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Breanna Smith Feb 2013
"Don't bother going to school, your not smart enough."
"No one will ever love you, your not thin."
"You will not get respect, your not worthy."
"Your to young to know anything."
"All you need to do is live your life the way we tell you to."

Every word out of their mouths
Is meant to crush
My mind
My soul
To enslave
Me

They hide
Behind their religion
Judging everyone
Especially their own kin
Using prayer as a threat  
God as a weapon
For their own ****** up agendas  
Why can't I tell them
I think they are full of ****
Tell them where they can shove
All the ******* coming from their lips
They don't care about me
They use their supposed love
As a method for
Control

Finally
I have found my own weapon
Against their brand of evil
I went to school,
Worked hard,
Worked even harder
for good grades,
Graduated High School
College graduate
Found a great man
I am going to live the rest of my life with
I have NOT given up God but
  I will not fear him
For he is
My best friend
My protector

As for my greatest weapon
It is my
Brain
Elise Jackson Sep 2017
crime, staring competitions, tears.

these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.

your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.

i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.

but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;

but we'll never forget.
faith Sep 2017
love,
something powerful from up above,
love,
a feeling,
emotion,
its got you reeled in,
sin,
trouble,
forbidden,
no,
love,
from up above,
its come to cover you,
smother you,
until all you can think about is love,
love,
oh sweet love,
but love is also a weapon,
made to pierce your heart till it bleeds,
but why does it have to hurt so bad,
you feel like you're being torn apart,
piece,
by piece,
until a new lover comes along with a new weapon of love to torture you with,
it's a cycle that cannot stop,
and you don't want it to.
ArielMarriel Sep 2018
***** words aren’t always hidden
in symbols, are they?

Some poets use words to wound,
and they know my weakness.

The subtle weapon of language.
The tool of a master.

Artfully chosen,
then Drawn like a dagger.

Slaying my attempts
at peace of mind.

Because they know I always
read between the lines.
F#@k it.
Mark Boschi Apr 3
i know him too well —
the sweaty palms
the wobbly knees
the trembling voice

he sits with me in therapy
scowls at me, clawing his nails into my arms
growls through gritted teeth:
“quit talking about me.”
and the floor tilts underneath.

i do not flinch/shrink/cower;
i remain firm/secure/composed
because now,
my tongue is an ammunition
i am no longer afraid to exhaust.
Day #4 of Escapril, prompt: anxiety.
Asia Feb 10
Once there was
A sharpshooter who knew
not where to aim

And once there lay
A gracious prince
wronged by his own game

His Kingdom had fallen &
his loved ones cried mutiny
Run they did so feverishly
to any hope of a cure

A cure to mend his weaknesses
A way to cover up his shame
shame he'd brought his family
those who'd stripped him of faithç

And so the thuggish soul walked up boldy
hands place tightly on his gun
he offered the prince sweet symphony
promised him salvation from his damaged grace

They rode on waves of chaos
and drank from jars of bottled love
they sought solace in one another
and greeted life's velvet gloves

The prince's past still haunting
yet its daggers long forgotten
Down rabbit holes they wondered
far from safety they now both stood

It's been spoken through sheltered folktales
that no weapon of the heart can shoot gracefully
without an aim being placed

and so the gunman soon realised
his bullets now longed
for the prince's troubled face
Inspiration from the Six of Crows duo logy (Wylan and Jesper)
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I'm calm, I promise
Just don't convert me
Just please be honest
And don't desert me
I'm lost in obsession
In all directions
Will you be laughing,
When I lose possession?

