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bk Aug 2018
She wished for a prince
to come and save her.
She dreamed all day and night
of the day he would come,
blinding herself of the fact
that she didn't need him
in the first place.
She had a sword
in her dusty old basement,
completely forgotten of,
that she could've used to fight the dragon
all this time.

In the beginning we were opposite
Started with a drop is it
I liked the way you moved and
soon felt the groove
You were digging me and I was feeling you
Fluid and smooth
Nothing left to prove
You would be the the death of me
Take away the rest of me
Almost imperceptible
You gouged your way in
Damage irreparable
Away at my layers you're wearin’
Others start to stare and
Empty I remain
I could not contain
Left me with no companion
A Grand Canyon.

-Luca Ivaldi
I still love her
Patricia LeDuc Mar 2018
I wished on a shooting star
I wished on the first star I saw in the night
I wished on an eyelash to find a true love
I wished on the candles on my birthday cake
I wished on the penny I threw in the well
I wished on a wishbone breaking it in two
I wished on a dandelion blowing seeds into the air
I wished on a ladybug to grant me good luck
I wished our love would come true
I wished you knew of my love for you

I wished that I knew… you were wishing for me too

I wished
I wished
I wished

I wished until there were no wishes left

(****! Where’s that Genie when you need him?)
March 27th 2018
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
When you stepped in my door,
I realised I was Paradise
in my heart and soul.
You were so surefooted
because you came up from the high.
So long I longed for it.
O Fathima, only to kiss your feet!

The time was so sweet,
beyond anyone’s dream
only in pure beauty
I was rendering,
screaming to new highs.
I did it my way!
Lovely bouncing on
my polished pitch,
the rivers forget to flow
back to the seas.
But no one knew
where my toe melts!
Until you did
and took me for a tread
closer to your spring,
my sweet dream:
O Fathima, only to kiss your feet!

Your so pleased man wished
to rain down with love,
but humble you hid your feet!
You blinded the moon, snowed it
away under seven seas.
No wonder it's
your winning footing.
Like the Prophet said:
I found me the heaven
beneath the mother’s feet.
O Fathima, only on your feet!
English Jam Jul 2018
My little friend is now gone
My tragic life must go on; despite that
His evil eyes and his cheeky smile still burn in my mind
He no longer exists but
For my memory of him
And I rejoiced
When I heard the news
Still I can recall how I sobbed
When he gave me his evil eye for the first time
When he hurled glass and other projectiles at me when he was hungry
When he spent hours upon hours pondering the fabric of society
I hated him
I wished
For his death
I was depressed
It was like paint peeling off a wall
It was like finding a dead leprechaun at the end of a rainbow
I was expecting some sort of remorse when he left
Funny how heartbreak works

Now read this in reverse
Because sometimes all you need
Is a little change of perspective
To truly understand someone
Dedicated to the goldfish I had when I was little who accidentally died. This is for you sweet fish <3.
Poetic T Aug 2018
liquid love poured from
           seeping fissures.
And she tasted his every moment.

He gave his essence so she could
       linger within a lifetime of memoires.
And she saw every pain of his existence.

Within her tears were reflections of his
            momentary happiness with her.
Knowing she would drain his pain away.

"To collect the pain of another
         is to know the true emotions
         of what its like to live within there anguish

We only know those we love truly by tasting
        the dirt left behind in there footsteps.
Everyone has prints in the past wished brushed away.
English Jam Apr 2018
Each time a dark thought to sin gleefully entered me
Every one of those days blurred into one another that were tinged with blue
All those nights insomnia took hold, and I wished to end my life
Well, I'm glad I didn't

I'm glad because I was waiting for the day
The day the sun bursts into a kaleidoscope of light
The day the sky quickly parts itself, making a path
The day the clouds willingly sacrifice themselves to hold a gleaming white horse
And on the horse's back, sits The King
Holding a sword that shines magnificently
Wearing a crown that dazzles for all to see
I can't wait to see Jesus
Still I wait for that day
Still I wait
Bryan Lunsford Nov 2018
She’s beautiful as beautiful gets,
As the nature of her beauty is the beauty of nature’s equivalence,
With every movement, she’s special and different to no ends,
Yet, to her, her being beautiful is anything other than common sense,
With scars sliced up and down her arms and wrist,
It’s evidence this beauty has cried, has wondered, and reminisced,
As it’s evident, she’s tried, has stumbled, and even wished,
Someone would take her beauty for what it really is--
And see the most beautiful woman that has ever lived
Mikaila Oct 2018
I tried everything
To break my mind like a sheet of glass.
I pounded with my fists.
It held, cold and unyielding,
And when I was spent it was exactly as it had been
In tact and undamaged.
Maybe this time will be different.
Maybe this time
When you go
I’ll put my fist through it like a mirror
And it will finally shatter and become a part of me.
I close my eyes, and dream.

