"weakling" poems
In the digital l-and
We l-ive in
Mistakenly automatic
One pointing at a chest of tools
Eyes on i
No soul can tell a part a weakling metal
Robots robbing robbers rich
T-error terrifying t-errorists
Artist gods and goddesses
Sharing platform to unleashed gifts
Mint hue bubbles squeak
Fizzy dizzy violet haze
World head to toes spins
Any day it spins coins in change
A quiet girl is sinister
Siren of mystery or future
Robot is your mirror
Peach chin with teeth filter
No innocence and glitter litter
Guilty until proven the latter
A quiet girl a terrorist
Error mouths terror twist
Terrorist from the orient
They hide in between every end
Disguises they cover in
Racist as problem solving
Smile girl watch
A fake smile and eyes
Skin of steel so is her
Heart made alloy
How it blazes to the touch when heated
Oh it bites fingertips as it's cold
Hair resting on the curve of her spine
A woman's hair only breaks if it tries to grow
What she said
Tell me if you can tell us a part
Warning tears borne from her crooked eyes
Robot and soul
Terrorists from t-errorists
No soul knows either
Tattoos or memory shall identify you
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone;
While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on.
She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness.
My mother is three-score and ten, while I am forty-three,
You don't know how it hurts me when we go somewhere to tea,
And people tell her on the sly we look like sisters, she and I.
It hurts to see her secret glee; but most, because it's true.
Sometimes I think she thinks that she looks younger of the two.
Oh as I gently take her arm, how I would love to do her harm!
For ever since I cam from school she put it in my head
I was a weakling and a fool, a "born old maid" she said.
"You'll always stay at home," sighed she, "and keep your Mother company."
Oh pity is a bitter brew; I've drunk it to the lees;
For there is little else to do but do my best to please:
My life has been so little worth I curse the hour she gave me birth.
I curse the hour she gave me breath, who never wished me wife;
My happiest day will be the death of her who gave me life;
I hate her for the life she gave: I hope to dance upon her grave.
She wearing roses in her hat; I wince to hear her say:
"Poor Alice this, poor Alice that," she drains my joy away.
It seems to brace her up that she can pity, pity, pity me.
You'll see us walking in the street, with careful step and slow;
And people often say: "How sweet!" as arm in arm we go.
Like chums we never are apart - yet oh the hatred in my heart!
My chest is weak, and I might be (O God!) the first to go.
For her what triumph that would be - she thinks of it, I know.
To outlive all her kith and kin - how she would glow beneath her skin!
She says she will not make her Will, until she takes to bed;
She little thinks if thoughts could **** to-morrow she'd be dead. . . .
"Please come to breakfast, Mother dear; Your coffee will be cold I fear."
4k
When I was a little boy, say when I was six, my dad calls to me and he says: Come, boy – let’s sit in our courtyard; let’s sit below the stars and I’ll tell you a story. It’s been told long in our village, and passed on from wise fathers to growing sons.
Long ago, goes the story
Farmer Somu wanted
his daughter Meena to marry
the Strongest in the world
and so he set out on a journey
with his daughter
to seek the World’s Strongest One
And what were they going to do, little boy? says my father to me. They are going to look for the Strongest One, I say; and my father says: Ah, you clever son of a clever man.
And when they walked
past the rice fields
they saw farmers
wiping their brows
and they said:
‘My, how strong the sun shines!’
‘Aha,’ said Somu, ‘I think
I’ve found the Strongest One.
Come, Meena,’ he said,
‘let’s talk to the Sun.’
*And what do you think, my little boy, what do you think Somu asked the Sun?
And I say to my father: Oh Sun, Will you marry my daughter? And my father says, excitedly: Exactly! Exactly! Oh , you brilliant son of a brilliant man.*
‘Oh Sun,
will you marry
my daughter
for she is the Prettiest
and you are the Strongest?’
