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cait-cait Oct 2018
i.

i told my mother the other day that i
have decided to be kind,
to love those
who love me (for no good reason)....

and because of, i want to take you in my arms
and hold you so tight
that the world cannot get in.
.

ii.

you are dressed in white, like
an angel, and
when you sleep, you murmur and
when
i watch, you smile,
instead of howling, and i wish

that you were that peaceful when
awake.

iii.

you are growing up, and i
watch the way you forsake your mother
and i watch the way
you puff up your chest with lies and then
cower when you see me ....

you are not innocent anymore, and i cannot
hold you to as such when
you hide behind a hood of your parents
protection.

iv.

your brother does not love me anymore,
and frankly, i do not care.

but you cannot see the stab wound, so
still, i am angry.

v.

i don’t think she loves her best friend anymore,
i don’t think she even loves me.

but how can you tell someone to cut a
piece of themselves off when
you won’t do it for them?

when you don’t even have the right.

vi.

i read a poem today, it was about war
and it was about foxes,
and
i thought of you again...
my fox,

you are a violence...
and a lover.

and when i remembered how you cut me,
i remembered why i have to cherish what i have.
this year, i met a girl who i didnt really like (for no reason), and the other day she overheard me telling my friend that i felt like everyone hated me. she looked at me and said "i like you." and i decided that i always need to appreciate the friends i have even if it feels like i dont have them.
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.

What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.

What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.

Shooting across the screen.

The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.

Sitting all day staring out the window.

Mother in hospice.

A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.

It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.

The after school sessions of comfort sped up.

Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.

Teacher student affair.

15 year old student found with 42 year old man.

When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.

Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.

Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.


Where's the specialty training for those who care.

The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.

The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.

Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.

The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.

Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.

Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.

The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.

Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.

The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
m Feb 2018
;fear

We felt it, with our hands pressed tightly against our child-chests.
Boom
Boom
Boom.

It sounded nothing like a heartbeat,
But explosions being let off in the distance.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt like sweat and dried ***** caked onto torn pajama pants.

We grew to know the insides of our mouths,
with our soft gums clutched between our teeth -
We learned that our voices were safer kept stowed away there.

We picked at their hands like we picked at our scabs,
Because pulling off healing skin,
felt like pulling off a rooted burn,
And prying off desperate fingers from off our bones,
Meant prying off something that terrified us.

This was our strength;
This was our paralysis.

We felt it, with our ears pushed against the door,
Please
Please
Please

It sounded nothing like a pleading mother
But warm air, creeping through vents with a sudden force.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt of fresh blood, kissing the lips of a weeping woman.

We worshipped knives like they worshiped our baby-soft skin,
Because cutting open ourselves meant cutting out what they left inside,
And watching the filth flee
down our wrists, down our knees,
Felt like draining water
Out of a clogged tub.


It felt nothing life fear
It smelt nothing like decay
It was a continual clutch of the knife against their throats

This one's for you, daddy
Grey May 2016
You look me in the eyes and spit,
          And I kick dust on the wet spot on the ground.
This is how we are, a conversation; you never cared to call me something like my name.
           I never cared to see you in any way but under my boot with blood on your teeth.
               There is no moon above us, even when the sun’s gone to hide at the nearest bar.
This is not a war that can be won with pickets and strikes.
The only way to end the battle
                                                Is that someone has to die.
        A standoff only ends when one is left standing, it’s the rules,
but you never did care for rules, and breaking is easier than bending.
               You never apologize and I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth.
            The sun’s gone to hide at the local bar and it drinks whiskey shots like water.
It has seen us fight.
            The moon doesn’t want to come out, stays tucked safe in its bed.
It has heard stories.
                         Only the stars act as referee, calling out which one of us died better.
            It’s all an act, a ******* contest, and you sure are good at wetting the ground.
                 I’m better at covering up where the bloodstains were,
                         stain chicken feathers red as the sunset, Please, I ask you,
Let him win one last time.

