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Kendra Gatz Apr 8
Begging for mercy from a cruel false god
As the years go by, I’ve seen through the facade
But I’m still chained by desperation and fear
And the false hope that you’ll be sincere
And the pleasure you take in my pain will disappear
But it won’t
You don't want to change
You never will
So it will be my blood and tears you continue to spill
Consume me body and soul
Whenever you are hungry for a little power and control
Whenever the world is too much for you
You take it out on daddy’s favorite punching bag

Mother is on the stairs
But she might as well not be there
For she doesn’t interfere
Not even when he fists curl up
Not when there are tears
She watches with quiet scripted interjections
As she watches this towering god looming over me tear me apart
No apologies no remorse
Just me with ****** hands picking up the broken fragments of myself off the floor
I don’t want to be here anymore

And after the damage is done
She provides false comfort
Then angrily scolds me
“You know better than that”
“Why did you say that”
“Why didn’t you say that”
As if the looming tsunami would ever take mercy on me
So I cower in my room licking my wounds forever alone
For there is no one else’s hands to hold
No one's arms to surrender to
Just grief
And a false hope that one day,
I will be free

But even when far far away
Those cruel feelings and fears remain
For now they are woven into my DNA
I dip my pain and misery in glitter
to blind you with the joy and colors
but you’ve called my bluff
You looked close enough to see
washed out colors
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Ashamed I look down
because I too was
blinded by all the glitter
So desperately I wanted to be who I’ve always been
so I held on to it
I kept it there for people to see
that I wasn’t completely,
broken
..
(And maybe I could even convince myself
that I was okay)
Holding on the hope you will return
For a moment think that you have
Brief impulse is all that I've earned
Resist coming completely back

I'm lying beneath skies full of stars
Frozen ground padding my head
Weakly wondering where you are
Pushing up buried expressions unsaid

The deep roots are tough to rip loose
They've been planted profoundly for so long
Forlorn because I failed to use
Fearing they'd come out wrong

Anguish has now awakened
Manifestation of my flaws
Regretting the path taken
Past a parasite that gnaws

The thought of freedom makes me laugh
Existing but actually dead
Like the way I cope with being half
Acting like I'm whole instead

Isolation is an alien feeling
Heard stories but had no clue
Hardly remember what it means to start healing
Never had a cut as deep as you
You weren't the first, but you were the worst..
Ace Mar 23
Floating in the vast
A jelly is hushed

From the storms to the tides
Low to high
Pushed and pulled
By the current and time

It wonders around
Glowing in the dark
And end up circling about
Till the end of March

Where the time has come
For the one he preys
All hail the moon she praised

She twists and she twirls
Trying her best to navigate
Eventually she spirals
And lost in time and space
A lost jelly finding her way
el Mar 20
I am alone in this world
I fear i always will be
I have to make my peace with God, now
That is all I have left
I am in a constant losing battle
With myself, with life
Perhaps I deserve it all.
Keara Marie Mar 5
I’m beginning to know myself.
I don’t exist.
I’m the space between what I’d like to be and what others have made of me.
“We read to know we’re not alone.”
C.S. Lewis says, as a character in the film Shadowland

~~~

my lovers mumble when they leer and clear the
assorted sordid, livres with dust jackets, spines,
and notable ideas, POV’s that dare to offend; me
thinking seeing they’re uneasily resting uneasy, for
there appears to be some scales, mountains that need
mounting before they can successful scale my
heights, a big BE WARY atmospheric global warning
signs prior to enter my magic kingdom,
quizzes  they are unassuaged they will pass
with  any color schema,
let alone flying ones…

that amuses me, ah well, a sign of my changes, when
those  days when a merely handsome man turned this
now skeptical-woman agog, and flushes of heat made
a breast beat,  a flesh and blood chin, ***, eyes, rock me
like a movie poster definition of movie poster handsome

they are smarter and when they cautiously inquire re my
diversity, a broadening array of fiction, philosophical disput-
ations, that lay and lie with me, they, and I bare skinned,
open to the ah ha! of titillating notions of human endeavor,
or British ****** mysteries, and lots and lots of history…

this commends and cerifies
my screening choices for,
when alone, I read
to know I am are not alone,
for my thoughts need hot
company, and my caress
of divers words diverges,
in so many directions, I need
assurance, insurance that the
men who wish to bed me are
capable of making love to my
mind, where stimulus and that
they can feed me endlessly a
variety of bouchées amusantes,
that wet my appetite for their
entirety

should they fail,
to for want of trying,
I comfort them obliquely,
informing them that
*”We need to read to know we are not alone!”
B Mar 3
How lovely you look, so lit up.
I always keep my room
glowing like a subtle dream
sunset; orange, lavender, vibrant peach.
Now you're mine in the midnight hour
overcome by it, for a week.
Hoping you'll notice
the lonely pothos leaves
she's survived so much
we have both survived living with me.
I never liked this town
but you are so beloved
brought you here
now we're so above it.
Sipping on french champagne
(forgot to budget)
no worries, I'll be gone
this time next year
in some strange place with the curtain drawn
thinking of us here.
silence
sweet silence
like none other
despite the library door
slamming everytime
someone leaves or arrives

it seems to slam louder
when they leave

i am not perturbed
or distracted, nor am i
expecting not to be

here, alone, surrounded by books,
i just am

lamenting this place not being
as busy
as it should be
who’s fault is that?

celebrating this place not being
as busy
as it should be
guilty as charged

all these faces i see
it’s like a small town here
sometimes abandoned
sometimes inhabited

once again,
i don’t care

how can i?
my head, full of
Aurelius and Bukowski
doesn’t have space to

well, deep down,
i guess i do care
but not as much as
i suppose society begs i
should

how can i?
i’m too busy figuring out
who i truly am
and the books help, Bukowski
was correct, these philosophers are
like brothers to me and i speculate
my deep “connection” to them
to men whom i never met
yet felt more fatherly care from
than my own

maybe that’s the root

sometimes, all this reading begs the question

do i like books
more than people?
or people more
than books?

i think i know the answer,
eureka!

i love books, and individuals alike
i don’t like people
especially when they group up
in congregations and crowds,
strangers in a
can of sardines
with no space to possibly
ever care

only to survive and barely breathe
or to escape such a reality

how could i?
when they don’t
even care for themselves

it’s disheartening, really
to witness such potential
in one soul
and watch it *******
melt away
around his or her friends

around their families’
incessant influence and needs
abusing providers

consumed by their personal troubles and struggles
and vices, infected by the amplification of
a hang out
girls night
boys night
the clubs, the bars
the gossips of nonsense and ****
that simply isn’t their business

sewage

their obvious and yet
radiantly painful,
like a sunburn that isn’t on you
but hurts to look at on someone else,
avoidance of themselves
begging the following:

could these souls spend
an hour, alone, with a book
and paper and pencil?

how could they?

they’d like to, i’m sure,

but hate themselves just enough
to not be able to.

-melancholicreator
i dont know, i was in a mood

enjoy.
Ant Feb 25
i dropped my phone
and it cracked.
this just feels like life,
except im in a freefall
waiting to hit the pavement
and shatter,
just like my phone.
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