‘But,’ said the Sun,
‘the cloud is stronger than I
for have you not noticed
how often the cloud
blocks me out
and I can’t do a thing
until he decides to move?’
*And what do you think, my little boy, what do you think Somu replied to the Sun?
Oh, you weakling Sun – I’m not even talking to you! comes my quick reply. And my father says: Oh how right you are – you clever son of a clever man!*
‘Weakling Sun
stand out of my way
and Oh you most powerful cloud –
will you marry my daughter
for she is Prettiest
and you the Strongest?’
And the Cloud replied:
‘But ah, I am not the Strongest
for the wind just blows me away!’
And what do you think, my clever boy, what do you think Somu did next? And I answer my dad: Well, dad - Farmer Somu drags his daughter Meena to the Wind. And my father says: Oh how right you are – you brilliant son of a brilliant man!
‘O Wind
you should marry
Meena who is Prettiest
in the world
as you are the Strongest.’
But the Wind replied:
‘Ah, you don’t know how Strong
the mountain is
for he blocks my way
and he breaks me down.’
*And what do you think, my little boy, what do you think was Somu’s reply to the Wind?
Oh, you useless Wind – I’m ashamed I even considered you! I reply. And my father says: Oh how right you are – you clever son of a clever man!*
‘Oh, you useless Wind
– I’m ashamed
I even considered you!’
said Farmer Somu
and he dragged his daughter along
to meet the mountain
and he said to the mountain:
‘Most Honored Mountain
I have heard of your strength
and so I have brought you Meena
who is the Prettiest.’
But the Mounatin replied:
‘Oh Sir, I am not deserving
of such a rare beauty
for the rat gnaws holes in my sides
and so is Stronger than I.’
And what do you think, dear son, says my father to me – what do you think Somu does next? And I reply quite impatiently: Somu takes his daughter to the rat? Exactly! Exactly! shouts my dad. Exactly, you brainy son of a brainy man!
And the Rat told Somu:
‘Alas, Sir
though your daughter
is most desirable
I cannot marry her
for the hyena is
far stronger than me
for he has eaten many of my family!’
And so they walk to the hyena, says my father to me. And what do you think Somu tells the hyena? And I reply: Oh hyena – marry my daughter for she is Prettiest and you are Strongest! And my father says: Oh you are right, boy! You are right – Oh you brilliant son of a brilliant man!
‘Sir Hyena
Most Revered Sir Hyena
do marry Meena
for she is Prettiest
and you the Strongest!’
And Sir hyena replied:
‘Ok. I ask for no dowry
just leave her with me
with no ceremony.’
And what do you think , asks my father, Somu did? And I reply: He left Meena with the hyena. And my father shouts excitedly: Oh, how right you are! How right you are! You clever child of a clever man.
And no sooner had Somu left
the hyena took Meena
to his cave
and he ate her all
skin and bone…
Ah what a tragic end;
what a horrid end…
*And dear son, says my father to me, what is the moral of this story? Many, I say. But two are: Use your wits and stay alive. Never allow yourself to be dragged around. And my father jumps up and he is excited: Oh how right! How right! You brilliant son of a brilliant father!
And he turns to my mother who has joined us at the courtyard and he says:
See how clever our son is – he knows all the answers! Such a brilliant son of a brilliant father!
And my mother’s retort is swift: It’s not that he’s brilliant or you either. You’ve told him this story a hundred times, you silly man! And it’s always the same words! And I would have kicked my father if I were Meena!*
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:42 PM UTC
Trusting steady for flower petals floating on moonlit beams.
Fractured cracks running into sewn seams of honey-colored threads.
Layering sunlight of emotions,
Rip-tide oceans hold your boulder heart open.
Velvety warm blankets shimmering with lavender energy,
Of a silence unspoken.
A roar within of a constant fiery flame.
A warrior armored with stars and an army of willowy trees.
Song buds upon lip, striking a symphonic flowery melody.
Eyes sparkling, you captivate with an alluring smile.