                               The hourglass broke, the sand mixing with the red clay,
And you claim to know that his time is up.
                 I claim to know that you’re a lying ******* who takes what isn’t his.
                        And you claim that I’m just a child,
                                           but children don’t know why their knuckles are
bleeding
                                           and children don’t get why their jaws hurt
                                           and children only bleed when summer is restless
                                           and children never pull real guns anyway.
          You brought a knife to a gunfight,
                 a gun to face the firing squad, a one child firing squad,
                    knees stuck together with blood and chicken feathers.

Please, you ask me,
Let me win one last time.

                     And I learn that breaking is easier than bending;
And I learn how my name sounds on your lips.
Feeding the earth,
            -Blood!
Feeding the sand,
           -Blood!
Feeding the oceans,
           -Blood!
Falling from skies,
           -Blood!

The soldiers...are left to rot!


Weapons of war
       men of war
                        soldiers at war,

LEFT TO ROT!
SOLDIERS OF WAR ARE LEFT TO ROT!


Weapons of war
       men of war
                        soldiers at war,

LEFT TO ROT!
SOLDIERS OF WAR ARE LEFT TO ROT!
Relics of war are left to rot!
LEFT TO ROT!


Feeding the earth,
   -weapons of war!
Bleeding in sands,
         -men of war!
Feeding the oceans,
               -left to rot!

Weapons of war,
           -feed the earth!
Men of war,
           -bleed in sands!
Soldiers of war fall to earth!

SOLDIERS OF WAR ARE LEFT TO ROT!
RELICS OF WAR ARE LEFT TO ROT!

<musical break>


Weapons of war
       men of war
                        soldiers at war,

LEFT TO ROT!
SOLDIERS OF WAR ARE LEFT TO ROT!
RELICS OF WAR ARE LEFT TO ROT!


RELICS OF WAR LEFT TO ROT!
Death metal song lyrics.
ottaross Jun 2016
We went to a play last week

Actors strutted around

Among a set of tall buildings

Made of actual stone of grey

And billowing smoke

And noises

And crowds.


Upon the great stage they talked

About their ancient ideas

Like wars

And politics

And freedom.

In one scene an actor yelled

and swung a mighty hand

and struck the other man!


And though we knew

It was really just acting

The idea that one

Could hit another

Shocked all of us in the audience
So powerfully

And a few people even left

The theatre

In tears.

But there were funny bits too

In the play that night.

A character said he had a car.

His Own. 
Personal. 
Car!

And together they were to drive

Both of them

Off to an aeroport.

Like with all the steering,

And foot pedals,

And everything.

And in a very sad part

Someone treated someone else badly

And called her names

Because of the colour

Of her skin

And because she had come

From somewhere else.

And all our eyes were wet for a while.

One man used a device

Which was an ancient komputer.

Two flat parts with a hinge

And it opened upon his lap

And one side glowed brightly

To illuminate his face

And he presses a bunch of button-keys

To spell words and things

Because that’s how they told the

Komputer

What to do.

And we all laughed.

when it was over a bunch of us asked the man that was hit if he was okay was he really okay it looked terrible and did they really have to do that awful thing in the play and was the other actor a bad man and he said no, it was alright and the other actor was a nice man and that it didn’t hurt at all and he said he was sorry that it scared us but it was the violence of the time and the people of that time and we said we kind of understood.

And we all felt better


But one lady

Still needed to hug him.

And his eyes

Were a little wet too.
The Thing that shall possess,
The Thing that shall possess,
The Thing that shall possess,

ANGER!

"You're my possession."

The Thing that shall possess,
The Thing that shall possess,
The Thing that shall possess,

ANGER!

"You're my possession."

The Thing that shall possess,
The Thing that shall possess,
The Thing that shall possess,

ANGER!

"You're My Possession!"
Sharon Talbot Sep 2018
At first the air seems too dry;
Then you see the mist --
A small town on the horizon;
You decide to ride on,
And give Father's headstone a last kiss.