My heart's fading
But there's no answer
To all my waiting
It's like a cancer
That now controls me
It's gaining power
I'm fading slowly
Under desire

The night's a weapon
I use against me
It leaves impressions
On me gently
And when the morning
Comes in higher
Without a warning
Comes desire

If I'm still waiting
When you find me
No escalating
Just please come find me
When it's over
All of this waiting
All this desire
Is never fading
L B Aug 2018
Katydids and fireflies have the levee tonight
Swat team held the day

There is peace now
and peeping neighbors
emptying horror
among themselves in whispers
left to wonder
‘bout the screaming and the barking
of earlier that day

“Put down your weapon and come out
with your hands up”

Again and again
the demand of surrender
Total
There is no other way

“Let them go!
Come out! come out with your hands up!
It will be okay”

…and he argues in his mind with the shame and loss
…and the shame and "No…it will not be okay"
He had hit her! Hit her with the Gun
again and again…with the gun
Of his demands
The gun of his power
to make her!
The gun of his despair
He had hit her
the dog is barking
His children scream!

“Put down the gun and come out
with your hands up!”

How many more times will they say it!
for all the neighbors to hear
on a loud speaker
Surrender!
in front of his children
Had she cheated?
Had he lost his job?
Could he lose any more to the screaming?
to the "junk"?
to the flashing lights?
to the window's smashing?
Fence run down?
Lobbing
canisters of tear gas
into the room's stinging eyes
where there is no room
where there is no time

"I would never hurt them!
You!
You know!"
"Let them go!"
"You left me!"

“Put down your weapon and come out
with your hands up!”

It is all too loud
It is all too much
as you put the gun against your temple and…
pull the trigger
This happened today-- two houses away.  I could hear it all and sometimes I feel this way.
Hg Aug 22
.

             kn
                 iv
                    es
              ­        are
                         not
             w e a p o n s
                    t h e y ‘ r e
                         p o i n t s
                                 o f  r e
                                         f l e
                                              c t
                                                  i o
                                                       n
©Hg
Christian Ek Aug 2014
My pen is a wand. It can write a curse or a powerful charm. My pen is a mirror. It can show you a monster or a beautiful figure. My pen is a key. It can free you from a trapped door or it can lock you inside that door until the oxgen runs out and you can't breath. My pen is a weapon.  It will fight righteous battles or make a gruesome dissection. My pen is a balancing scale.
It is a balancing scale because it tilts when the yin & yang of my being begins to out weight one other.
Nothing is safe from my pen if i choose it not to be, my pen writes freely without filters or censorship.
My pen is a ship in the sea unable to maintain equilibrium set on a course to land. One day it will stay still, but on that day my pen will run out of ink.
Fred Wakefield Oct 2012
Tuesday night and it’s Baked Beans AGAIN! Does she ever stop talking.
I used to fool myself that her snore was musical like a sweet sounding flute,
Now it’s just a snore. Too loud, all too familiar.
What would happen I wonder if I took that tin of Baked Beans on the table
And battered her to death with it.

They found the ****** weapon in the cupboard on the top shelf,
Next to a quivering can of rice pudding.
It didn’t look overly angry or guilty, it looked (for what it’s worth)
Like any other tin of beans.
However it had blood and hair around the rim.

“BAKED BEANS ****” the front page of The Sun would say,
Amnesty on all tinned goods called for, as the masses
Started taking ‘tin(g)s” into their own hands.
All over the country, partners dying at the hands of Heinz,
Or possibly cans of spam or pear slices.

The Army may catch on, a major new part of SAS training,
Close quarter baked bean tactics.
The wail of sirens as Police arrive at an incident
“Put down the weapon or we shall be forced to fire… tinned pineapple”.
A can of alphabetti spaghetti could spell death.

“Let’s not have Baked Beans tonight my love… Chinese?”
G. government
O. organization
O. ogle

You...

..yes you are so interesting or threatening to the government that they feel compelled to watch you all day, every day, constantly and a tech company is aiding them in violating a core principle of freedom; the right to privacy.

A tech company is complicit in a tyranny against freedom and individuality while selling you knowledge?

I hope Trump finds the courage to start hanging traitors because Google will be the greatest weapon against freedom ever created by man.




    There is not such a thing as democracy.
    There is no such a thing as freedom.
    There is no thing called capitalism.
    America is a myth.