Flowers intertwined within your raven locks.
Summer night of fireflies and dancing bees,
Forgiveness never a weakling of knees.
Soft spoken heart beats.
Sun-fire but shaded with purpling blues.
Steadying hands even though your lips may frown.
Ever present is the sleepy shadow of a sugared temptation,
That only the befallen will know.
A darkness muddled into the after-hours of dawn.
Self-pity wars that your feet danced into nothing, no more.
You let the colors become vibrant yellows, even greens.
A warrior surrounded by atmospheres of light,
Tinged with the milky blue hue of night.
Oceans come and gone but forever in your heart is song.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
dependent, dependent, dependent.
i hate to be dependent.
it's something that shows weakness.
it shows i can't defeat this.
sorry, sorry, sorry.
you tell me not to be sorry.
even though i try my best.
i never succeed, so i cannot rest.
stupid, stupid, stupid.
i feel like i am stupid.
obviously i'm the least of all.
no one cares when i take a fall.
weakling, weakling, weakling.
i am truly just a weakling.
melting from your sweetest words.
hoping my promises have been heard.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
After we used to call you piglet
And after you liked celery,
After the eighth of December at eight o'clock
And after you were eight pounds eight ounces,
They took a photo of when I first held you.
You were crying your eyes out,
Like your mum was in the living room
After she found out,
Before I scurried away.
But you've grown up
In your old *** Pistols t-shirts
And your scribblings screenprinted onto new ones.
Copper hair loyally trailing behind you,
You glide around the house en pointe,
In between embroidery at noon and fashion design after lunch.
Too cool to have sushi at ten years old,
And nearly too old
To hug your big cousin without reluctance.
Like an ordinary kid.
Minding your know-it-all brother
With his resounding echos of 'youknowwhatyouknowwhat'
Making sure he doesn't burn a hole through the floor
With his new chemistry set, that he won't admit
He doesn't quite know how to use,
But will continue on nevertheless.
And you will roll your eyes.
Like an ordinary kid.
But your adenosine triphosphate,
Can barely lift it's own molecular weight
Nevermind the energy you ask it to carry.
In comparison, the ordinary ATP
Of your ordinary classmates,
Is a strongman next to your weakling cluster of N, H, C and O.
So you take your small grey spheres.
And don't drink full fat milk
And your father's taught you how to cook
And value food.
And use your nebuliser
And clean and dust and sterilise
So your glass lungs
Which clatter when you cough
Don't shatter.
And after all that
You twist your hair up in a bun
And carry on.
Not falling down the rabbit hole,
But bounding gracefully.
Like the extraordinary kid that you are, Alice.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
Does she notice the four sugars,
You sneak into your tea?
What’s she like, this girl?
The girl who isn’t me?
She hasn’t even realised,
The weird dent on your knee.
Who even is this girl?
The girl who isn’t me.
It’s been more than a fortnight,
Since you made me leave my key.
Did you give it to the girl?
The girl who isn’t me?
She’s thinner, smart and cooler.
No one can disagree.
But can you learn to love,
A girl who isn’t me?
Your clothes are where you left them,
in piles on the settee.
That girl calls it a ‘sofa’.
The girl who isn’t me.
**** this, I’m getting wasted.
One shot turns into three.
I’m tempted to drunk text her.
The girl who should be me.
It’s not like I’ve been stalking
Your profiles frantically.
I just can’t believe you’re seeing
A girl who isn’t me.
Does she put up with your mood swings?
When you’re loathing your degree?
How can you stand to be with?
A girl who isn’t me?
Just answer this one question:
What do you really see?
In that wretched girl you’re dating?
That girl who isn’t me?
I must be going crazy.
Who still writes poetry?
I bet your girlfriend hates it.
The girl who isn’t me.
I’m keeping your new console,
And your comfy blue hoodie.
That’s what you get for kissing
A girl who isn’t me.
Maybe I’m just jealous?