You find yourself wondering why
Anyone would stay here.
Some of those who passed before
Left their mark on rotten doors
Memories strangely dear.

Love's a gamble in a ghostly town;
It could move you, swift or slow.
You unholster your heart,
Wonder when the shooting will start,
But you already know.

Dozens to go and only one down,
Riding through a town of slaughter,
You're both alive and dead,
Mute bullets whistle by your head:
Are you a killer or a daughter?

He was here once, before you knew
About the emptiness outside.
Still you followed him.
His face was harsh and grim.
And he told you to leave or hide.

Love that's cold, deadly and true
Is the easiest and hardest kind.
You can **** him or just love him;
You'll never know much else of him,
But he’ll never leave your mind.

Dawn bursts over the sharpest peak
And the town streets fill with gold;
It’s the only kind this place will ever see.
You know that soon, you and he
Will shoot each other or fold.

Yet, love in a ghost town always dies,
Killed before it can start.
Spanish ladies even now wear mourning veils
And the lovesick couples' faces pale
When you shoot each other through the heart.
Partly inspired by The Lady or Ellen of “The Quick and the Dead” and the violence of passion--especially that which happens internally.
JRaw Rodriguez Apr 2017
A lot of people are so quick to criticize other people not knowing what they go through or went through in their life . I met a women she was always grumpy . In my head I was like she's a ***** ..  so I would always be in her class room .... I'm the type that will sit their quite and analyze you ...so I'm looking at her just by me staring at her while she wrote down my assignment I asked her if she was okay .. she look to the side and said yes me knowing she wasn't she wouldn't let me see her eye to eye I noticed she had a patch on her face of make up not blend to well I noticed it was a bruise.. when class ended I waited to be the last one out of the students went up to her and told her that is not to late to get away from the toxic relationship ,she didn't know what to say she couldn't speak her voice was in knot she leaned over to me I ended up hugging her she cried in my arms and she said I try my best to be perfect and im not good enough . .... it broke my heart when she said that a young beautiful women dealing with a ******* Scumbag.....
Jaxey Oct 2018
Roses are red
Violets are blue
But now so am I
And it's all cause of you
Now instead of the roses
My writs are blood red
And the violets have stained
The side of my head
You hug me and cry
And I say it's okay
But you always come back
With your violent bouquet
Please no more bouquets
TerryD'ArcyRyan Oct 2018
the pull of a stare
a flicker of sparks
eyes meet so sweet
caught in the stare
cheek to lips a gentle brush
desire delivers in the click of a lock
hands clutch tight on your neck
a gripping strength, a slow squeeze
the mind dazed, a hunt to breathe
hardwired impulse, to a raw surging force
reaching, touching, the rise stricken
claws at hands in a grip
the steadfast capture
enforce of an iron reap
the heat and hiss of a monster
sounds a sharp slice in your ear
tears fall for God’s wretched care
the kiss dry's upon your cheek  

final is so clear
a silent suffocation
an impression sincere
pain defends the will to suffer
wounds heal and fade
separates the mind free to fear
a look of your outline is everywhere
turning quick to catch the heavy stare
caught off guard bows down to despair
the power deprived is no longer mine
broken twisted places it deep inside
drowning beneath a shallow surface
paralyzed by the danger of your kiss
stopped by a red light remembrance
fingers still search and retrace
the dignity ravaged in a waste
incapable of trust
I live buried alive
I look for you everywhere
I sleep on the furthest edge of a cliff
I wake trespassing the abyss



   Terry D'Arcy-Ryan
Deniz Eilmore Dec 2018
He must have kissed his fist
Before they reached your terrified face
For any form of love
Is good when its rough
For one who has never been
Enough
this was inspired by perks of being a wallflower
andromeda Nov 2018
Always calling me out

I hurt you
I'm the one to blame

I carry the shame
You play the victim
it doesn't make sense

You're hurt
You're sad

It doesn't matter to me
as it did back
when we were tangled up

Our love felt like a knot
I've only tried to cut you out

Before you call me out

I'm hurting too
I wish I could go and see you
for a little while
Just a day

I carry the shame
I'm the one to blame

I'm guilty

I'm no saint

I carry this infinite darkness inside
I'll let it spill
just cut my head off
let me think silently
Catherine McCabe Dec 2018
Shut down.
Shut up.
Beaten.
Ignored.
Aborted.