Simon 4d
Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either.  Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.
Probability without luck is forever undetermined. Having faith in itself, will redeem the actuality of actions placed without words. Luck? Faith? Lots of hints one hasn't fully realized.
Cole Maxwell Mar 31
The other day I had the very same thought,
Just as I did the other times, however many;
A romantic-comedy kind of retrospect, if you will. We were selling out concert tickets to upholstery as the best, or at least most confident,
Karaoke duo to ever cross paths with a dashboard.
“When I'm gone just carry on, don't mourn, rejoice.”
Opera singers every other day...
Does the music still manifest within your nervous system?
Can you feel the sorrow pulse from the V - i resolution chord?
It's still screaming if you can't hear it.
...had I known then what I know now, well,
Perhaps  this memory wouldn't hurt so ******* much.

It's hard to listen to music in the car anymore,
Well, nearly impossible most of the time.
It awakens sleeping demons that need not be bothered,
Their tails cut like a severed bond between two people who conquered tribulations far beyond the reach of the greatest evil imaginable,
Yet still lost control of ourselves from time to time.

The tires slid across the asphalt during that calm storm a few years back
“What’s in your head, zombie?”
laura Jul 2018
stone cold killa
knockin' fellas off
they feet, ****** on the bay
writing poetry and
pushing bodies in the lake

she's a killa, man
get off on false promises
of commitment
no 5-o's, no weapon clues
no witness

i'm dead broke
i'm her next target
spending money on happiness
a poem like a wandering outlaw
us, causing sinister stares under the sunset
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin

I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms

I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights

I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows

I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs

What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight

Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire

Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay

There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
The H-bomb is a bloodless weapon.
The H-Bomb leaves neither blood nor bone,
Only a 20 km radius
of radioactive ash;

But the sky bleeds
atomic sunset.
Worlds' ending now as
it blossoms among the clouds.
Do not be the horror,
in this world
-for others.

A  Monster.  . .

The weapon of a mind,
chiseled hard by
alcohol, drugs,
-circumstance.

A  Monster.  . .

Pulled up from the depths
seen by some a marvel,
in the hands they will see

A  Monster.  . .
The ancient Greeks spoke of giants with clawed hands and foot that lived or ruled the earth before the time of humans. Fossils of dinosaurs may explain that but there are true living monsters here and now. You will know them by the works of their hands, the clawed nature of them.
Larry Potter May 2013
We cut trees
Then make papers
Where we write posters
To not cut trees.

We make money
To buy everything
But by having nothing
We let money make us.

We arm our troops
To build peace
Yet the same weapon
Is used to destroy peace.

We sacrifice our health
Just to save money
Only to spend it all
To save our health.

We destroy forests
To create cities
So that inside them
We can make forests.

Our lack of knowledge
Leads to ignorance
But the same is true
With knowing too much.
King Panda Jan 2017
My weapon is our memory
Is a  language of the undead
Alive
To the tuning base
And the clock ticks to
Midnight as
We kiss
Lady Narnia May 2016
Oh, how dark our history is
You, my author of misery and pain
With fingers set to scribble my demise
This is our story, writ with chaotic pen

One that left calamity in its wake

You would always start the chapter
Every page inked with words of black
On the point of a pen, you'd viciously write
Using the sharp edge to stab into my being

Scripting, deeply, my eternal damnation

You erased my name and made me delusional
Always forcing me to your divine will
For the pen, always mightier than the sword
Was kept toward the edge of my neck

Swearing to strike at any given moment

Always determined, I'd end our sentences
Fighting to gain balance and bear the final period
Yet it was not without consequences
For you and I were wrought with scars

Etched into the bottom of our hearts, a burning black

If only these words painted a happy picture
But the thousand only paint a picture of pain
A dreary battle between two broken forces
On timeworn pages, brittle-ing on and on

Begging for the piece that holds our final chapter

And that chapter swiftly came for I was the ending
Leaving in the night, gone without a trace
With no words or ink left as a guiding clue
Carefully escaping from your paper prison

Free from the agony of the writer's press

On that day, I began my life again
Starting a happy story; free, original, and new
A home of letters filled with love, life, and joy
Where I'd never dare see you again, my dear, dear author

And never bleed black from your miserable weapon
at your own peril!



