So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.
As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.
This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.
Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left.
So, now, I had plans!
But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.
A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.
She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.
Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Cause I never did like clowns.
After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.
She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.
So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout.
There she is.
Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.
Now it’s my turn.
With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.
She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.
As if she read my mind,
“Are you feeling warm now?”
“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.
But, “Now I am”, is uttered.
As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.
As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.
These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.
I locked myself out of my heart.
I turned around to go back inside.
Only to discover,
she didn’t have the key.
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes
Stranded in this place
I cannot recognize
Abandoned and lonely
No one hears my cries
AS i walk through this wasteland
Of wilderness and desolation
I am consumed with anguish
I walk this road with hesitation
On every turn that i come upon
The is more pain than at the last turn
Agony and torment spews from my pores
With every step i take more pain i earn
Until i am enveloped with grief
Buried alive on my feet
Dirt in my eyes,nose,mouth,and lungs
I throw up my flag of defeat
Each painful blow leaves behind a deep gash
That is constantly reopened never able to heal
Infection has now set into my heart
Slashes and scars on my body reveals the detail
Of the despair embedded deep in my soul
That tells a tale of a soul so lost
A soul wandering through this wilderness
A tale of what being born black cost
Copyright © April Mitchell
I can't look...
I watch in disgust
As the scale goes up,
And my stomach drops.
The scale is both my best friend
And my darkest enemy.
It can either save me,
Or be my utter demise.
But either way,
It doesn't lie.
It always speaks the truth,
No matter the consequences,
No matter the circumstances.
That's what the voices whisper,
Quietly wreaking havoc in my mind.
Silently breaking me down,
From the inside out.
The mirror breaks
As my fist collides.
Hundreds of crystal pieces,
Stained red with crimson liquid.
The image of myself long gone.
They echo in my head,
Relentlessly breaking my dreams,
Until they're just like the mirror;
S H A T T E R E D
The ringing in my ears
A mere whisper,
Compared to the sound
Of my breaking heart.
Copyright © Aisha Abdelfatah
I sit here twitching, shaking, in a panic
I don’t want to do this again, I hate feeling frantic
Don’t let this happen, don’t let me slip away
Into the darkest depths of my mind, nothing to say
At first these experiences seem inviting
But here there’s no such thing as deciding
The light is so bright and luminous at first
Until its’ quickly dimmed and the pain it causes hurts
The darkness creeps in like a predator
With the dim light as it’s’ competitor
Who’s going to win this time, this fight?
Who’s going to give the hardest bite?
Stuck between pure happiness and sadness
There is no explanation to this uncomfortable madness
Waiting, waiting; for this too shall pass
While the emotions in my head encompass
My heart surrounding the insufficiencies of my head
The feelings so heavy as if my heart is fashioned out of lead
Like I’ve got shackles on my hands and around my feet
In this state of mind everything seems obsolete
Copyright © Aubrey Brown
Where else do you want to mock me?
That my Sister is a Whore?
And she owns miserable men under her Lure?
Or is it that I have intense body Odour?
Maybe you will taunt the clothes I once wore
which you already tore.
So, what else is it? That I snore?
Or that a drunkard is my Family's Core?
Is there anything more?
Or something laughable you really saw?
Perhaps, you just realize I'm poor?
Please anymore flaw?
If you're bitter, it isn't my fault
don't use me as the Salt on your wounds.
I know, I stimulate the stretching of your Catapult
and my smile makes you want to join a Cult
Even with the Insult,
never forget that I'm mere Human
who can halt; despite not giving a damn
just to make you understand
that I'm simply a friend.
Copyright © Funom Makama
I continue to feel
the searing pain.
Not the kind
that heals fast,
open wound that closes.
But, the kind that stays vulnerably
with the passing years.
and still counting.
Woe to this pain!
With laden anguish,
The heart's bemoaning.
Thinking it was born
without a name.
Only to find then
at a much later time;
that my bosom groans,
Copyright © Wendy Meyer
wake up to serendipity
ignorant and unknown
shaken and not stirred
blond can be bond
Reality, metaphor and cliche
cheesy juvenile decay
Love, care and hate
past the use by date
of fights and torment
and well deserved lament
salute to the solitary reaper
with Metallica... I disappear
Copyright © Anwar Hussain
The question so easy
So difficult to answer
I know why
It leaves me broken all over again
I know the answer, I know, no, no, no . . .
