I do not know?
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.
She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied
Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably,
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by
One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew
Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…
-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
Tiptoe into my room
and hide behind the curtain;
You wait to slither onto me
and be my demon.
You lurk in the shadows
waiting to pounce upon me;
You seek to capture my soul,
and you do so through my body.
Hallucination or reality,
you make it hard to comprehend;
you show me a starting line
on the dead end.
Tearing through my flesh
you bruise my bones;
clenching on my nerves,
you make my sanity moan.
Flowing through my veins,
you want to poison me;
suffocating my being,
with your invisible brutality.
Would you make me yours
and never let go;
Or would you destroy me
and throw me down the road?
Copyright © Amrita Jha | Year Posted 2015
She is, exactly what he wanted to see
His erotic fantasy
Every teenage boys playboy bunny dream
Look at how you come onto me
Lost, destroyed soul is all i will ever see
U disgust the innermost,
deepest feelings in me
She is the beauty queen
The one from your dreams
She doesn't even look like she bleeds
Imagine how she screams...
Perfect without a flaw
Take her on the wall
Have her spread all over the floor
Dont even close the door
Look at what you all came here for
Destroy her pride
Till shes got nowhere left to hide
Give her your might once more
Until she cannot take it anymore
Look into the eyes of all your lies
Realize every hurt you've given in your life
This is your whore
& now shes all bloody and sore
The same girl next door,
that u begged for more
You've burnt your soul to the core
A deed done
With blood on your hands
Listen, to your screaming fans
Shes just one of those,
that you used to love
You stole all her fairy dust
and turned it into lust.
Copyright © Dani Elle | Year Posted 2014
Grinding you in the coal black mortar of my expectations,
I know your substance is not one to powder under impact
And yet I work here, feverish, to prove my trepidations wrong
I grind you, harder against the walls, and you never powder,
You are shards of glass, getting smaller and smaller,
Cutting through the walls, straight into my skin
I cry out in a thousand minuscule pains,
As you enter mercilessly into my bare flesh
Tinkles flair as the wind blows upon the incisions
I sparkle in the night of our plight,
Terrorized by the horrors I have constructed,
Toying with you… you…the finesse tool to my agonies
You gained control of me like a mimed puppet master,
The binds I had tightened upon you asphyxiating my sanctuaries,
Tied along you, and twined around me
Silent, smiling, seething…
You begged me to scream
Your glass shards icing into my pupils, through my brain,
And out into the recesses of all my verbalized fears
I shove the remaining shards into my fleeting sight,
A hawk screeching, being stabbed in the eyes by its own feathers
Expelling blood and tears …matter and might,
All I wanted to do was finally see you…
To take in the scent of my grounded version of you
So long though had I whiffed in the potent poison you always were,
Too long, as it no longer has the same effect my nostrils numb for…
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
Death, die and be dead.
Ah, so gently said.
Just remember destruction is never well fed...
Currently, I am carted by a decrepit flaxen bus
whose savaged seats seem mercilessly ravaged
by beasts of anger and rage with monstrous identities.
My fluent friends flash as talking trees,
and swollen branches thrash wildly, speaking
morbid messages to me in the roaring rain.
Out of nowhere, I notice modish danger as
the driver transforms from his jovial image
into a gesturing joker of mocking madness.
Reacting, I claim the frightened formation
from his foreign tongue to be in unison,
and we follow his lead like frantic frogs.
As sudden horror roars and fear nears,
bullets crash and clash through muddy windows
of the stalling bus, our possible metal coffin?
I'm electrocuted by my emotions and my soul sweats.
My unconscious body of breath, heartbeat and blood
are in a trinity of terror, admit silent statues.
My arms quake and quiver as only flesh protection
against steel, bullets, glass and the burning bus.
Blood rushes like falling rose petals from my open skin.
Death is the black harp where every note is a life.
No! No! I do not want to be a singing song soul!
I desire my 14 year old mortality to remain true!
Now, in the nest of the ambulance cloaked in medicine,
I reek of sadness as I learn that the bus driver and two
classmates perished from the pollution of power hate.
Death, die and be dead.
Ah, so gently said.
Just remember that destruction is never well fed...
Sponsor Broken Wings
Contest Second Chance
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2016
Why is my skin color different?
Did God make me this way?
When he made me, did he have
intentions on me being a slave?
And I thought we were all brothers,
including all the ones of different colors.
But why are they beating and hurting the others.
Someone save me, I didn't choose this life.
These scars, they've carved me with the sharpest
All I have is my faith.
Because if I'd held on to anything else
it'd be theres to take.
What is it that I ask for?
Equality, I preach.
Something small to you,
but makes a difference
Whipping, spitting, hitting on me.
Raping our women in your wife's sheets.
Taking our children and turning them into workers.
No sense of empathy, grief or composer.
For the brotha' on my left and my sista' on the right,
with the courage that I hold I will continue to fight.
You have taken away my freedom, and most of my life.
But what you have failed to obtain is my state of mind.
Go ahead work my body, and do all that you please.
This is just a shell anyway, it's not coming with me.
You spit, you laugh, thinking you gained the world.
You think you have power because you've raped a young girl.
Stand tall sir with all of that pride.
And go ahead and hold it until the day that you die.
But your day will come when you'll fall to your knees.
Feeling the burn on your body from the whips you've given me.
"The LORD is my shelter,"
I continue to say.
While my soul goes up as God takes me away.