I am in a ward, and it is empty and cool.
I run my hands along the hospital beds
Their coarse white linens
I push my fingers through the bars on the windows of the doors
I lay my cheek against the cold metal of a table
I am alone
And I feel nothing
Echoing and calm.
The air is like gel
I have to push through it
And I am slow and empty and content to be so.
The world refracts
And I watch coolly, detached
Shadows move
But they don’t bother me.
They follow me on the wallpaper, waving hands
And I reach for them
Line my fingers up with theirs
Feel the darkness tingle along my skin.
They don’t speak
But someone else does.
It’s a harsh husk of a whisper, like sand
And I let it scrape across the back of my neck and raise the flesh along my arms.
It says,
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
The sound fills me like a horrible prayer,
And suddenly I feel everything instead of nothing
And I think
This is the moment I die
This is the end of me
But instead it
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”

It’s me.

I put a hand to my throat in surprise, feel the vibrations there.
My face is contorted, and for a long moment I feel it, trying to read it,
Trying to understand,
Then pull back sharply, having found what I was looking for
And hating it.
No, no, no-
If I can make the maze of my thoughts hard enough to navigate
Maybe I will never find my way out again
Into sense
And into
I sink inside myself,
Sorry sorry sorry
And each word is like a wound torn open by shaking fingers
And I am sure this agony
Will last forever
Squeezing my heart and lungs
Wringing me out.

But suddenly the world shifts,
The sorrow is pulled out of me like venom and I forget it as I forget myself.
Like a child, I am new and blank and whole.
Tears still cling to my eyelashes from the moment before
But now I no longer know why they are there, blurring the edges of world.
I taste one, and it is like the sea
And I realize that I am in the water.

I bathe in front of an audience of silent white faces
They do not bother me
I am splayed, naked, in a warm porcelain tub
And I let my face sink beneath the surface
Looking up into the lights shaking and swirling above me.
They’re like little fish
Out in the air
When I’m in here.
I stare and stare
Until darkness starts to fade them
And hands grab my shoulders.
When I emerge it is like being born and dying all at once
And something like coherence gnaws at the edges of me
I shrink from it, rubbing my hands together, frantic.
A whisper that makes me turn my head sharply
But then it’s gone.

Someone pulls me from the water and dries me.

Like a doll I am moved away from that place
And I forget it as soon as the door closes.
A storm threatens though, on the horizon something menacing and tumultuous looms.
A thought I don’t want to have,
A feeling I can’t name and don’t ever want to.
It claws at me, it chews at my ragged fingernails until blood blossoms and drips onto the bedspread.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”
It’s not my mind that’s fraying, it’s my soul,
And I know which one I’d rather lose.
I curl into a ball, huddled and waiting
To be crushed.
But at the last second, no-
A sharp slice, something shiny and bright.
I feel ice in my veins, and then numbness.
I want to be wrapped in white sheets
And dine on bread and water
The purest nun
The **** Madonna
Shrouded for the shadows to mourn.
I stare around me with large liquid eyes, searching for someone whose name I can’t remember.
I have to say something,
I have to tell her...

But I am alone here,
Thank god.
I am alone and it is loud with stillness
And I am forgetting my name as I forgot hers.
I toss it away from me, the last of something
That won’t be missed.
I drift, hoping for rest
And I start to find it.

Something metallic and heavy is seeping through me
And I let the last of that clawing feeling slip away.
I feel it. It’s back. I hope it stays forever:

I weep, and the tears are empty.
And I am empty
And I feel

Thank god.
King Panda Apr 2016
I’m sorry
I was devouring you
with my eyes
your liturgical eighty-eight
your curves and robes
raising my alter
to this pinnacle of
something holy
to take slowly
into my body
love, I wished
sibling love
not to be mistaken
for religion
for surgical jazz
for something else
love, sister
and my promise—
I won’t go to the pyre
AllAtOnce Dec 2018
I can’t wait for the day when I don’t think of you,
when I feel acid rain pouring on my face like fiery fingers and tears,
or when curls bounce around my face like the phone cord in the first house I remember,
or drink cinnamon orange tea and write forty pages of gender theory.
I can’t wait for the day when I don't remember you won’t message back,
and I’m left on read like a newspaper reporter without a following,
or when brandy and coffee doesn’t smell like your breath or how I thought you’d taste.
Because fiery tears are acid rain on my cheeks
that won’t burn the scattered pieces of you away.
ryn Jan 2015
How are you?
I'm alright I guess...