I don’t want this
This pain that’s not all mine . . . hardly mine
It rips and tears and cuts
My heart to pieces
It bleeds and drains my soul away
I wish I never had one
I know why
Why did I have to teach myself the answer?
I know why
I wish I was blind, deaf, numb and uncaring
I wish you never made me
Why did you put me here?!
What did we do to you?
I wish I knew what to say!
Every time life turns good and gets better
You smash it all to bits and pieces
You rip and tear and shred me apart
Again and again and again!!
I know why
God help me I know why
It leaves me beaten, battered, discarded and defeated
Alone . . .
Always alone in the end
I don’t want to know why anymore
Take it away
You can do it if you try
I cannot stop myself from know why
And these words sound hollow empty like me
Why not me and not other
It was I who stole and ripped asunder
A world, a life, ahhhhh I curse you!!!!!
Not them, not him, not her . .
Can’t you . . .
Just go away and leave us be
Why can’t I cry for anyone or anything
Would someone please tell me
What good is a heart and soul anyway?
You break and take them both away all the time
Ask me why I don’t believe in you!
Ask me again why I believe I live in hell!
Why . . ?
Just tell me why . . .
Copyright © Neal Freeland
You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you,
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad
Copyright © Kenneth Fordham
Each field is barren white with snow,
around me blind, they know.
Darkness brings the haze of dawn,
how many must it show.
While many miles of web it's barb,
it tastes and grows.
Bringing home the wheat,
and powdered souls,
spread open far and wide.
Touching only youth,
Each gem from stone,
pours out and lost our seed it keeps.
Is It Poetry
Copyright © Poetry Is It
All men (the loser boyfriends/husbands) think that it's their right to be physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward their female companions (girlfriends/wives), well they're wrong. Most guys are always beating their girlfriends/wives up every single day just because they didn't make their men dinner, do chores around the house, or whatever. It seems that these womanizing losers are way better than their women. Actually, they're not; they're idiots. Controlling these women and being physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward them don't make these Neanderthals men; they're like childish cowards. All guys think that they're the only breadwinners in their families and the women aren't. But guess what--they're not; some of them don't have jobs. And does anyone knows what gets on my nerves? Men always cheating on their girlfriends/wives with other women, getting them pregnant, and not taking care of the children they already have. And those controlling, abusive men, they're always telling their female spouses/lovers what to do, what to eat, where to look, and who to talk to. I mean, who are these womanizing losers to judge other men and to boss these women around? I mean, who does that? Everybody doesn't even know why they'd bother spending the rest of their lives with those abusive idiots. This whole saying by these controlling abusive men have been getting on everybody's nerves and my nerves, as well: "You're-not-to-speak-unless-spoken-to," this "You're-not-to-talk-to-your-family" ordeal, this whole "You're-not-to-have-guy-friends," and this whole "You need me! You're nothing without me! You have no money! You have no friends! Everything's in my name: the house, the cars, clothes, everything I own! You're useless! You're worthless! I own you for life! And you will respect me!" Where I come from, the rest of us nicer guys, we treat our women with the respect they rightfully deserve. The last time I checked, the mothers have raised their sons to treat women and other people with respect, but they now know where they've gone wrong with those womanizing clowns. My suggestion for the women is for them to leave their abusive husbands/boyfriends before it's too late because if they don't, they'll end up in the hospital or the morgue. To be honest, these women, they never should've met, let alone dated or married those abusive men to begin with. And if these abusive men think that they can control those women forever, they've got another coming.
Copyright © Brashard Bursey
ANGELS AND DEMONS IN HER HEAD
and from this day and on,
no more us.
NO. MORE. US.!"
(These the earthshaking words she heard from him.)
This was the man that made her feel she's pretty.
She's nice. She's worth every care and touch,
but this time, he denied her.
He want her out from his life.
Blues skies he promised
flew fast like the wind,
so are the smiles, moon
and stars he vowed to share.
