****, and african women
have extensions of the ***** via their assess...
and by comparison anorexic whitey boy
***** are: gearing: all the more readied...
      oh, you want me to pick up
the slurppy seconds?
      how about that existential blackmail
when i retort: no!
i like continental existentialism of the
french, or of the german,
but of the english existential blackmail?!
*******...
   ******* right off!
     i'm not buying the david attenborough
gimmick of: expected to survive addressing to...
no, ****** no! you're not buying me
to make a politico statement!
         i actually have no white in me...
i'm all albino!
       i liked fattened women once,
in kenya i noticed the rich women from
the poor women...
the rich women were fat, the poor women were
poor...
      fat women are as much a fetish as women
in latex...
      you're hardly a man not able to
tell the difference...
                 point being:
if you haven't ****** a "*****" fat *****,
you haven't exactly allowed your wife
to perform her "heart on heart"
infidelity... men are ought only perform
infidelity with ******...
  after all, you're king arthur, turn
your hearts to stone... why would you
ever perform "infidelity" without a *****?
please, can she have the narrative,
the storyline, and you the hardened heart?
surely you can master the logic of:
well, i paid for it, how can it be infidelity?
i pay for a bunch of flowers,
how can it be infidelity?
  obviously a woman has no economic transaction
akin... so?
      i like plump women...
        what's there to miss,
i never had *** as a teenager...
          so what's there to mix or mind,
or miss?
                   then again i wish i never had
*** with this russian 19 year old,
mind that, i wish i never had *** at all...
     why bother having ***, when the payment
is so untruthful in the ask of compensation,
n'ah... *** is... well...
a baboon taking a **** always seemed more
interesting;
                 and the black guys always knew,
that their women were what they were,
and then the whiteys figured it all out,
saying:
     play the boy, never buy the mansion, *****!
The plagiarist hath vacated this space
Yet his shadow still lingers at the place
In the nose one well senses it about
So oft an odor doth waft on the air
Which can be veiled by visage fair
The eyes are peeled they're ever watching
For that person of the copyist's cloning
Twill not be duped by untruthful flout
This day of its appearance yet unseen
Could there be a hiding behind the screen
Though the master duplicator hath fled
His presence is hovering over the joint
Of type in image same he did anoint
Within HP's walls it doth share our bed
k f Nov 2012
(tripping gracefully over her gory visage,
        she bashfully, covertly unveils her
        untruthful veracity,
        invisible in all things seen)

her phantom form surrounds me and
slides her arm between my lips, into my mouth
                                                    finger - after - finger;
i slowly swallow her whole
(she leaves me no other choice)

the quick fog forming in my eyes
threatens to spill
(i think it does)
i choke, my teeth grazing her entangled marble limbs.

my once untarnished tower of a neck
now a blemished python, bruised by suffocation
finger-painting, hand-print impressionism in
                    russian red and prussian blue and palatinate purple

my angry lungs drink her in
the space between my thoughts and veins becomes considerably smaller.


(i am crowded,
        i am
                 o
                    ver
                          whelmed.)


e­xhausted, i gasp for words
but those too have left me a while ago,
when her impact carved that permanent indent on my chest:
i can never rest.
part of an unfinished series on beauty.
Stanley Wilkin Sep 2016
I snatched at her soul,
grabbed it and held it to my chest,
a beatific grin upon my untruthful face
glorying in her spasmodic transmutation-
her monotone vision
beset with confusion
her gender breaking in my grip.