I think it’s clear to see.
You clearly love your girl,
Your girl who isn’t me.
You told me all your secrets,
Under that big oak tree.
Can you trust this girl?
This girl who isn’t me.
You can’t, that’s why you grab her.
Silence her every plea.
You laugh and call her stupid.
That’s what you did to me.
I must have dodged a bullet.
I know I’ve been set free.
I hope she breaks your heart.
The girl who isn’t me.
I cannot be the girl,
The girl I used to be.
I guess that’s why you’re now with
A girl who isn’t me.
I see this as a blessing,
It surely has to be.
You’re now stuck with a girl,
A girl who isn’t me.
Your days, my friend, are numbered.
You listening to me?
‘Cause I still know your secrets.
And they’re not safe with me.
The cuts, the bumps and bruises,
I claimed I could not see.
Does your girl have them too?
The girl who isn’t me?
I’ll do my best to save her.
She’s too naïve to see,
that you can’t control your temper,
with a girl who isn’t me.
I wear these scars like war paint,
For all the world to see.
They show how hard I fought,
For that girl and for me.
I did my best to save her.
I tried to help her flee.
But you damaged, hurt and ruined
the girl who’s now like me.
The creaking of your window.
How cold your house must be?
You’ll always have to live with,
the girl who once was me.
I hope this poem haunts you.
I’ll never say sorry.
That girl you called a weakling?
That girl just isn’t me.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
Accent of my deceiver,
Scent of that liar,
Something that I once acquired,
Before despising the sight of her,
Tail I tugged,
Before you sliced me at the throat,
Warmth of another’s bed,
You are no longer plaguing my head,
Feeding into the thoughts I bred,
The fears I cultivated,
Despite decades before my timely death,
A weakling at one point in life,
When a robber wields a knife,
When a priest lays his hands upon a victim,
Even the evangelical fall,
Even the strong-willed think of letting their throat slouch,
You are only human,
I’m more than you’ll ever be!
Take a seat boy
Before I bury your skull,
Beneath my heel and off my feet,
I’ll be there to hold your hand,
While your heart begins to cease,
I’ll be there, when you can no longer speaking,
As you stare towards the sky then to me,
I’ll be there to keep eye contact,
For you see the smirk,
Smearing across my face,
For you to feel my grip tightening,
As your breathes continue fading,
And right before you realize,
Right before what lies ahead,
Specifically for you,
Is an eternal darkness, reserved for,
The wickedest of souls,
Oh how I yearn to watch you decay,
Counting down the days,
Till that moment when I’ll find you on the forest floor,
before comforting you too insure you die alone,
Payback for everything,
We are all the victims,
The guilty!
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
The night is a deep well:
stalks fall and echoes resound
as if out of an abyss.
Flash a lamp in, lose the light.
Braveheart awake in the late hour,
is there a solution to anything?
Events unfold; Always unplanned.
Reason an afterthought.
Still we dream. Dreams dreamed
all night, for a newer dawn.
To achieve something, something
that can make me more than you.
Are you cut out for that yarn yard?
Who decides when
a weakling mortal
breaks out of fatal space?
Flash a lamp in, lose the light!
Stalks fall and echoes resound
as if out of an abyss.
The night is a deep well.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
And your flashing teeth,
And your beautiful lies
Then hold me down and steal my breath,
And keep me submissive,
A weakling at best.
Then leave me alone and rip me apart,
While selling my soul
And breaking my heart.
And keep building me up and beating me back,
And show me my faults,
And be what I lack.
But when white flags of truce Color our skies,
I'll look down on you love,
with contempt in my eyes.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
Perhaps the most positively uninteresting tragedy
Is the story of flawed, impeded love.
For whenever I venture, strive, endeavor—
To exit my haven of solitary isolation
I’m devoid of any bravery.
