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Amir Jan 2012
me:  its just that
i walk passed you
sleeping so peaceful like
in the breeze of the fan
middle of winter chicago
my windows open
maybe i do burn a little warm
and i look at you
as i walk passed
and your all snuggled up
you're like
tucked in
all
snuggly
in them blanket
and i'm just saying
i walk by
look upons you
with the eyes i have in my skull
and see your closed ones
all within your own skull
and i'm all'thinking on who you are
thinking about whats in that brain
and all withins
and my look
upons
and so then, i'm like
what a good one
ya know
and so
Chris Saitta Feb 2022
There is in sadness a sense of Fall, of spacious leprosy where crippled thought like the outmoded nymph dies behind each tree, and childlike peeks out to let at least childhood disbelieve in its unhappy end.
     There is in sadness, a branch that holds the once-upons, the happily-evers, and the destined-to-bes, a sweet find for all in grief.  Each stem lends momentum to their pluckings.
          There is in sadness, a young man who cherishes dead leaves.  He lately held waxen happiness and knew this as his permanence.
Zulu Samperfas Mar 2013
The stress in my body was palpable, and at work, still heading to that dreadful place
The theater where I wasted countless hours and now had to go to an endless meeting
with death by Powerpoint and be told that if I just SMILE then students, even low
struggling, alienated, overlooked students who have fallen through the cracks of society
so early in their childhoods that they now prefer that dank and ***** environment to
daylight
But if I SMILE at them when talking about taking a standardized test which will determine
if these forgotten abouts and given up upons who are now hardened to that reality and resent any
disturbance of it, just SMILE and they will be excited to take that test and it's been proven by science after all said the principal who was also SMILING at us, the staff that doesn't matter except if you have been there a thousand years and one half and also went to one of their schools, and the Powerpoint, the powerpoint I could hardly watch because it featured our mascot the coyote hunting down and killing in the snow, and ended with a coyote, blood on its gums, snarling past the camera viciously, like a true predator, and that, that was supposed to motivate me to SMILE and get juiced to tell the downtrodden to look forward to their fate of failing the test and trying again and again in order to graduate.  Over and over, the same test. That haunting snarl.
That threat. That fake, pasted on smile. There is no love there, only control and threats and backstabbing, but it is only work.

And she stood there, her hand firmly massaging her chin as if there were whiskers there that needed to be combed and comforted and the high pitched presentation went on and I felt my body filled with energy and desire and maybe this is what a testosterone soaked man feels but
she didn't even look at me as I passed by, just made a purpose of staring at her set which is such a feeble attempt, that the big guy hasn't even been called in to help with it

And I thought the most satisfying thing in the whole world would be to just walk right up to her and clock her one in the face with my right arm which is stronger, followed by a left hook and some kicks and after that it would be just crazy mayhem and no girlish hair pulling because...
I was so angry and it was like a thirst to destroy this person who just picked up my accomplishment and called it her own to the applause of the smiling principal and the high pitched associated principal and his endless powerpoint the content of which I can't recall except to know it's a lot of work that no one wants to do and I volunteered for it and was rejected but I don't really want to work for a coyote who snarls and spits blood and tells me to smile and be warm.

But it was frightening, yes, more frightening to me than the pictures of viscious wild animals, because they are only animals, and just trying to survive.  
But I, the beast in me, the bloodthirsty anger and desire to destroy in fantasy was so
terribly and sensuously satisfying.
Kelly Weaver May 2016
The ideal beauty
Do we not have guidelines?
Different strokes for different folks
They appear to be well made
Built upons a solid foundation
In a world where everything done is judged
All relatively similar
All completely different
Admired from a distance
Please do not touch the art!
Violations and fees
Are we not beings?
So beautifully made
All works of art
Different definitions of such
Are they real?
Are we?
Some well recognized
Others independent
All beautiful regardless
Their eyes peer into our souls
“Why are they looking at us like that?”
Quoth the painting.
Who are you speaking of?
Alfa Oct 2018
I see beautiful black skin
Radiating from you
Bantu knots upons your head
And a familiar accent.
I go up to you and say hey
You look at me weird
I mistook you for my friend
She is dead.
A poem I wrote about my friend who went missing for months and found murdered, I once forgot she was dead and went up to a person who looked like her and said hello, the person looked at me weird and left. I felt hollow after.

— The End —