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serpentinium Jul 2018
pompeii runs through our veins,
hot with the taste of ash & decay.

some of us are fortunate enough to
become ruins; others are ruinous,
sepulchers of epidemics, air-born, contagious.
a disease that could make London a cemetery.

we dress ourselves up like relics, clothed
in silk and gold and gossamer,
as if they could one day be armor.
as if they could bring us safety.
as if we deserve such things when everything we touch rusts.

it takes only twenty-two years for the
average person to realize they are a weapon.
that words are knives and actions are razor blades,
as if to remind the living that we
came into the world screaming—
and we have never been silent since.

we are the Morrigans, the cursed women,
those whose destiny is entwined with death.
we court death, invite her to our dinner table every night,
let her sleep in the guest room, leave the doors and
windows unlocked for her.

death, we realize as women forced to bear
the weight of the dead on our shoulders,
never comes as a thief.
she comes as a lover, smelling of lilac, a grin
too white and too large to be human.

still, we invite her in,
because even death, regardless of form,
makes for better company than the empty dark.
inspired by the line: we are naught but rot and ruin.
Rochelle R Feb 2018
The anguish in this alienating aloneness is alarmingly enlightening
I am aware as the colors of my aura
fade from vibrant to mute
A spiraling sense of self grasps at false promises of hope or help
Each face that shows itself as an ally is simply mirage or ghost
Or wisps of nothingness I probably hallucinated to cope
I am an anchor in a rushing tide
Life floods by with no more than a glance over the shoulder
Some collide from behind urging me to move on, frustrated when I don’t align with their idea of time
I need to be unapologetically ‘not ok’
Imagine my electric shock when I find that’s not an option
The anguish in this alienating aloneness is alarmingly enlightening
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.

But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
*****, nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.

The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,

the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Back on the streets, rush to the train.
So many women to choose from! One Asian-American,
a dancer I imagine, stands out, tall
calm, still, graceful. No cell, no hair, no hurry.

Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.

A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.

--title from a tune by Billy Strayhorn
Ezzah Saleem Jan 9
A women's trust is similar to a flower.
Her very soft heart is like petals,
If you break it, she will lose her trust in you,
and just as you can't put a flowers petal back,
you can never get her to trust you.
She walks down pavement
She makes the government’s infrastructure look like beauty
Her beauty turns away the rules of the snooty conservative government
The constitution loses its soul
When she bends over to check the hood of a car about to roll
Her boyfriend accompanied by other boyfriends who hit on her
I stand on the sidelines
Problem is I murmur
You probably thought a stutter was worse

She’s such a high class gal
Despite her sultriness and I’m not judging
But I must mention she goes to Church
So you might still mistake her for being an uptown sister
She dances to rock music
Her head doesn’t even sway to the EDM that the plebeians surrounding her play
She’s an anachronism
But she just needs me to introduce her Monet’s impressionism
I bet her cultural values force her to mould Picasso’s Cubism

Even though I’m not a man’s man
She without influence is not enough
Because influencing is love
And I hope it is to this cute rebellious dud
I suppose from her house she ran
When she looked morose in school during period nine
It was English Drama and suddenly she couldn’t seem to remember the line

With her friends flanking her she walks and talks
She’s on the phone while she’s wearing her socks
She’s on the prowl she’s an active girl
That women is close to my heart
And I hope to treat her like a clam treats its pearl
Don't confuse this poignant lad to be a ******.
woman shapes
in shades
of red and black
invite you
to a loving

to go back
you came from
Inspired by a graphic of Bahman Kalantari on
Sebastian Macias Jan 2017
We must've spun around about 78 times
The morning was a majestic disaster
Broken glass on the floor,
Paired with fallen curtains,
Scattered reading material,
Chocolate wrappers all over the rug

There was a sense of expired enjoyment
All over the living room
My eyes were all beat up
And the pain laid quietly beneath them

There was a tremble in my hands
All I could think about was
The window that doesn't open
Sean Daley's depression as a happy mess
Knowing today needed a mute button
Shades On Oct 2013
Stepping on a rusty nail
Showing the baby sitter the back yard
Went straight through my Ninja Turtle Flip-Flops
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
Walking out back to the tree with the vines
Dogs barkin' and mesquitos bite
Don't tell mom if I fall
I looked up at the sky last night
I Think I saw a woman
Walking down the street to the church
Meeting up with Zach for a smoke
Got it stashed in a lock box behind
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a women
Life is funny ,well peculiar I guess
You think I got it all figured out
Then why am I such a ******* wreck
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
An abandoned mine shaft
On the top of  a blown up mountain
Throwing myself into traps
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
cait-cait Nov 2018
i beg for other people’s *** stories,
because i am broken and unloved...

and when boys snarl,
                             i feel alone, although
i know that they are just laughing...

i’ve found that womanhood is
half shame before everything else,

so i can only notice how
other girls wave their successes above my head,
as though being ****** is a prize and being loved is an end game,

that screams GAME OVER in bright red.

i will take my silence over your lifestyle any day,
despite the fact that i still cry when you leave.
women can’t exist without being analyzed, tested, and corrected. i wish girls wrote poems about being happy instead. Don’t @ me.
Boys cry
But men think they shouldn’t
Girls cry
But women sob