Though I wish I could say
“People scare me! I don’t want to be judged
For things I cannot control,
For transgressions and loves
Methods, impairment, systems and failures
Despicable lies and harrowing truths
Cringeworthy trances and malicious propositions—
That’s the reason I tragically fear you!"
But such would be blatant lies.
For I am not a reticent sheep,
Not afraid of human, futile words
It’s not any judgement or hate I despise
It’s just that I can’t ever compromise
I’m so terrified of judging
Even in my mind
The people of the world
Precious brethren of my kind—
I don’t wish to hurt a weakling
Or a disgraceful abomination
Thus, I’ll isolate from anyone
For fear of impeding my love
Of all alive, of everyone.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
My two weakling hands on my delusional head
A face tattooed with tear lines of anguish and perplexity
I am sick and tired of being sick and tired of this game
Many are sea sick with zipped lips in this freezing old ship
Precious dreams and lives; thrown overboard
Let me plead one more time with this heartless captain
We are charting upstream against the current, Sir
Sir! Please sir
Our lives and the lives of the next generation;
In your hands
Do you not care that we are perishing
He has a big navigational map on the wall
A gargantuan telescope in his hands
Alas, he is blind
Blind man will crush the blind into an iceberg
He is distracted by his own personal greediness;
Woe unto us, he is not far from a two hundred feet iceberg
He reminds me of the titanic
He has a crew who are not seas worthy
They are wearing their office like they are on vacation
The cry and the wisdom of the weak falls into deaf ears
Sir, do you not care that we are perishing!
Can you be my camera for a minute, Sir?
Focus below deck, sir;
Children without formal education
The future generation is today’s labor engine
They walk on the thin line of child...
Child, what?
Child slavery, Sir
They are brain washed
Manipulated and abused
Zoom on the mid-deck, sir;
The young jobless internet savvy
A storm tossed creative thinkers
A young generation with no future
A future neglected without action plan
Driven to push through the storm
One direction; the wrong direction
They are the masters of...
Masters of?
Masters of internet fraud and drugs, Sir
Gang banging is their security
Just like a candle under the night wind;
Their light goes off prematurely in lightning speed
Zoom a little high on the upper deck, sir;
Square pegs on rounded holes
Mismanagement and embezzlement
Unpatriotically obsessive creatures
Fanning the toxic flames of an aged ship
While expertise waste at the shore for decades
Will you anchor?
Will you pause and reflect
His words: acidic
Emotions: volcanic
Problems: oceanic
If angels rules; would have cry to them
Maybe they would hear the cry of the weak
Grant us safe voyage,
Thou that watch over the weak
Be our anchor in the midst of the storm
May we not sink in this sea of incompetence
Be our strength and hope in this journey to the unknown
Father, if it be possible be our captain and lead us to bliss
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
I am not a weakling
I am a fighter
Those are not bruises
Those are trials
These are not cuts
They're battle wounds
That's not blood
It's freedom
I'm a Freedom Fighter
~Corona Harris~
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
I.
I wear the stern face of my ancestors,
the apron-clad Scandinavian matriarchs
who built me from rock and bone.
My husband, my good friends, my family, my colleagues
all affectionately name me "intimidating."
They say:
"You're the strong one."
"We'll send you to win the battle."
"They should have known not to cross you."
They name me fighter,
mouthpiece,
leader,
and stand like tin men in legions at my back.
I am obliged to march on;
I cannot remember a time
when my feet have rested.
My banner waves in the northwest wind
and I hold it, dutifully,
fearing its inevitable fall
as my arms shake.
II.
My arms
shake.
Wind camouflages
this constant trembling: the
fabric of my
flag
whips and ripples and any
falter
in its course
is blamed on the wind, but
veins shrink - skin
shrivels - muscles
shake - I am no Atlas,
my
breath slows
sharpens
stops -
III.
I am a dry sand-castle:
one touch will obliterate me.
I am the brittle leaf on concrete:
one shoe will shred me.
I am dandelion spores on a plain:
one gust will erase me.
IV.