dare to vex

provoke, antagonize, exasperate

that is what my words will do

they won't irritate or annoy,
bug or merely peeve,
a simple bother
insufficient

vex
your core,
demand
that you more
than mere question yourself
but riptide extracts the
elemental,
battery acid on the essence bared

learn the power of crafting words
for maximum effect

torment, infuriate,
expose yourself,
what has lain beneath the skin,
you will let me in,
to let you out

why play with poetry,
the most dangerous weapon
unless you nakedly intend to


!dare to vex!
King Panda Nov 2017
the race of the sun
pattered through

on angled feet,
the gypsy-psychic

moment stood

honeyed and crisp
ready to be bitten,

the breath told
a breeze away

from the weapon of
dusk soon approaching

come with me

said your eyes
as they picked blades

of grass and placed them
in a crown

and I took you by the teeth
and kissed you

the skyline watching
all the while
jcl Mar 16
i am tired of fighting, i am too old, i’ve seen too much

i am throwing down my weapon, i surrender, **** me if you must have blood

i don’t care anymore, i don’t remember what i am fighting for, i just want to go home.

put this war behind me, live to love, not to ****, not to die, for what purpose, for what god.

who will commemorate our battles, and those who have died just yesterday

who will remember our names, aspiration, dreams once we are dead

we are disposable, born to ****, then die, who cares, why care, we served your purpose

we are the pawns, expected to die for the greater good that we can not have

look at your lives, was it worth it, how do you honor Them, those who died, so you can live
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
⭐                    ⭐                             ⭐                        ⭐                    ⭐
  ⭐                   ⭐                ⭐                     ⭐                     ⭐
⭐                     ⭐                   ⭐                                ⭐                           ⭐  

I'll                                          
confront     ­                                   
  all       of      my                                        
I N A D E Q U A C I E S                                        
by                     ­                   
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                                      To
                      ­                expand
                                      and polish
                                      my horizons
                                     as
                                  ⭐
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                                     g
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       ˚°◦                                                ⚫ ノ                                       ◦°˚    
      ˚°◦                                     (                                  ◦°˚   
    Sailing    upon   a  longboat  of dreams that   will  
                      bring   me    close   to  my  destination  to  a                    
                      auth­or, a poet that will touch and                      
        ◦°˚                inspire a generation                    ˚°◦
All I want to be a gifted wordsmith.
The power of the pen is the weapon I chose to express myself,
my heart, my pain and more.
Thank you so much for 204 followers, I'm very grateful for all of you!
(And I'm very aware that on a phone, the formatting will look messed up,
but it is fine on a laptop or tablet.)
I'll keep my ink flowing, no matter what.
Lyn ***
Esther Krenzin Jun 2018
A whisper floats into my ear
So soft that I can barely hear
Tearing me apart deep down inside
I just want it to end, and peace to reside
It offers power and darkness to me
How lost I am I just cannot see
Part of me begs to again find the light
But the greed overcomes and darkens my sight
I've lost who I was to fear and hate
And now I'm trapped and think its too late
Tears spring to my eyes as I lift them high
Seeking wisdom and answers that aren't based on lies
The mask fades, the lie I built
To block the pain and heart wrenching guilt
Looking at the cracked reflection of my face
All I see is a failure and a disgrace
A monster that I myself have created
Is now the very person to be hated
The choices spin around in my head
As I stand here now wishing I was dead
Could I give it all up and run away?
Or lose myself to evil and stay?
I let go of the light and embrace the dark
Crushing the old me leaving not a spark
The ember in the ashes eventually dies out
Leaving an empty shell full of doubt
Clutching my weapon I scream
Wishing it all was a dream
But it is real, I am real
And I just want it all to heal
Instead I stand here, taking deep breaths
No friend but my shadow who hasn't yet left
Inside it hurts but outside it sleeps
So I'll stand here again as it silently reaps

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
I wrote this poem for Kylo Ren, because I feel bad for him. He's gone through so much, and is so conflicted and sad. I wrote this so that I, and others can understand him better.
I hope you liked it.
Peace out,
Roguesong.
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