The light and shades,
they are painting nine months ago
turned fast in a minute
in an envelope-tinge of black.
a curtain flow from her eyes
as that one test.
Two red lines now change her life.
Sponge soft are her knees.
Gypsy are her shaking heels.
Chilly sweats cascade
to chaperon her tears.
Alone. Scared. Frightened. Torn.
is the athlete running
through her reverie for she knows...
She knows the world she's in may stop
and stare at her.
No lax brows
no smiling eyes
rather arched brows
and big eyes ready to claw.
Lightning fingers and tidal palms
may grace her face. Lashing
monstrous words she will hear.
All these plugs, churns...
regurgitating to her nerves.
Angels and demons knocking to her head--
they, she --all in a battle for life.
Should she tell her parents about this?
to her mama...
who didn't even care to stop
even for awhile just to ask how she is?
Her mom who prefers
going out with her friends
rather than with her?
To her papa,
who like more to watch a television?
who likes staying out 'til dawn
more than paying attention to her talks.
Yes,her phone is always new.
Her room as big as her school's classroom.
Her pocket like a walking bank.
Her parents taught her to speak
but when she wanted a talk no one there.
She walks so well.
They even tell her she could be a model.
Yet, her parents refuse her for a stroll.
Ah! She is hurting--
Her hurt is cutting deep
to her already broken soul...
like the leaning Tower of Pisa
even a collapsed castle;
a black hole
but lo! some voice within tells her:
"soon from your belly
a new life will begin..."
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name Tam Lin
11:49 pm, April 14, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo
I know a girl more broken than the aftermath of a bull in a china shop. She knows that her pain wont stop, so instead of trying to fix that, she only ever tries to make others happy. She puts everyone above herself and if life was a shelf shed be the ground. The most common sound escaping her lips is sorry. She cries herself to sleep every night, she has cuts on her arms as if too tally up all the hate she receives daily and if she could pay the bills in blood she would be able to afford a living. Lately all she's been doing is forgiving.
I want you to know that it's always darkest before the dawn, so if you have to wait another hour for the sun to rise, I will sit beside you with a watch and a red bull the size that two people need to keep them up just long enough to fall asleep together. If the weather is on our side or not, I will stay just to make sure you know you stay up long enough for that sun to rise. It's not a surprise when it does, and if it means you've gone a day without painting in blood, I will do what it takes to keep you from it another day. I suppose what I mean to say is;
Put it down. Just pretend its not there; let it disappear into thin air without a hair of a trace, because all it ever does is hurt you. those cuts mark the scars of your pain that will never fade. Cut into your skin, you don't remember the beginning, but you can find the end. Send a message to all the people that made you start, you're a work of art that just has a splatter; it doesn't matter, you can paint over it. Just sit down and look around you. You've built so many walls. You're trapped in a labyrinth made to keep people out but in turn you've locked yourself in. You can't climb the walls, all you hear is the echoed calls of your pain.
If you search for a while, maybe you'll find another face trapped in their own maze and you'll both smile; because it's comforting to know that you're not alone. Maybe that person you meet can give you a boost over your wall so you land feet first in grass. You don't need to ask, they're still there; trapped in the maze. Its sad how the price of happiness is almost always someone else's pain.
Copyright © Will Ayling
Storms above me, storms below,
Storms of violence, Storms of sadness,
Storms of anger
Storms of people laughing,
mocking my existence
Sorrow, and the joy of the few lights
of hope and friendship echoes
Through the storms
The storms surround me night and day
No land sight Poseidon’s rage is all I see
No mercy found, twix’t night and day
But for the brief repast
The gift night brings
To weather the storms
I travel unseen, unheard
Past those who give
the storm its powers
To the places in my dreams
Where night and day are side by side
And Wolves gather
below the moons
Midday and night, to sing
Their songs of peace
Of legends from long ago
Of loyalty to their pack
And the fight to survive.