Boys play
But men joke
Girls play
But women are serious

Boys are real
Among themselves
But men pretend
Girls pretend
Among themselves
But women fake it

Boys act like they know
But men aspire to become
Girls "wanna be"
But women aspire to be better

Boys like
Men fall in love
But men play with your feelings
Girls crush
Women love
But women love too hard

Boys love competition
But Men love power
Girls love Friendship
But Women love Class

Boys hate chores
But men can now cook
Girls love chores
But Women now do more than chores

Boys dream,
But men achieve
When boys lie, girls believe
But women are those that make the men
Women they make the will to bend

Boys are young can do no wrong
Men are calculated, they know what’s wrong
Girls are young they make heads turn
Women are smart could make kingdoms burn
Deb Jones May 2018
When a man is courting a woman
He will be completely into her
Leaning towards her in public
To catch her every word

Once he is confident he has her
He will lean away from her in public
And people-watch
As she talks to him

It’s not as if he isn’t listening
But she doesn’t see it that way
She thinks she must be boring him
Her hurt is plain to see. And filled with jealousy

And the man?
He doesn’t understand
Why would the woman he chose
Try to unman him in the end

Now women...
Look at two women out on the town
They lean in towards each other
Talking intimately

They always have the same pose
No matter how long they have been friends
If they are in the presence of mates
The men will become quiet and try to eavesdrop

Because the intimacy of the women
Worry them
And bewilder them
The things they talk about must be so interesting

See the difference?


On the internet
On social media
In chat rooms
In messenger

Men don’t realize
That women talk a certain way
To other women

They talk to anonymous men
The way they talk to their girlfriends
And they expect men to understand

The way another woman would

Men find this intimacy
It feels like the woman
Is whispering in his ear

They fall in love with this intimacy
They lust to hear more
Have more

When the woman is just talking
The casual way they do
To each other

We wonder why there are so many broken hearts
We wonder why “I love you” and “I miss you”
Doesn’t mean the same anymore

It’s because there are women...
And there are men
And we don’t all speak the same language
P;ease don’t think I am picking on either ***, This is just my thoughts.
Shemika C Aug 2016
Women tend to fall so deep in love; they tend to lose themselves in the mist of it. We love strong, we long deep and we love hard. But do some actually care? They take what they want and leave you in the dust, they lead you onto false hope and dreams. Your heart is shattered into a million pieces, but no one is their to help you pick it up and put it back together. So you do it on your own! You know, us WOMEN are strong, we barely have anyone to depend on! With all the heartaches and pain we go through, we still are not considered or treated like QUEENS, but rather like peasants! Stand tall my dear Queens, and walk with your head held high, we are BEAUTIFUL, we are STRONG, and we are POWERFUL! FOCUS on yourself and a real KING shall join you!
Tara Feb 3
Oh no,
he did it again,
undressed another woman,
as she begged him no,
while her head spun to a different world,
she pushed him away,
her fingernails grasped at his skin,
she whispered,
“please…. stop,”
but he didn’t listen,
not a single soul would listen.

She’s all alone,
stripped of her dignity,
her spirit pushed down the drain,
as he entered inside her,
her heart beat faster,
but her body was numb,
she couldn’t feel her arms,
or her legs,
her fingers lost all touch,
and her voice screeched with pain,
she’d never cried so much yet felt so little,
as her body stopped,
and her soul tried to escape to a better place.

But truth is it doesn’t always happen in this way,
with a firm “No” and attempt to get away.

Sometimes he’s kind and sweet,
or powerful and famous,
he’s your teacher, mentor, or friend,
the love of your life,
or a one night stand,
and you uncomfortably say “No”,
“Maybe not now”,
“I don’t feel like it”,
“Maybe you should go”.

sometimes we scream “Please No”,
but other times we drown under the waves in our ears telling us it will end soon,
we fall into the sound of our body begging for forgiveness for letting another human take a part of us away.

As he touches you,
and you pull away,
after the hundredth time you’re so weak,
so violated,
caving like a prisoner pushed to the edge,
laying numb and senselessly wishing for your last breath,
as your body is fumbled,
and your heart tumbles,
your honor and morality thrown to the floor,
stomped and spit on as your words become worthless to another person's soul.

Drugged or drunk,
sober or young,
you’re futile,
as your body becomes his,
and what once belonged to you is stripped,
and slathered in pain,
then thrown aside like a bad book and never looked at the same,
but his life doesn’t change,
and all the things you used to love become a reminder of what once was.

The feeling of his hands on your hips,
imprinted on your skin like a tattoo you can’t laser off,
a lifetime of what should’ve been,
but will never be.

“What can I become when his face is all I see when I think of;
love, lust, or even my own sanity?
Where does the healing begin when my body’s just become an empty limb?
What will my friends and family think?
What can I say when the world won’t even believe the rich who’ve paid the same price of insanity for the man who took their dignity?
It took him just a few minutes for me to feel this pain everyday,
So who’s going to believe me when I say by rap
ing me he took my life away?”
i remember crying
asking him to stop
as he held me down
face in a pillow
some people call this
probably because
they know
men are dogs
if this has happened to you or someone you know, please seek help
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