In my chest beats the soft heart of my ancestors,
the ruddy-cheeked Scandinavian matriarchs
who built me from soft earth and azaleas.
So name me weakling,
broken-down,
dependent;
give voice to all of me.
Lift this banner,
and give rest to my weary shoulders.
Hold me in your arms
when I need to collapse.
V.
At times,
even a general must be carried by her soldiers.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
Moses ran from Egypt.
Into the wilderness.
Turned aside to see a burning bush.
God's Presence.
Sandals removed.
Holy ground.
The call.
Argued with God.
"Send someone else.
I'm a bad choice.
I'm too scared.
I can't talk.
You don't know
what You're doing, Lord."
God's patience.
Tried.
By Moses.
But still He was kind.
"I will be with you,
the entire time."
How long was the gap?
While God worked on the heart.
Of Moses.
Until...
A trip to Egypt.
A step back in time.
"Let my people go."
But Pharoah's heart was stubborn.
New Moses.
Shows courage.
"Let my people go!"
But Pharaoh says "No!"
So...
Plague after plague.
Until a King's son lies dead.
Pharaoh said "Go!
And please...bless me."
Exodus.
Slaves set free.
But Pharaoh changed his mind.
Again.
Egyptian army pursued them.
Red Sea.
Before.
Enemies.
Behind.
Where is God?
Are we going to die?
Moses' staff.
Stabs the sea.
"Behold His mighty hand."
There will be victory!
God's people.
In the middle of the waters.
Running.
Free.
On dry land.
With a wall of water to the right and left.
At God's command.
Hurry! Hurry!
See Pharoah's army!
God where are you?
Are we going to die?
Israelites.
Safe on the other side.
Egyptian enemies swallowed up.
By the tide.
Rejoice!
God has set us free!
Moses the warrior.
Led God's people.
Into the wilderness.
Of God's Promise.
Moses led.
A stiff-necked people.
And talked with God.
Face to face.
In a cloud.
"Please have mercy on Your people,"
He prayed.
Moses, once a weakling,
became a warrior.
For God's hand was upon him.
Every step of the way.
Until his face shone radiant.
With God's glory.
(edited)
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
Scream into the darkness
Without a sound
Weakling
Powerless miscreant
Buried by ash
And trampled by a thousand footsteps
A thunderous roar rips through the night
My desire to reconnect is devoured
By my craving for...
Subterranean hedonism
Exhausted from the surface
I burrow into fantasies of sunken darkness
I have tried to blend into the world
But people continue to dissapoint me
Bones ground to ash and thrown to the wind
My last burials rites
I had hoped it wouldn't come to this
But there is no hope...there is only me
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
I want to cut.
I yearn to smell that metallic scent of blood.
Feel smooth crimson droplets roll down my wrists.
Watch them fall to the floor, into a puddle.
Into the puddle diluted with my salty tears.
Weakling. Can't you even take this much pain?
Biting on my lip,
I press the razor down even more,
still crying.
The blood flow increases to an ooze.
A thin stream of blood flowing down my pale wrists.
I feel free, I feel like I'm in control. Only I can hurt myself.
LIES
I'll never be the only one to hurt myself.
Other people still will.
I no longer want to stick around to get hurt.
I want to move on the other side,
to whatever may be waiting for me.
It would only be too easy
I want to sink into oblivion.
One day I will.
That day is today
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
What are these scars worth?
These dark purple lines.
Can I show you them,
And be an inspiration?
Can I cover them,
And be a coward?
What if I darken them?
Will that make me insane?
Oh and if I cross bridges,
Instead of going up stream,
That makes me a fake.
A liar.
An attention *****
An emo.
A weakling.
Well look at you.
You must be very strong.
Very impossibly strong.