To weather the storms
I look to the wolves
As a cub, to the mother
The strong live to be the hunters
Whilst the weak
become the prey
The storm takes all
Partial to none it hunts
One by one, boat by boat,
all fall to the storm
Human, Animal, Angel, Demon,
the storm resides in us all
waiting to take hold
to drag us to its depths
when hope is gone
until the Light is found
hope is gone
Copyright © Wolf Lief
written 17th Sept 2013
When it comes to love, I AM poisonous
don't let me curse another, leave me loveless
For the first time in my life, I felt your pain and cried for your heart
my heart finally hurts, knowing I passed this pain from the start
Please find help to set your heart free
trust me, it's not a life you recover from easily
Damaged goods I told you, unrepairable
but some how, you managed the impossible
Unlovable for my entire life
yet you had no problem, getting me to become your wife
Yes, it's been more than both of us should have ever had to bear
at this moment, every cell in my body is overwhelmed, so I really do care
Please don't enter my life's pain and despair
you don't deserve it, you are so patient and filled with such love
I'm sorry I let myself fall in love knowing it would poison you
soul mates forever and eternity, my love belongs only to you...
Copyright © Denise Hopkins
When mothers are delightful to deliver a male child
And fathers feel huge pressure to see a new born female child
The Almighty is hopeless !
When people are busy for more money
And children are growing to destroy their childhood
The Almighty is hopeless !
When political leaders leave to the king of policies
And democratic people are silent for personal interests
The Almighty is hopeless !
When Temples , mosques , churches are captured by communal forces
And religious people forget to their original religion which is humanity
The Almighty is hopeless !
When truth is defeated by untruth
The Almighty is silent and The Sun rises in the east .
I am hopeless !
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Copyright © Sandip Goswami
As I am awakened by the dazzling rays of the star we call the sun,
I am appalled by that peculiar notion,
because as I peek out my blinds the day is so dull,
thunder rolling ever so treacherous,
howling like the night time winds,
the trees are usually green but now all I see is the origin,
pain in my cranium I begin to feel it spin,
as I try to cry out for help my jugular tightens up,
I can hardly get any wind,
as I lay there on the floor struggling to remember last night's events,
I begin to have flashbacks, then I get a glimpse..one sip, two sip, three sips, or four,
I see abandoned whiskey bottles and joint papers crumbled on the floor,
before you begin to judge, yes I know its a sin,
but this is the only way I know to cope,
after Losing My Best Friend....
Copyright © Jesse Pickens
I have a secret place to go whenever I feel the need. It is a place that is visceral,
dark, and so unforgiving that the joy of being there sometimes makes me want to stay
longer than a moment. There, I am like a beast uncaged, running free, and devouring all
that I see. When the beast runs, there is no stopping it. There is no leash or muzzle to
keep it at bay. There is no place that it cannot go, and its desire for retribution is
like an insatiable hunger in its belly. The beast there is ever hungry. "Where is this
place?" you may wonder. I always try to remember to take the key with me. For it is the
barren, lonely, and impassable door you cannot reach...it is the Id within me.
Copyright © Daniel Cwiak
The jungle of doom
Lies mysteries beyond the grave
You hear the calling of desperate pleas
thou the wind blows pain of hope
you know there is No escape
All else is lost in the mist
He stalks you with cunning warp
You feel his wrath afflict you
As the violent trees attack
You know nothing but fear
rapid forces of evil violate you
The grass smothers you with shame
you can see there is No comfort
Nothing but the cadence of darkness
The future is gone
Nevertheless the clouds of fury taking over
Copyright © nastoshia siedlecki
Is there anyone out there?
Can anyone hear me?
You there. Yes I am speaking to you.
Please can you help me?
Where are you going?
No. No. wait.
Please dont leave me alone.
I need your help.
Why is this keep happening?
Why does it hurt so bad?
What did i do to deserve this?
Im trying. Believe me Im trying.
Im trying as hard as i can,
But i just cant do it.
Everywhere i turn
seems like an opportunity
but when i turn to that opportunity
it seems to jump everywhere
I cant no more.
I just simply cant do it.