Loping footsteps over taut, troubled seas
spawned secretions ejected
like flame-
her sighs, a storm
her cries subsumed in sanctified fire
without worship.
soul, gender, grip
THEREFORE; Be Imitators Of GOD as Dear Children. And walk in LOVE, as CHRIST also has Loved Us and Given Himself for Us, an Offering and A Sacrifice to GOD for a Sweet-Smelling Aroma. But Fornication and All Uncleanness or Covetousness, let it not even be Named among Thee, as is Fitting for Saints; Neither Filthness, nor Foolish Talking, nor Coarse Jesting, which are not Fitting, but rather Giving Of Thanks... For this thou know, that no Fornicator, Unclean Person, nor Covetous Man, who is an Idolater, has any Inheritance in thy Kingdom Of Christ and GOD... Let no One Deceive Thee with Empty Words, for because of these things the Wrath Of GOD comes upon the Sons Of Disobedience. Therefore do not be Partakers with them.! For thou were Once Darkness, but now you're Light in thy LORD. Walk as Children Of Light. ( For thy Fruit Of Spirit Is In All Goodness, Righteousness and Truth) Finding out what is Acceptable to thy LORD. And have no Fellowship with the Untruthful Works Of Darkness, but rather Expose them. For it is Shameful even to Speak of those things which are done by them in Secret. But all things that are Exposed are made Manifest by thy Light, for whatever makes Manifest is Light. Therefore; He says'' Awake, thou who Sleep, Arise from the Dead, and Christ will give Thee Light.'' See then that thou Walk Circumspectly, nor as Fools but as Wise.! Redeeming the time, because the Days are Evil. Therefore do not be Unwise, but Understand what the Will of the LORD Is. And do not be Drunk with Wine, in which is Dissipation; but be Filled with the Spirit. Speaking to One another in Psalms and Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Singing and making Melody in Thy Hearts to thy LORD. Giving Thanks always for all things to GOD thy FATHER in thy Name Of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Submitting to One another in the Fear Of GOD. Wives, Submit to Your Own Husband, as to the Lord. For the Husband is Head of the Wife, as also Christ is Head of the Church; and He is thy Savior Of thy Body. Therefore, just as the Church is Subject to Christ, so let thy Wives be to their own Husbands in everything. Husbands, Love thy Wives, just as Christ also Loved The Church and gave Himself for Her. That He might Present Her to Himself A Glorious Church, no having Spot or Wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be Holy and without Blemish. So, husbands ought to Love their own Wives as their own Bodies; He who Loves His Wife Love Thyself. For no One ever Hated His own Flesh, but Nourishes and Cherishes it, just as the Lord does the Church. For we are Members of His Body, of His Flesh and Of His Bones. '' For this Reason A Man shall leave his Father and Mother and be Joined to His Wife, and the Two shall Becomes One Flesh.'' This is A Great Mystery, but I Speak Concerning Christ and the Church. Nevertheless let each one of thee in Particular so Love His Own Wife as Himself, and let thy Wife see that she Respects Her Husband.... May GOD Almighty Continue to Strengthen Ours All In All In Every Aspects Of Our Life IJN... Amen and Amen IJN..!!
US WITH GOD
Mercury Chap Apr 2015
Stop.
It.
   Mind.
Just SHUT UP for once
Stop the streams from overflowing out from that useless brain
Put on breaks on the car you're driving fast and insane
Mind is stupid bleaming useless rhymes
To the twisted nerves of the twisted inward eye
Unfaithful teachings, Just stop before being taught
Untruthful preachings, it's all a lie but you don't get caught
You're all an illusion
But my thoughts, an addictive dillusion
It's all impossible things I think of
Then it's hard to breathe when I know it's true
That it's impossible to be with you
Just slow down the streams
That flow within me like a flue
Contagious to make me clear to stand away from truth
Stop deceiving me as if I am a stranger
Make things to me more elucid
Instead of pushing me into danger
Because I am a mere innocent kid
Trapped on your purposely slippery pathways
My car to future like this would soon skid.


You are me, you understand?
Stop pushing me and give me your hand
Take me up and up
Higher, I am not a scared pup
I know what you are doing
I am family, don't get me falling
DOWN
  BACK
TO EARTH
You are a part of me
Then let me see
How we could be
When we co-operate together in harmony.

So, brain,
Don't leave me alone
Be in control
Don't lose your track
I am behind your back
I'll be there for you
You'll be there for I
Let's not make us fall into the pit
Instead make the sky a target we should together hit.