Or maybe you just weren't caught in a battle,
Because your blown up head couldn't make it out of the castle.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
I LIE IN THE BOTTOMLESS PIT OF BITTERNESS
What have I done to life
That it kills me even though I lie
Down in the bottomless pit of bitterness
I am ****** down to the barest state of anarchy
Too choking and breathless, I can’t talk
Catatonic, I stand in dumb
Severe as I lay in me numb
I can’t wish to have life within me
I only choose to let go of it
If it will let me, leave me!
Leave me! Leave me! Life
For I hate you and everything in you
I am a genius, always eager to go along
You are too jealous of me
And capture me in your wicked web of limbo
That I may suffer and strip away like straw
Waiting to be burnt for the cloud smoke
I barely uphold my breath and strength
As tears and mucus mixed at my chin
All streaming down to my mouth
Am sick and tired of wiping
My weakling hand also tired of wiping
I’ll only let the constituent enter my mouth
Or pass down the earth
What have I done to life
That it kills me even though I lie
Down in the bottomless pit of bitterness
Rolling in painful rub of suffering
Dejection and rejection am screaming!
And sobbing as I struggle to doddle out
Of the brutality of life
Leave me; let me go for am tired
To be thrown, tried even tired of tossed
Who shall set me free, who shall deliver me?
Can you hear my cry?
Help me! for I am drawing
into the boiling ocean of life
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
**"Kneel My ****
He can't be serious she thinks to herself
**"I said kneel *****
*"I am not your **** nor am I a *****
He grabs hold of my hair twisting it hard
I try my best to stay standing not wanting to yield
He pulls my face to His, lips touch in a bruising kiss
His hands caress my body playing it until it burns with need
"NO! I can't do this", is covered by His lips overcoming the objections
He continues to touch and caress turning my flesh molten
His hands seem to know my body better than I
"I, I can't do this, please I beg you to stop"
He gets bolder knowing it won't take much longer
His lips are strong, His teeth bite my flesh viciously
Oh but the pain becomes excrutiating pleasure
**Intesnity builds, His touch ****** His smell all man**
His desire evident by the hardness pushing against my hip
He feels me beginning to quiver and shake
"No! No! I can't give in please don't do this to me begging profusely"
His mouth overpowers mine again absorbing my pleas as He asks, "don't do what my dear girl?"
"Don't make me give in, I have to stand strong I am not a weakling"
"Being a woman succumbing to the passion instilled by a man makes you beautiful not a weakling"
**His hand roams over my body, across my *** which proves my bodies's betrayal, the moisture felt by His fingers**
**He brings the fingers to his lips and begins to **** on them each sound sends waves of volcanic heat through me**
Body so hot, whimpering my begging to stop becomes begging not to stop
"Please don't stop, oh pleaassee!"
Laughter is heard in response
"Kneel!"
"No, No I can't, I won't"
His hand cinches my long fiery tresses harder, His teeth find a sweet spot to bite as the other hand once again shows how wet and hot I am for His touch
Tears fall from my emerald green eyes as He shows the evidence of my desire
They continue to paint my cheeks as my mind and body fight this battle of proper behavior and ultimate pleasure
"Kneel now my girl"
Unable to fight it any longer finally the words are uttered
"Yes my Master"
Taunting laughter is heard as knees fold and touch the ground, He knows He has won yet another
**"Good girl ****
*It then hits me He called it right He used the powers of the flesh to prove I am a **** wanton and free to feel*
My mind screams NO while my body continues to scream over and over again yes oh yes yes
He proceeds to claim me again and again once I kneel showing me the woman that hides behind propriety
I am happy and I am crying at the same time. Ashamed for giving in and glowing as my body is satisfied for the first time woe is my own betrayal
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 9:27 PM UTC
I'd get off the bus after school
and down the lane he would come.
He'd run round me in circles, barking.
My very best friend; my Chum.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was the youngest of the litter,
the smallest by over a head.
Dad looked at him critically
saying "Son. He'll soon be dead."
But as I held that puppy
I saw a fire in his eyes.
So I said, "Please Dad. Let me keep him.