Where do we begin?
Maybe at the start of this mess.

Are you uncomfortable?
I can't say that I'm not.

Is it your past?
Well it's all I've got.

Do you still get nightmares?
Well I used to...

Will you let them show?
Depends on you...

What do you hope to accomplish?
I don't know... Peace of mind?

Would you have done things differently?
Everyone wants the chance to push "rewind".

Care to elaborate?
Let's just say I would've liked to be braver.

What do you mean?
I should've stood up to my father...

Did he abuse your trust?
He did more than just that...

Rob you of your freedom?
Let's see... His belt, cigarettes and also boiling water out of a vat.

Do you wish him ill?
I wished him dead.

"Wished"? his bed.

Why "wished"?
Because I wanted that then...

For how long?
Since I was ten.

What about now?
Maniacal smile) I am now... At peace.

"At peace"?
I have found release.

You have?
Yes... I couldn't resist the urge.

Urge to do what?
To comply with the voice... "
Freedom...lies in the purge..."

You left your father?
Yes but not before...

Go on...*
Not before I slit his throat with a smile on my face as I shut the door...
Inspired a programme I watched on the crime channel.
Writer's block again,
and from return; my heart descends.
A knock, at the door?
What are they here for?
Hiding in the floors, the deaths
of my enemies,
a funeral of my thoughts,
and they were meant to stay away.
Yet you wished them here,
just so you can write them.
And they want you near,
so you can recite them.
Insightful, isn't it?
You need to invite them in,
and this time; they'll only stay
for the titles and poetry, no.
You're much too confident
that you can kick them out,
you need them;
and they want you.
Next evacuation;
hopefully you'll choose
but we know you never
I kick out my demons, and they get back in every time. I hate it.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
East Wind Jan 2017
She's often in the dark, especially at night
But never has she seen a shooting star.
She sings her song every night
In hopes that one day she might.
        "I’ve never seen a shooting star.
          If I did, I would have wished
          for the wish I wish every night.
          That I wish I may I wish I might
          make a wish to see the light!"
Char Nov 2018
Thank you
my dear,
for the love you gave me,
for caring about me
for trying your best
and teaching me to appreciate the little things in life

I'm sorry
I was so stuck in a forest
with a broken compass,
that the shadows of the forest
clawed out from the darkness
into the abyss of my soul

Now that the wind has left behind the dust; our memories,
have I realized
how careless my words have made you felt
and the branches; my heart
snaps and howls into the wind,
with these thoughts of regret.

I still miss you and wished
"if only..."
It's true that you don't realize things until you loose that person/out of a dark situation. I left "if only" as an open ended statement since there could be so many things that could be said with "if only.." (e.g. if only I was more self aware, if only I didn't say those words etc etc.) I know sorry wouldn't help but from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry for hurting you the way I never wanted to.
Ladislav Josephs Jun 2015
Read this poem only if you are alone.

You wished me nice dreams last night
I could say I have dreamed
About flowers, butterflies
It would be nothing but lies
I was dreaming about
My arms holding your hips
Against mine
Mine lips touching your sweet lips
One hand squeezing your breast tight
Other hand holding your waist
So you won't fight
With a slide touching the magic Place
Leaving quickly without a trace
I want to make it perfectly clear
I will never do it for real
I was just passing through
You didn’t know me; I didn’t know you
But I should have known you’d steal from me
When you told me to Have a Blessed Day

You never came back with the change
And that is sad. We have come to accept the lies
Of praychurs, presidents, and prime ministers
But one expects better of Sonic waitresses

And  you told me to Have a Blessed Day

So you’re 40 cents to the bad, that’s true
But I’ve got the dollar I was going to tip you

And, hey, y’all have a blessed day, y’hear?

(May God bless her for really-real; generational poverty sees things differently, and, anyway, she may have learned it from the 501C3 preacher-man.)
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
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