If strength is dominion,
women are just beginning.
He lay on the floor
Head smashed in with the
Centerpiece that was their
Wedding gift

If only we had cared
Enough to stop him
He was her husband
And he had gone mad on her again

She stood by his body
Teary eyes transfixed on his
Blood as it made its way
To her shaky feet

If only we had not said
He was her husband
She was his wife
For it was theirs to resolve

His fist no longer balled up
Her screams abruptly seize
His belt around her neck no more
Her consciousness crawls back in

If only we had made
It our business, seeing not
Violence as discipline, saving her
Would have saved them both

©Belema .S. Ekine
©belemascribbles
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
beauty lies bereft and bound
it cries for help but utters no sound

mascara kisses on bitten lips
etched by lovers worn fingertips

purple bruises and sullen eyes
the broken skin it never lies

fists of thunder do not make a man
nor the swift strike of the back of a hand

a thousand apologies can never repair
the displacement of a single hair

for she is not an object for you to own
she is a queen that deserves a throne

*******.

28/11/2018
Mara W Kayh Jan 21
My life is a virtual battlefield
complete with hidden traps,
layered atop cowardly assaults

between highly guarded spans of peace,
Inside my house
chairs and walls
are coarsely blown to bits
by verbal bombs,
and stark fists of shrapnel.

Behind that simple smile,
semblance of solid love
so easily shaken,
lies a ripened mine field

I tread on tiptoes
yet it erupts under
calloused feet unprovoked,
blasting color to grey
as sacred sanctuary
falls to scarred terrain.

Spears lodged inside ribs
I peel myself from the ground,
shake off soot,
wait for dust to settle
before I march forward, again.

yes I lose the battles
But I will win this war.
Reminded me of the song by Pat Benatar, "love is a battlefield"
But again, hate seeps in as well.
Lou Sep 2018
In an epidemic of black eyes
Cyclops people lose.

                                          A right
of passage into womanhood is

a HANDS ON
approach.

                                           A right
hook with a bow tie in the
        
                Vmiddle Knuckle.

  L
      O
   V
  E

From index to pinky
And all over her body.

Seeing this from one eye
Is the luck of having two.

"Thank you.", I say.

With half my mouth in silence
As muted screams escape the smothering hand that says LOVE.
This poem is about men who don't acknowledge the existence of abuse. Maybe even their contribution to it for ignoring it. The privilege of being a white man in a country that burns victims is incredibly frightening. Having accountability for your actions and checking others. Violence is everywhere .
Bob Jul 2018
I just need one
One gun to hold one bullet
One finger to pull one trigger
One hit to to take off one side of your face
Taking your family's one chance to say goodbye away
One memory so every year I can celebrate
Maybe get me a one tear tatto
Falling off one eye of one happy man
Take one minute to pump one fist in the air
As you lay I'll take one picture
So when that one day comes that I hear your kid say he don't remember
I'll give him the chance to never forget
I just need one gun for one chance to get revenge
I lost my one son because of one man with one gun
Mugerwa Muzamil Feb 2018
Moon dangles for ages
Stare as men rage
The sun sunning
Unreachable gold shinning

Our hearts shaking with blood
To pump life in our deeds
Wither not till you're mine
Shun the paths of villain

A love clot in my eyes
So sad your byes
Death stealth as a wave of sleep
Abandoned souls do weep

Dearth of pulse we delve
In this earth we know but leave
The sighing of the last breath
So you try to stop the wrath

Wail for certainty sons
Write your names on the sun
As you swear to change ways
For which you stirred in days.
Dedicated to those who lost a loved one through violence.
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