Please don't cheat on I
Because you're the last one me trusts
Do never say to innocence your goodbyes
Or else like my words
We'll both be stuck here like
DuMb wOrst bUds.
To my brain. Please, don't cheat on me.
Noelle Nov 2016
I'm so inarticulate when I glance upon your face. I find myself lost too deep within you to make it out whole.  I've been tracing your effigy everyday, in the back of my mind. You're consuming me like a fire set ablaze in the deepest ravines, that I carved with loneliness and pain. Ravaging everything around me with thoughts of wonder. Enchanted with the way your fingers look in the jacket with three brass buttons. Yearning for your acceptance, I feel juvenile compared to you. The sun continues to rotate and I casually slip into an everlasting dream in which you are the stars. I thought I was ready to love someone but I have fallen back in my feelings. I wish to know you, I would give my mortal soul to know your touch for a thousand lifetimes even just if it was one fleeting moment. Verging on tears,  I'm more lonely than I have felt in months. Engulfed in the dismay, I simply wish I could captivate you, the way that I have woven you into every fiber of my being, simply by accident...it all feels natural to me. Stricken with the knowledge that you will tire of me, minutes, hours, months till everything I have encompassed means nothing to you. The leaves in fall won't remind you of my favorite season but of the dying facade I left behind. My untruthfulness will linger in the air, acrid and heavy. Untruthful when I told you I didn't care. Untruthful in the thought that I didn't have hindsight to part ways with you before I watched you drink yourself up to ask me for my number. There is nothing for me to lull myself to sleep in the early morning when you lay heavy on mind. There is nothing that quells the ache set cavernous in my bones, torrid against the flesh that houses my emptiness. There no outcome from this where I will ever be a whole person again.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2013
In prisons, there are no men.
Just those manipulating the system.
You'll find many still playing the con game.

Doing activities that gotten them in the mess in the first place.
Then cry quickly when things don't move fast.
I guess they must forget exactly, where they are at?

They quote Title Six in a second.
Or request for a inmate council meeting to complain.
And it's mostly about not getting their way.

Yes, in prison there is no men.
Take away their visits.
And they cry more.
Until you remind them, what they are in prison for?


They cry one phase constantly.
I'm an inmate.
When required to inform.
I'm an inmate.
When required to conform.

If behind walls and you can't be truthful.
Then in society you'll be untruthful.
But in prison there are not any men.
Probably, a few trying to be a women.

Then again, this is just an opinion about prisoners needing to change
Sad eyes i kiss the pain to ever embrace the salt of tear's matched with regret.
Till yesterday we cared as for now I can no longer say.
So long old friends do the nights silence cast memories for you as well?

Im far from a man who's became a stranger to goodbye's.
Storms cast far from shore seldom know the thunders much needed crash.
Open is the door but so closed is a old friends heart .

In a amber glass ive spent the last drop never leave regret behind.
Light's must fade as so must I.
Please dont look close for you may catch a glimpse at a untruthful soul.
Shades of hell often cast the most traggic yet beautiful skies.

We are all sunsets.
I hope only to paint the red embers across a sunsets demise .
Will are place forever be missed?
Or only a chapter in a books overdue close?

Time you've given me such a flawed view to all.
To sail off apon troubled waters perfect stillness never has been my style.
As to you all I wish only the best.

To the shadows  I have awaited your empty return.
Maybe one day we'll see it all same.
Paper ships cast in child's laughter ive been left aside to drift.


Tear's take the path roll for me if only once.
Tommorow will be someone else's sunset yet again.


Goodbye.
ryn Aug 2017
A leaf that falls from its perch
meets its death as it crumbles to dust
and is consumed by the earth.

It embodies the soil and is then
consumed again...
This time by its brethren.

A mind that falls from its perch,
its pedestal, meets its doom...
In a slow, agonising descent
that does not yield any end.

It falls endless...
crashes through layers of truth,
caught in webs of the untruthful.
Stretches apart and collapses into
itself until death comes to claim,
disguised as madness.
Ady Mar 2014
Your body is a canvas,
but the tongue of a blade should never be your brush,
blood should never be your palette
and bitter tears should never sting your skin.
Your body is a canvas,
touched by the brush of a petal,
painted by the tints of rosy joy and yellow sun,
your eyes should reflect the starry night
and the silver of a moonlit sky.
Your body is an altar,
it should never be desecrated by skeptics,
it should never be sculpted with bruises
and stained by the possession of manipulating demons.
Your body is an altar,
celebrated by passion fueled prayers,
adorned with ornaments of kisses,
and cleansed by candid disciples.
You are priceless and worth every struggle,
so don't let anyone deceive you in an opinion
based solely on their contorted perception
of untruthful quantification of our current
media,
because you are a sculpture in the Louvre
and a masterpiece is not worth the touch
of a violator.

— The End —