Doctor. Nurse. Best friend. Mentor
So much potential but will it come true
Or will they just disappear into the blue
I just cant no more
So many times i hear im sorry
i have never seen this occur
then i get a shrug of the shoulders
They dont care really
As they move on with their lives
to my pillow is where i run
To shed my tears
thinking about all of my fears
Thinking of all my faults
No where to run, nowhere to hide
All the pain is just building inside
it hurts so much but i must smile
because i must fulfill my duty
My duty to serve all out there
but what happens when i cant
will the world end?
will the earth shatter?
no they will move on and find another
one to be strong as a father and
as caring as a mother
but what about me? huh.
Is there no one, anyone
please hear my plea for help
please hear my plea for guidance
the pain. the hurt. the disappointment
is just too much to bear.
please what more can i do
please what more can i say
i dont want your money
I dont need your pity
A shoulder to lean on
is all im asking for
A caring heart is all i seek
do you see these tears flowing from my eyes
I hope you do because this might
be the last time you do
For after tonight,
there will be no more me...
Copyright © Steve Malebranche
To Touch The Heart
I to feel and gain respect from love,
But knowing that your lover is much fond of,
That warmth and caring that love gives,
From feelings shared and now love lives.
But that of life's little minutes one can see,
A picture of perfection and reality.
Surrounded with love's handy touch,
And that glitter from feelings felt so much.
But with much beauty from loves shame,
One noticing that hate has lost this game.
And now tell me of how to feel from pain,
When my heart touches your name..
Copyright © Michael S. Johnson
Entering a world, a cold cruel place for some of the unlucky ones
Race, gender, sexual orientation, accomplishments, assets, pant size, you name it
What you are is a result of where you stand in these things. If you have all the right requirements
You just may be accepted. But those not possessing the right requirements
Those born into a destiny they may never hold the strength to fulfill
The winding vine of pure evil creeps deliberately, hate is planted in the depths of the untrained mind
Judgment, loathing, murderous, ignorant, fearful and malicious thoughts toward some
Those that are floating through this gray, lonely place. It is no place for you that much has been made known
Fighting off the thoughts of hate, judgment, self-loathing; just to make it through another day
How can one go on, how can one continue when hate is all that is received
For destiny has been previously decided for some.
However, as you go on through your day
If there is one thing here that you take with you
Realize the pain of ONE
Is NO different
Than the pain
No matter your race, size, gender or skin color.
Copyright © Aubrey Brown
two more days before i get paid
the pantry is almost empty
4 slices of bread and a can of beans
if i'm careful this could be plenty
i have half a pint of milk and 3 bags of tea
and a little bit of sugar
things could be worse
i could have nothing
i'm really a lucky bugger
Copyright © John Scott
Arabic poem by: Adel Said*
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
At the end of the line I stand
As should a professional homeless do
Exactly at the end of the line
Before the committee on homelands distribution
Among those who fall in the overflow
Over the needs and capacity of time, place,
At the end of the line I stand
Hanging like a teardrop in a funeral
Collecting what have fallen of my years,
And my extinct dreams,
In the bundle of my childhood that missed her doll
And my deferred share of my mother’s tenderness.
I have a flavor the midwife failed to sever
With the umbilical cord
In my heart, there is still a nursery rhyme
About a duck swimming in a river
And a songs about a fair maiden’s tear dripped down with kohl
And my fingers are still trembling
In fear of the lesson and the swish of the teacher’s ruler.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Volumes about hunger and wars of social classes
Burned by the fascists
Who also snuffed out the tears of forbidden love.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Dates I saved of palm tree’s yearning for the land
And some palm pollen dust still traveling in my lungs.
I have no signs of prophecy on my forehead
And no halos of saints
But my homeland that’s sitting there
Amidst the committee on the homelands distribution
Will recognize me
And I'm in the queue
I will not compete with the homeless comrades
For their homelands
And will not accept that illustrious one on the right
And not that opulent one on the left
I’ll accept only that one,
That one whose head is a palm tree
And whose arms are two rivers.
- You , O Mister!
You who was at the end of the line,
You haven’t been recognized
By any of the homelands gathered in the committee,
The exiles snuffed out your flavor
And withered your songs;
Despite the high level of adoration in you
No homeland on earth
Understands your language.
- Even that one? !
- Even that one ..