I'll make sure that he survives."
So I nursed him, and cared for him,
Fed him crumb by crumb,
and all the time I cried to him
"Please don't die on me Chum."
After many long weeks of nursing
Chum was coming on fine.
He was now feeding himself
and his coat had begun to shine.
By the time school holidays were over
I knew my dad had been wrong,
for gone was the puny weakling.
Chum was now healthy and strong.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'd get off the bus after school
and down the lane he would come.
He'd run round me in circles, barking
My very best friend; my Chum
~~~~~~~~~~~~
But one day I got off the bus
and Chum just wasn't there.
I raced home and ran to my mother,
"Have you seen Chum anywhere?"
No one knew where he was,
I raced outside calling his name,
but since he hadn't met the bus
I feared I was calling in vain.
I wandered all over our farm
looking for my faithful dog
till by the creek where he'd saved me from drowning
I found him trapped under a log
His poor front leg was broken.
Flesh cut down to the bone,
but he didn't even whimper
as I gently carried him home.
With lots of loving care
Chum was quickly on the mend.
His eyes seemed to be telling me
that I had made a life long friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was soon at the bus stop again.
Yes, down the lane he would come.
He'd run round me in circles, barking.
My very best friend; my Chum.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then I left school and took up a job,
I'd been away for almost a year.
On the bus my thoughts were on Chum
as the hills of home drew near
I worried if he would remember me,
if he'd remember how we used to play.
If he'd remember how I'd cared for him,
and how he'd wait for me every day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
My heart leapt as I got off the bus,
for down the lane he did come.
He ran round me in circles, barking,
then sank his teeth in my ***
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 5:27 AM UTC
chills.
shaking.
sweating.
insecure.
normal.
can’t stop thinking.
obsessive.
disorder.
compulsive.
no real problems.
doesn’t care
even though he says he does.
bite back tears.
smile but you can’t.
meaningless noise.
it’s all in your head.
want acceptance.
can’t get it.
all in your head.
can’t face monsters under your bed.
past wounds opening up.
bleed.
don’t like how they look at him.
don’t wanna sleep.
feel imperfect.
wish i was perfect.
small things get to me.
wish i had her body.
wonder if he’d like me more if—
what if—
what could—
why is—
how does—
they don’t—
does he—
i wonder—
not alone.
have someone.
not enough.
greedy *****
hold internal grudges.
mind can’t get enough.
it feeds of corpses of past feelings.
swallows you up.
try not to cry.
smile and laugh.
talk and eat.
try to swallow it up,
but it eats you alive.
a parasite
destroying you from inside.
if you can acknowledge it’s root,
you will someday understand—
the key to happiness—
it’s right in your hand.
“but
why do i keep losing it, mother?”
“sometimes, you need to get the fog out of your mind.”
“how do i get the fog away?”
“face your problems,
even if it’s to your dismay.”
“but mother, i know this. it seems really easy. could you please stop with these riddles,
and help me find that key?”
“but honey all i’ve got to say is,
some kids have lost the key,
but try to find it on their own.
you are a weakling, as they say.
stop crying about how hard it is
to live your easy day.”
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
The fact that I am inferior
Is etched into my brain
A weakling in this world,
Just a speck of dust on the windowpane
The other girls beauty
Radiates farther
And the intensity of their
Bleached white teeth
Outshine my metal mouth
It's like the how the colors
of fall leaves
Attract many
But no one enjoys
The simple green chlorophyll
Inside their spring and summer veins.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
They build tall towers around my neglected home,
Filling my weakened heart with jealousy and pain.
All they want is respect, the power of muscle and money.
The empty huge structures will host thousands,
For ages of birth and deaths, far away from the human world.
While in the human forms their minds are stone
They can not feel or think of any human weakling.
When free from the human case, they are specialists,
Mechanically repeating lives of existential happiness.
Who puts them on top, stamping on our human race?
Gods, Humans or Stones?
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC