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out of slumber
In broad day light
My thoughts circumcised
Thinking out loud
The early bird with no warm caught
I have worked with no life progress
A prisoner of my own dreams
I started small now grown
Wearing what doesn't fit me
From one-bunches and billions of dreams
It could be I wrongly dream.
It scares me that today resembles yesterday
As am pushing tomorrow
Though it's backsliding
the cries of my hilarious days
I wish not to work for a future fracture
Aaron LaLux Oct 2017
“Please be careful with my left ******.”,

her request comes with a clutching of my hair,
and a gentle yet firm pulling of my head,
away from her right breast,
and into the nape of her neck,

“Why?”,

I ask,
innocent enough,
as I settle into,
my repositioned position.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course I do,
that’s why I asked.”

“Well, I had a surgery last year,
I had a tumor in my breast,
and had to have a surgery,
it was actually quite risky and I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Oh.”

I reply.

When anyone says anything so intense and so real,
there is only one of two ways to truly respond,
either with an equal amount of intensity,
or with a mellow affirmation of unconditional acceptance,

I accept when,
she offers her Truth,
and I see that she is an old soul,
even though her body’s still in it’s youth,

you,
can judge if you want to,
I’m in my 30’s and she’s 22,
but honestly with Love there are no rules,

when love abruptly finds you,
at the intersection of two soul’s life’s paths,
particularly when the two souls are travelers,
specifically when those two travelers are traveling,
you have two options,
1.) ignore every instinct to embrace each other or,
2.) plunge head first in the type of leap of faith that only love knows,

I choose the latter,
later,
we find ourselves again,
flowing in a whirlpool of pheromones,

where I find myself,
with my hand upon her mouth,
holding her breath,
to the point of panic,

see I’d always found pleasure in pain,
I suppose it’s a form of perverse dominance,
but the truth is anytime anyone feels uncomfortable,
whatever you’re doing is the opposite of what romance is,

anyways,

just as she teeters on the brink of asphyxiation,
she tears my hand away,
not nearly as gently as she’d pulled my head away,
just a few hours earlier in the evening,

soon,
tears swell and break her eyelashed levees,
bathing her cheeks and my shoulders,
in the salty brine of past torments,

the storm went,
on for hours,
her sentiments the storm clouds,
my shoulder the conscious ground on which she showered,

or rather the conscience ground on which she showered,

finally,
I asked her,
why what I had done,
had caused such an effect,
I mean,
I know,
what I did was wrong,
but honestly this many tears I did not expect,

“Please,
tell me,
why so many tears,
is it what happened now or what happened in past years?”

She pauses,
takes a breath,
then continues,
where she’d earlier left,

“When I was ten,
I almost drowned,
my brother threw me in a pool,
I hit my head and became momentarily paralyzed.”,

her pair of eyes,
staring directly into mine,
I saw in that instant,
that as strong as she was/is/will be,
she is still just such a little girl,
so fragile and breakable,
as intelligent as she was/is/will be,
she is still learning and growing and,

I see how wrongly I’ve treated her,
I see how much she’s been through in the past,
and I want to apologize for everything,
I want to take every misguided action back,

she gave me her trust completely,
and I all did was stab her in the back,

and I want to take back every misguided action but I can’t,
because the past has passed,
so instead of trying to go back,
or give her misused excuses I answer the only way I can,

“I’m so sorry.”,

“I apologize,
on behalf of all men,
and I'm not asking for our memories to be forgot,
I'm just asking for our memories to be forgiven,

because memories are tricky things,
and we both have our own versions,
but either way one thing I can say definitely,
is consent isn’t meant to mean yes when it’s said through coercion,

so again I must say I apologize,
on behalf of all men I offer this apology,
I can’t even pretend my actions were justified,
please forgive us for we know not what we did and we’re sorry,

we messed up completely,
I accept that completely,
we deserve to be ridiculed and shamed,
we don't deserve you we lost you when we lost our dignity,

we fck up totally,
we didn’t know what else to do,
but what’s someone to do when they’re as lost as you,
and no this isn’t meant as an excuse it's just the truth,

because we both know that excuses,
just lead to more abuses,
so this not an exercise in excuses this is an honest apology,
this is exactly what the truth is,

and I don’t know what else to say,
other than I’ll never ever repeat those mistakes,
please the only thing worse than getting my heart broken,
is seeing I’m the cause of someone else’s heartbreak,

see we’ve all been through,
too much trauma it’s true,
see we’ve all been ignored and abused,
definitely you and yes even me too,”....

Me.
Too.

See when anyone says anything so intense and so real,
there is only one of two ways to truly respond,
either with an equal amount of intensity,
or with a mellow affirmation of unconditional acceptance,

and,

I.
Am.
So.
Sorry.

I’ve been entirely too rough with her,
subconsciously inflicting her,
with not so subtle hints of,
all the miseries I’ve been through,

she does not deserve this,
I do not deserve this we do not deserve this,
she/I/we deserve to be in love’s service,
not servants to a fake love that’s perverted and hurts us,

she deserves just,
to be treated of course
equally unconditionally,
with delicate care and support,

I deserve,
to be treated of course
equally unconditionally,
with delicate care and support,

I need to be a strong man,
not a scared little boy,
a real man treats females as strong women,
not as weak little toys,

I need to treat her exactly like I strong man should,
and return to feel her gratitude,
see true strength comes from a place of love,
hate is weak love is tough,

and we are tough enough to change our course,

and I apologize because everyone makes mistakes,
but not everyone admits them,
and that is the difference,
between a real man and a fake one,

there's not a single person out there,
that has not messed up,
so if you think someone's perfect,
they aren't they just haven't confessed yet.

You are too real with me,
for me to be fake with you,
and yeah we are all broken,
but help me fix me and I'll help you fix you.

We deserve to be presently in love,
without having to drag any of our past pains into this,
and when I think of how much I hurt you,
it makes me want to take a knife and slash my wrist,
makes my heart plummet and my stomach feels tight,
makes me want to throw myself up out of me I feel so sick,
makes me want to punch myself in the head,
makes me want to swim away never come back and cut off my d!ck,

makes me want to forget,
makes me want to drown out the memories with alcohol,
makes me want to take recreational drugs to try and forget,
because I don’t want to remember or recall,

I just want to cleanse myself of myself,
just fckn want to **** myself I'm so riddled with guilt,
but if I’ve seen my mistakes and am ready to correct them,
then what good is going to come from killing myself?

Because the ones that feel the least guilty,
are usually the ones that’ve caused the greatest crimes,
so instead of choosing death which would solve nothing,
I decide to correct my wrongs and choose life,

I decide to listen more,
to treat all women as Universal Sisters,
which brings me to the next chapter of this story,
where after she admits to me I admit to her,

see she admits,
of her flirt with death,
when she was ten,
and then it’s my turn to admit this,

“My little sister drowned,
when I was 12,
due to my abusive stepfather’s negligence,
she drowned five days before her first birthday.

The wings tattooed on my back,
are in honor of her,
for she is my Guardian Angel,
she keeps Death at my doorstep but does not let Him in,
even though He incessantly knocks,
and one day He’ll get his way,
I never want to hurt you again Love,
and in honor of my little sister that passed away,
and all of the women and girls including you,
I’m changing my ways,
and there’s no better time than now,
so I’m starting right now right here today.”.

Now it is her turn to respond,
still teary-eyed she turns to me and says,
“I’m so sorry,
and thank you.”

“It’s okay my stepdad was a horrible man,
and my little sister is probably better off on the other side,
I’m sure I’ll be seeing her soon anyways,
plus I saw a rainbow above when she died,
and I took the rainbow above when she passed,
as a good omen and a good sign.”,

the tears finally recede,
and the smiles come like rainbows after a hard rain,
see the truth is all this we live is poetry,
see sometimes to feel joy we need to first feel pain,

relating to someone else’s pain is all we really need,
to not feel so bad though it is somewhat sad,
that human experience experiences so much sadness,
and must have such a painfully poetic path.

It is a miracle,
that after all her and I have been through,
after the damage that’s been done to us,
including both of us being sexually abused,
that we are even able to trust at all,
and not just to trust but to love at all,
to let down our walls,
and to feel anything at all,

honestly,
so many have just turned off,
and the fact that we are still on,
and we are in love is a testimony,
to the overcoming power of love,
to the healing power of love,
and to the graces of unconditional acceptance,

I accept her,
and all of her scars,
unconditionally,
and we will work together to build a better tomorrow,

and she accepts me,
and all of my scars,
unconditionally,
and we will work together to build a better tomorrow.

There's a world of hurt out there,
and we all have something to say just need a platform,
so find someone out there that needs some help,
and show them some unconditional support.

The world is not perfect,
and neither are we,
but the world is beautiful,
and so too are we,

so we ride into the future’s unknown,
grateful for the lessons that help us grow,
and we appreciate our moments here together,
because we both know all too well that everybody goes,

so,

find someone to love,
and please be gentle,
and remember to be kind and touch with care,
whether it's the heart the soul or the ******,

let's be kind,
and also be strong,
and let's embrace these moments,
before we're both forever gone...

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author/poet/human
In Solidarity
Love your SELF,
There's nothing you own so much as your SELF.
Respect your being,
You're important,you're different and with a unique purpose.
Appreciate who you are,
Even if people judge you wrongly,
If you're on the right track,keep moving.
If you don't love yourself,how will you love another?
For what you do not have,you can not give.
Love who you are,your self needs more love,appreciation,care and respect from you.
Self hate dimishes your true being,embrace who you are and love yourself. Not that you'll be hated if you don't love yourself,but because its a need for a life worth living.
Love your SELF! You deserve that and more.
You can't give what you don't have so love you first before loving another.
Orlando Colon Nov 2013
What a charming liar
As dangerous as a wild fire
Avoid falling in these webs of sin
Don't be victim to a wrongly desire

I've seen it ******
I've let it run loose
It's such a shivery feeling
Wanting to hang from a noose
Samantha Duarte Jul 2011
There was once a girl who fell madly in love.
Deeply in love with the wrongest of wrongs
the songest of songs
the longest of longs.

Her legs once so stable
collapsed and fell through.
Like mush mashed potatoes,
like nothing she knew.

This innocent girl,
alone and in love.
Made a promise to herself
she wouldn’t give up.

So though she loved wrongly,
though her man kept her safe,
she wanted to run,
run out of this place.

Her true love was not hers.
He was out with some other.
So she prayed and she willed
to be his new lover.

She neither cared that it wrong,
nor that it was lame.
For this was true love
to her not some game.

But this love she loved wrongly,
he just couldn’t see,
that her love was for only
the girl she could be.

He wanted them both,
but wanted his more.
For if he truly loved her
he’d be at her door.

So now she sits lonely.
She sits without any.
She lost her own dear
'cause she wrongly loved many.
Dorothy Sep 2014
"So the thing is, the thing is. And that thing is this:

I live in a bit a blurr (a bit of, sorry), I can think (can’t, sorry), I am forever interested in disillusion (how am I still breathing?). What are grammar, what is speling, spieling all the **** I used to feel so burn in stomach; I used to be so alive.

Maybe it was the Dramamine I took in bed this morning with twice my scrip of xanaxian colored pillz devouring like candy yum how delicious is it to disappear, I am in love with the Nothing of it all (I’m no nihilist, though, no.)

For example, for proof, I shall explain how yesterday I had a long beautiful walk along the water with lovely friends and we laughed and I even ate healthy even though I did drink (how many nights of the week do I? Don’t ask, please, but it’s New York, that’s what we all do — right, that’s what we all do?)

But I’m not a sad girl, I’m not a sad girl anymore, I’m just a blurred girl now, I can’t even see myself straight, how do I expect anyone to see me. (Should there have been a question mark after that.)

Switch lines like knives’ eyes (wait, what kind of line, literary or otherwise?) I try to focus on pages, I try to focus on work, but all I can do is mutter and mispell misspelll twice and attempt to convince myself (and you, sir, lady) that I’m perfectly fine. Italicized.

The truth is (and here’s the crazy part) I actually am fine, I actually am fine for the first time in a long time, I’m mostly actually amazing and ecstatic and all those great ALL CAPS words we toss around in life on phones in text like little sweet congrats donuts, but I guess the truth is that I’m also something else, I’m also volatile, I’m both happy and a mess, I’m just in progress, I guess. I’m honest, I’m honest, I’m not hiding this time behind a second person narrative (god how comforting those babies are).

No, this time, I’m just telling the truth, and the truth is the thing; and the thing is, I am better than I’ve been in a while except in certain small moments when everything collapses inward crushing down, and in these moments, I am helpless and hapless and less than everything I want to be. I want to be perfect, you know. I want to happy all of the time.

I want every day to be like yesterday.

But today is not. Today is just wrongly prescribed glasses making everything all hazy glazed over, today is just overused parentheticals explaining things to people who don’t need to be explained to.

Feel free to hate me, I do sometimes. Feel free to love me, I do sometimes. Feel free to vindicate me / indicate me / masticate me in crunching acid commentary.

but GUESS WHAT

today is just today

tomorrow will be tomorrow

(obligatory obvious, sorry)

But it all adds to the very bones of the thing which is: this moment I want to ***** up all my self indulgent sadness and be okay, but I cannot do anything but snuggle it in corners into words and have faith that the other end of the daylight holds a girl in sharper focus than this one"
-by  *ZK Lowenfels*
Cam Arsenault Dec 2012
She waited at dawn.
For the cavalry to fall.
She was wrongly informed.
Steven Muir Jun 2015
My voice
Was the highest soprano in the choir
And I was well past puberty.
My chest may never be
As flat as yours,
My shoulders will always be
Slimmer and daintier,
My waist tucks in and allows for
Hips,
Hips that make me cringe with every ******* breath
Some days.

I will never have
That bulge between my legs
That you so wrongly call manhood.

I lack the things you tell me
Make someone a boy,
And sometimes I even lack the guts
To disagree with you;
But **** if that makes it alright to throw me in gutters,
Beat me up behind smokey dive bars,
Yell at me on the city bus,
Take away my ******* humanity.

Because I am a boy.
I am a ******* human.
goatgirl Aug 2013
it was 9-something o' clock
and we were in your car
parked by the playground that would witness us 2 months later,
kissing despite the cold hiatus that wedged itself between
us because you didn't know what you wanted,
anyways,
you pulled out your AP Environmental Science notebook
and your handwriting was small and neat
and i held you because your stomach was hurting
and i kissed you because somehow seeing your handwriting made me fall in love with you
for the twentieth time,
and i wrongly thought
that the way you handled a pen somehow indicated a steady hand with which
you could hold my heart
Classy J May 2014
Bonjour, hello to this French revolution, where people fought against the corrupted monarchy and created a new constitution. Hunger, no rights and no respect, they could not seem to solve it peacefully, so they cut off Louis the XVI neck. Marie Antoinette was a heartless greedy *****, she stole the people's food, so now she deserves some punishment, this is a historical moment for these people which they would soon cement. They started the Reign of Terror, which some may say was a costly and unnecessary error. Millions of people were killed and most were wrongly accused, their used to be equality, liberty, and fraternity, but all people saw was death, which is something not to be amused. The French Revolution where the third class fought the monarchy, so everyone could have true equality, liberty, and fraternity. Then came a guy named Napoléon who changed their wicked ways, he founded new ideas which created the future you see today. I know he wasn't exactly the best, he crowned himself the emperor, which no one had a say on, he pretended to respect the church and have meritocracy but really he was just a con, deceiving people as if they were just a couple of pawns. Napoléon is a wimp, he cost millions of lives, he also abandoned his armies multiple times, he may be one of the, greatest strategist's in the world, but really he's just a waste of time. Napoléon should have figured out not to attack Russia at winter time, it never worked out before so why would it work this time. He may be a symbol of France and the greatest self proclaimed emperor, but he died because of his pride just like Maximillian Robespierre. That was the end of the French Revolution, they slowly lost their power but they still hold onto their republican constitution. So aurevoir for now, bon voyage to you grande revolution, till your next controversial decisions and solutions.
~~                                                                            it was
                                                                            Complacency
                                                                                   and never
                                                                                  Curiosity

                                                                                         that
                                                                                       killed
                                                                                        the cat

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   14.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Lotte Jan 2014
She knows the rules of this love game off by heart,
Contents within the cardboard box confines,
The plastic packaging keeping her safe and in place,
No enthusiastic shaking from the outside can dislodge a single item.

But inside,
Inside the box,
She causes mischief,
A misplaced piece substituted awkwardly,
A wrongly folded rule sheet,
A rip in a playing card,
A weighted dice,
A swear word scrawled,
Pieces in the wrong places.

Sabotaging for personal gain,
Disregarding temporarily the personal loss,
The thrill of naughtiness,
Disobeying the rules,
The knowing smile from both parties,
Push a little, push, push, stop,
Tidy up and put away,
A stern look,
A short sharp reminder,
No game playing the game states.
Eleanor Rigby Nov 2018
It is only at the mercy of God
That I still live rightly
That very same God
To whom I did wrongly.
Should I have died
Before the sun rose
That evening in the war
Where widowed in blood shed pose.

For whom must I live justly
If for those I killed rather softly
At the expense of the fair
I live poor, pale and frail.


-- Eleanor
Brittle Bird Dec 2014
Once I hated you
when you told me what to do,
but the English language
is always either passive
or aggressive,
and I know you only meant well.

Can you forgive me
for hating you
every time you breathed the words with ease
that strangle my own throat;
that I can barely say?

I'm sorry for all the times
I'd rather be you than me,
thinking wrongly
that your life was easier;
But it's only different.
I know that now.

This isn't what I expected from closeness.
That each new piece of you
would make me feel worse about myself.
It's not because of you,
but because of my perception.
It’s collapsing with my life.

So please let me know
when I become too much to hold,
when your arms start to ache,
or when this **** just starts to get old.
I'll leave with no trouble,
Because under all this,
I do love you.


-e.r.n.
Meg McCluskey May 2011
Prompt: Persona narrates what witnesses to a tragic accident do after the accident is over.**

Two days ago, Melody Nixon drowned after her car spun off the I90 Bridge and plunged into the water, trapping her inside her car like a prison.

She was hit by a drunken college student, who wrongly
assumed he was well enough to drive without any problem.

On that night, Melody’s death was witnessed by two others. The first was Susan Baker, a successful business woman who spent more time in her office making plans and making deals to remember she was a mother.

The second witness was Walter Price, a malignant *** who lived under the I90 Bridge during the summer. He had just felt the smooth familiar burn of his whiskey as it slid down his throat when he saw the two cars collide.

After the accident, Mrs. Baker took a week off work and flew her family to Disney World, her sudden epiphany warning her to spend more time with her children.

Walter Price took one last sip of his whiskey and smashed the bottle against the side of the bridge swearing it as his last drink; a hope for a different life.

Melody’s father; however, could not seem to shake away the anger and the hurt
from losing his daughter in such a tragic way. This was why the night of the funeral, he picked up a bottle of Captain Morgan and took his first swig of alcohol, starting his inevitable downfall, a routine pattern of crawling inside the bottle when reality became too much to bear.
© 2011 Meg McCluskey
May 15, 2011
JDK Sep 2020
Life is so friggin' weird, I'll tell ya.
The older you get, the weirder it gets,
and it just keeps on getting weirderer.

Grossly weird.
Wrongly and disturbingly weird.
Upsettingly weird.

But then, now and again,
pleasantly weird.
Delightfully, excitingly weird.
Weirdly endearingly weird.

Then weirder still.
Off-puttingly weirder.
Over-sweetly weirdly weirder.
Understatedly, low-key weirder to the highest degree contradictory weird.

Maybe weird isn't so weird after all.
When it's the only constant in life,
then weirdness becomes the only reliably normal thing, oddly enough.
Weird way of seeing it.
Now before you say anything about the title I ask that you read this.

Have we all been wrongly judging Satan
consider this, if everytime you tried to do
something good, someone else takes the credit
and makes you out to be a bad guy,
no one really knows you
but everyone hates you
and everything that goes wrong in the world
is always your fault.
This is what happens to Satan everyday.
So if all of this happened to you
would you not be as twisted and evil as him?
jeffrey conyers Feb 2011
I'm not a token to anyone fear.
For if you're afraid you will always stay that way.
And be using excuses when violence comes your way.

I'm not a follower of the three principle rules of choice.
Which we know to be.
See no evil.
Well, if you're doing something wrong.
Please don't do it around me.
Because, I see everything.

Hear no evil.
If you in help.
And you should scream or be loud.
Then I'm your advocate , from those threats.
I personally will try to help.
Because fear only intimidate yourself.
It keeps your bravery hidden.

Speak no evil.
Which is a practice in work.
Because many times we let our mouth get us hurt.
But I will not speak wrongly of anyone.
Because in the end.
You'll be judged, by a powerful one.

And we would be no better.
Then those that judged his son.

And his great commandment states for us to love another.

So, I'll speak when evil has been done.
I'll speak when I see evil in process.
And, do the same even if I have to shout!

Because evil just can't win.
It like trying to be the devil best friend.
Rights belong to Jeffrey T. Conyers
Chris Byng Dec 2014
She rushed through the door, soot covered her body from her crown down to her feet. Hands bloodied, fingernails eroded from the coal mines. The momentum from her abrupt entrance into the log cabin threw her to the floor. Her eyes brimmed with with tears of hate and desperation. She was so broiling hot that the prespiration dripping down her face could melt dry ice.

Her husband,  a grizzly bear of a man, was sitting in his bronzed shaded chair next to a stone fire place. He could feel the fire crackle, as if it was a person emoting undeniable anticipation. The flames seemed much louder now that he saw his wife covered in soot, the same by product he became so accustomed to. He was as solid as the stone mantel he sat by. Motionless, quiet, he was a stone  and just like a stone acted with the same sentiment. In his left a he wielded a glass cup with etchings of all the animals he had dominated outside his man made log cabin. Inside this sentimental possession was  some Johnny walker, neat.  Unlike his wife this grizzly bear was clean, his clothes resembled that of a lumberjack. Plagued with emotions he longed to wash all the negativity away, but the strategy did nothing to aid his discomfort.  His garments stitched by hand, his boots appear to have just been cleaned. Underneath this calm vessels exterior, under this emotionaless shell, doubt and self pity was brewing. He was so sure of himself when he was in the act, so convinced it was the reasonable thing to do. "I love her. I have to do it. I have to set her free..." he thought hours ago while he clenched a small maroon blanket in his right palm and a pick axe in the other. He was convinced, driven by the pressure and insecurity that he couldn't provide.  He worked in the mine since blemishes started to occupy his visage. And still after so many years of hard work, found it to be an extreme complication to accommodate his family.

His wife, in a panic, got up and ran to a crib made with expert carpentry. She lunged inside and clutched Dojo. A stuffed animal that no longer had a keeper. She couldn't hear anything.  Not the fire, not the wildlife outside the wooden walls. She fell deaf. It was as if her ears perceived the aftermath of an explosion. The ringing in her ears were almost unbearable next to the crying which left her lungs to struggle like a child's respiratory system when crying for their pacifier. Like a baby suffocating under the coal that her husband worked with constantly.

"We could have found a way!" She exclaimed while her black stained hands dug into the hand made stitching of the zebra. The kind gentle hands that once nurtured a child and created things of use and delight, now basks in a haze of blood, tears and soot.

"I'm selfish, I... But I did it for... For her.." The lumberjack clothed man thought. "There ain't no way she would have been something..." he explained under his breath. The grizzly bear hurled his possession bearing his dear friend  Johnny walker into the flames. The ignition singed off some hair from his untamed beard. He then sat still. Just as still when his wife barged in.  "No way she would have lived... It was the right thing to do!... It felt right.. It felt so right for her grave to be where I practically lived for that last forty years!" Self hate and rage engulfed his soul so deeply that he acquired goose bumps.  The husband attempted to reassure himself with wrongly ambitious speech. He knew only two degrees of volume at this point. Booming language and silence.


More crying developed. The soot stained woman slid down to her knees, then slumped down in a fetal position cuddling with Dojo. A pool of tears appeared quickly around her. The radiance of hate was still spreading and building within her. Her skin acted as a proficient barrier.  Heat from her violent life force alone would have brought the puddle of sorrow surrounding her to a boil.

"****!!!!" The grizzly bear yelled while clasping his dome in between his monstrous hands, he leaned forward in his bronzed shaded chair. At this point no tears were produced by this man, only more self pity.

Either way, the keeper had no chance to live.
Tricia Trout Oct 2010
You always said you'd be there for me, but Mom, you're not.
Where are you? Where've you gone? I think you forgot
About all the promises you made to me.
You've never been here, you've always been away, are you ashamed of me?
I think of the times you made me cry,
And I gotta wonder why, why do I care?
I see you don't, you never did, all you've said is lies.
What about when I was five, and that boy touched me wrongly?
You seemed mad, and you told my aunt
"You can't tell her dad."
I'd thought it was my fault, I didn't know, how was I supposed to?
I think back on it now and I just break down.
Thanks to that and thanks to you, I'm so ****** up now.
You can't call yourself a mom, cuz you arent one, to my brothers or me.
I hate you and I hate me.
Sometimes I can't stop crying.
I've given up, my wrists have bled,
And sometimes I wish I was dead.
Oh how I wish to forget, forget everything.
You never mean what you say or say what you mean.
I've got hurt, shame, guilt, pain, and rage.
I keep my emotions locked up in a cage.
I never wanna see you again, just go to hell.
In shadow of your selfishness, I fell.
You're not my mom, you never were, get outta my life.
All this pain you've caused, it still cuts me like a knife.
I was forced to grow up way too fast.
Inside I'm just a little girl, scared and ashamed of my past.
I'm being destroyed inside cuz I hate myself
For something I can't help.
Don't even try to aplogize;
Saying sorry won't make up for all the lies.
Thanks to you I hide what I feel,
Thanks to you, I'll probably never heal.
I hope you're please with how I turned out to be,
Cuz it's all thanks to you, Mommy....
marie Jun 2013
We are cousins
Related by blood
Growing up
Together
Like
Siblings.

But we are cousins
And cousins don't get jealous
Cousins don't cry
When the other
Loves another.

However we are cousins
And everything is wrong
You crave for the wrong
And I dread the fulfillment
From the sins
We are
Committing.  

"We are cousins, right?"

You say sweetly to me
We lay in bed together
Hands intertwined
Under the darkness
And the comfort
Of the thick blanket.

I say nothing
Uncurling my fingers from yours
I turn to
Face away
And shut my eyes.

It was dark
It was quiet
Yet it felt so bright
So noisy
Under the uncomfortable
Silence.

You say nothing to me
And wrap your arms around me.

I flinch.

A sweet whisper
Flows into my ears
Sweeter than any other

Simple words
Simple meanings
Time passes
New meanings.

Wrong meanings.

The hidden bitterness
Starts to show
I shake
Uncontrollably

I had no words to say
To the words you had
We are cousins
Relishing in our sins.

You, who wanted this to go on
I, who wanted this to all end.

You, whom I cared for so much because I watched you grow.
I, whom you needed wrongly and mistakingly.

*"I love you."
Loosely based off a real story to me. It's not this dramatic though, but it happened. It happened once and I don't want it to happen again.
Àŧùl Feb 2016
She's hated by most people here,
Because she was wrongly inspired,
Accused of posting others' poems from here to other sites.

No, I do not hate her,
I so admire her innocence,
She did nothing wantonly ever,
For she was unaware of the wrong,
But now she has mended ways,
I see her love handling her,
No, I don't want their separation ever,
Because there are some perfect love stories as well,
And they better be left perfect unharmed.

I'll protect their love story,
As all of the failures I faced,
Impart only positivity to me,
I won't ever let them breakup,
All that remains in my pocket is good.
I personally admire her whom you all hate.
Bhumika Fulwani and her lucky beau Jitin Waghwani, both are mutually so lucky lovers.

I bless them both with my remaining good luck.

My HP Poem #1037
©Atul Kaushal
Your view of me is of  a miserable person
One who has everything and is unhappy
Your view is one of an artist, and its ******!
Your painting of me is made just for you
When you paint me as miserable it feels happy to you
You want me unhappy because it is I who left YOU!
Just so that you know
You have painted me wrongly
Because I carry on happily and quite strongly!
So color me happy, color me cool
Color me the Karen You never took the time to know
Color me happy with the space and peace I need
You negativity is something I will not feed~
John F McCullagh Dec 2013
Thinking about the end of the World
should not keep you sleepless at night.
If predicted correctly, you’ll never get credit-
So what does it pay to be right?
To wrongly predict the end of the World
will make you the **** of derision.
As Harold Camping found out
To his shock and dismay
when reality triumphed his vision.
We know not the day or the hour my friends
when Gabriel’s trumpet might blast.
With kindness and patience so live this life
You will not be ashamed of your past.
Harold Camping twice predicted the date the world would end and was  ) for 2. It ended for harold himself yesterday.
Adam Latham Oct 2014
Delirium.
I am cast down.
Cannot the damning fires of hell be quenched?
The raging flames torment my winged breast,
And O the heat infects me with it's pain.
Behold the testimony to an unjust God,
Jehovah's mercy absent unto me,
For here I stand condemned of heinous crimes
And wrongly judged unclean eternally.
My Gehenna,
My fiery plateau,
My kingdom of unremitting hate,
Wage war upon the heavenly host
And those that would desire Him most.
Andrea Jun 2016
i am four. i don't want to be a princess. i tell my mother i want to be an astronaut. as young as i am, i am already wanting to be with the constellations. i am eight. at this point, i have wanted to be many things. the weirdest: a bee keeper, after a field trip to some zoo. i stick, however, to consider being a teacher; to children, i hoped. specifically kindergarten. or maybe a football player?

i am ten. i have it all planned out. i'll be taking up Mass Communication in college and i'll work as an author, or a journalist. i consider being a newscaster. or a National Geographic photographer. i am fourteen. i do not want to be anything but dead. six feet under with my feet pointing the way the tulips grow.

and now... i guess i just miss how simple it all was. how i was so convinced i had my **** together. how there weren't entrance exams to worry about, or wrongly-chosen tracks and courses and electives to regret. because it gets harder to hold it together, gets harder to hope for the better, gets harder to love and live when there are galaxies upon galaxies calling out your name;

i want to be wide-eyed and four years old again; arms outstretched to the sky, the stars at the tips of my fingers. i want to be that little girl again. that little girl who was excited to get up in the morning and face what the universe had in store. that little girl who wasn't cynical for tomorrows she was not promised. that little girl who smiled bright in pictures, and actually meant it.
ashe williams Nov 2015
what is this adolescent sickness?
i have seen it in those accidental urges, those
presupposed just-one-more-go purges,
in that cold apathetic glow you're cultivating
through the pathological kiss of cancer our
culture is motivating,
in the eyes of girls who gave their sickness
one more sorry shot because they believed
the reason boys couldn't seem to please them
was on account of the uneven legs and knees that
they pleaded on,
and i have seen it in the insomniac pressure of
my own suicidal thoughts and depression,
pressing me into obsession, making a
profession out of my pain without my discretion.

what is this adolescent sickness?
i observe it in the edges of my best friend's
beat-up sense of self-preservation, saying
she has no place in a society that constantly
emphasizes why we need to be something
pretty for others to see,
and in the all-consuming hallucinogenic glitch
that we call home, our social media niche,
humming at an unendurable pitch that pierces
our sanity with every flick of its virtual switch,
and i watched it wrangle my friends in a
wrestling match between giving up
and grappling with the godless reality of
never really being enough.

what is this adolescent sickness?
i have stumbled upon it in alleyway girls and boys,
always sickly sidewalk prophets, society's toys
bruised by the persistent palm of poverty;
in thin hair and the thick of female skin
restless against a visible ribcage,
girls chancing a preference of death to
being unworthy of personal praise,
treating a wrongly angled glance
as if it somehow equates.
in the abuse brought on by our *******
personality binary, boasting about being
more consistent than the lies we
believe regularly, like 'our worth is set
in wealth and accomplishments' and
'benevolence feels good but believe me, you'd
look better with superficial confidence'.

what is this adolescent sickness?
i have witnessed it in this professional
sadness, carried like a coat on the
shoulders of those certainly undeserving
of a misery akin to madness,
and in the worried and calloused hands
of those who work to ensure their bloodshed
outnumbers the seconds they have left,
just to find their clock stopped going around
the moment they made a choice to stop counting,
and in the sickening shine of blades on innocent
skin, pleading for this persistent sin to take place
in place of the regrettable face of a sadist's grin.

what is this adolescent sickness
and how do we get rid of it?
more of this rhymey
yellah girl Jan 2016
Your dim glow is no comparison
to the blinding light of the Sun.
Created and gone
before your time began.

Your fame, wrongly earned
Failed star, failed sun.
No fame for your beauty,
for your immense greatness.

Jupiter, failed star, failed sun.
The sun mocks you... failure!
the Earth tossed you aside... failure!
Forgotten Pluto, your only friend.
A poem that now seems morbid when I remember the who, what, when, where and why of this poem's inspiration.
mvvenkataraman May 2016
Time goes slowly in the office
At home, it runs in top-speed
Why it is like that? tell me please
Can't it reverse its act to give peace?
Such a drastic change, I badly need

None wants to love, all love to order
I need a soul who will listen kindly
And pat me when I work **** harder
And not treat me wrongly or blindly
With a heart that is noble and broader

None loved me and I tried with hope
All left me by viewing me as a fool
I could not teach anyone loving rule
As they felt it had absolutely no scope
So my heart became a blunted tool

Tears did wet my bed and hit my head
Sorrow was my only income in life
I was by prayer led to help go ahead
And I also got a kind soul as a wife
But, my brain had a depressive strife

Now, I am okay due to constant prayer
As God without hatred supplies solace
Whenever I ask, peace, prayers deliver
My own soul, I love and ever embrace
Thank you Divinity, I have no shiver.

mvvenkataraman
Life Love Relation Kindness Peace

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