And out of pity
We decided to grant you a berth,
A berth that will never come to an end
You will waste on it
All that’s left in your lifetime’s piggy bank
Of dreams loitering outside the fence of life
And of years flying, like neglected pieces of paper,
Out of the window of history!
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam al-Hashimi
* Adel Said is a poet from Iraq who resides in Norway
Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi
I wrote the Invisible man poems many years ago. These poems, and I have not submitted them all, was for a little girl who died in a road accident. They are a tribute to her memory. It was a dark and very sad time and I miss her so much. The Invisible Man poems are supposed to to show the the darkness of my world, the way I felt. They are very precious to me. Thank you for reading.
The down and out, invisible man series of poems is about a young man going out into the world and finds he cannot cope. He starts off life on a large slum over spill estate that moved the poor people from London into council housing.
As all the people that were placed their where from different parts of London, gang and turf wars began immediately. This estate was built in the middle of nowhere so the were no jobs, nothing to do and drink became a major problem in the 1970's.
Anyway this very intelligent young man young man thought if he could move away he might have a chance. But his lack of social experience meant he was leaving all his friends, family and loves. He was leaving his history, his past, his roots.
He gets a good job a nice home, new friends, but there is something missing, his real friends. As he grew older he finds he misses his hometown and becomes depressed and he cannot cope. He loses his new friends his job his home and finds himself out on the street with an addiction for strong drink.
He has the clothes he has on and that is all. He is seventy miles from his old hometown and decides to walk back and try to start again. On this walk he becomes dirty, unwashed and ripe. His hair now grey is long and unkempt and he has grown a beard which is also gray.
So he walks and walks until finally thirty years after leaving his hometown he returns. Nobody recognizes him, they think he is a vagrant, which he is. He wanders around familiar places and feels that he has at last come home.
So in his long thick overcoat, long gray dirty hair and unkempt beard, he could be anybody, so he just becomes a lonely old vagrant that people cross the road when they see him. This is a true story.
I hope I can do this series from the eyes of a vagrant and give an insight of what it is like on the other side of society.
Please read these poems with an open mind and feel the way the vagrant feels. He has emotions, needs but most of all he wants to say hello to his old friends and family, but cannot because he is too ashamed.
So he watches daily life, in his old hometown lonely, an outcasts sense of belonging. He is The Invisible Man.
Copyright © Terry Trainor
In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so.
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea.
I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want.
And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch.
But I would like to…
I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door.
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.
Copyright © Molly McCarthy
Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.
Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,
As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.
If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.
An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.
The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.
Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.
Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.
These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,
As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.
These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,
Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,
Copyright © Terry Trainor
What’s the point
When death awaits
What’s the point
When you can not
swelling of your
What’s the point
When you heart
What’s the point
of being in a
When you are not
What’s the point
in doing your
When it is
What’s the point
in making all
When you are sad
What’s the point
When your heart
And that colgate
What’s the point
Copyright © Tumelo Mogotsi
My wings are wound up.
Don’t ask me to fly.
I have locked myself inside the cage.
Without leaving, any reason for my rage.
I feel safe inside these bars…
As I am afraid of outside unknown wars.
In your vision, my smiles and tears may be invisible.
It does not make any difference for me even if it is quite possible.
Neither do I blame my Lord nor any human being,
I blame myself…
For filling my heart with unfulfilled dreams…
And am frustrated for being helpless with inseparable wings!
Copyright © Roja Meeran
The pretty girl on the bus makes me sad. She is beautiful in toque and scarf but I'm
not ready for winter. Her hair is drawn back in woollen grip; the hat is black though
she wears it in bright pink. The red of her scarf lights the dapper down jacket of
winter. I wish to sing to her and whisper my wisdom of error. She grins as I
purposefully walk by again, she knows and I adore that because she is sheepish
and bashful yet courageous in hesitation. The bus is empty but I choose her
immediate right and she sighs in thanks. I ask her name to which she announces
Sarah, I am overjoyed by the simple beauty but my 'membrance of all life’s glory in a
single package anoints my lust for life and love lost. She shies sensing my usage of
her in character and I back peddle seeking soon required response to the foreseen.
Copyright © Ryan Wegenast