I wish you peace with smile on my face,
knowing that God teaches the fullness of grace.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
Dear Sir, my innocence is gone now, no more fear
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain!
I was crying; I was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world, that’s what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir, my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was so blind!
having hidden hatred inside, a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds, that you marked,
yes, you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.
My innocent world was shattered by your touch
Hope no one ever has to experience such
For all the pain, all the cruelty, thank you very much!
Copyright © Farhana Akter | Year Posted 2014
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
With the stench of rhum and a play of control, he growls
amid the dark of the darkest evening;
then reaches for his woman.. and in a dash
pushes her growing belly, unrestrained.
She with a child inside a twitched fetus
drowns in haze of murky kitchen light:
her rosy flesh scarred; wrists deformed again, again
praying to Mama Mary, “ Oh grant me relief,”
while his vile laughter spits, as if nothing happened.
Ten Lines Or Less Contest
Sponsor: rob carmack
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015
A kestrel dips into an updraft
thinking he knows the world
through silent valleys
around the earth
through the wind
The creature soars ever higher
in great swoops and dives
the horizon curves as it eludes vision
the stars pulse their siren
but thrill denies
their ambient warning
Gust to gust each fades
quicker than the last
whispers carry the weight of wings
and their soulful song breaches sanity
prayers of rightful good
where petty purple banners
crest twinkling hearts
The last thermal ridden
last lyric dies
as flight’s drone fades
upturned wings alone
the sky empty oblivion
as the sun aligns its beady eye
to the looping path of the bird
Two brittle forms
grapple in light
which blots out the senses
what can never be touched
smites the naive bird
an archangel buried
in a crypt
six feet deep.
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
The sun was out this morning
But soon the R.A.I.N came and erased any ray of hope I had left
It committed theft
Of my virginity
Flooded and damaged my fertility
R.A.I.N. drops were falling on my head
My secret garden became a water bed
And growing within it
Was the clitoral swelling
That became a dwelling
For constant pain
And while Gene Kelly is singing in it
I’m crying from all the R.A.I.N.
I can’t stand these April showers
How can it bring May flowers?
But deflower me?
What have I done to deserve
Falling victim to the second nature
Of a worthless soul
I guess not realizing the devil could be so bold
When it was all said and done
All I could see was the RED blood between my thighs
That I unwillingly sacrificed
For the R.A.I.N. to stop
The ORANGE that represented my strength was slowly fading
The YELLOW became a brick road that I couldn’t ease on down
Because it was now blocked
I didn’t know how to get back to my sanity
I couldn’t see the GREEN in me that once represented my dreams
And like the BLUE in the oceans, skies and the heavens
I became distant
The INDIGO made me suddenly aware that
I could no longer trust anyone.
All my shame and sorrow
Was clad in VIOLET
Bright enough for the world to see
Feelings of hopelessness and insecurities
Were trapped inside the rainbow
The R.A.I.N. left behind
No lucky charms or pots of gold
I beg for the R.A.I.N. to stay away
But no matter how much I pray
It continues to pour on unsuspecting souls
Copyright © Latosha Mitchell | Year Posted 2014
I wonder who I am sometimes, what seems to be a universal phenomenon. As everyone remains looking to be someone other than themselves, because those who are themselves are persecuted and dreams hung on the cross by society.
But as I wonder the colorful atmosphere of those around me tend to judgingly remind me exactly who I am and what I’m capable of accomplishing.
Because they assume before they even get the chance to know me, my story, why I act, talk, or dress different, why I smell another fragrance, perceive, taste, and feel the world inversely.
Under my skin they shoot before they ask, a trigger finger itching as the deadly explosion blast piercing the body of another innocent soul. Slavery is illegal now but we still hang.
Hang pictures up of loved ones taken through an unjust act, if you listen closely you can still hear the sound of invisible shackles as I walk and fall to my death…click clack, clic clac, click…a heart beating but dead now the heart no longer beats…
Under my skin if I put my hoodie up I might as well wear a mask, to hide the sinister agenda people assume I carry. Sometimes I just want some shade to block out all the negative rain on a summer day.
And when I succeed they assume I’m cheating, because my plateau has no high point or high ground. I’m a flat line, dead to success, and they put me here.
It’s a little misleading when all your hard work just falls off the deep end, because they look at you as if you have a red hand or you’re the bandit.
And if I bought it I could never own it because under my skin without acting I’ve already sinned.
How can you win when you can’t control the end?
All I can say is never stop praying and keep grinding until the end, because God controls the future. So never let someone else control you through “You cant’s or you’ll Nevers.”
P.S. I am black lives, THIS IS JUST A POST SCRIPT.
Copyright © Post Script | Year Posted 2016
As you ended our video call,
You suited up,
Just another day in that god forsaken place,
As soon as you stepped off the plane it felt like being in an oven.
What did you expect.
The boys and you all load up into the Humvee and take off with the rest of the Caravan.
Just another day.
Just another day…
There wasn’t supposed to be an explosion.
There weren’t supposed to be screams.
There wasn’t supposed to be any blood shed.
It was supposed to be just another day.
But all of that did happen.
And you were taken away from me and Mom and Dad and our little sister,
In an instant.
You were supposed to come home.
We were supposed to celebrate your birthday together,
Our sister baked you a cake for when you came home.
But… now you can’t,
And you won’t,
Because you’re gone.
And you can’t ever come back.
But know that we love you,
Know that I love you,
Know that I loved you, My Brother.
Most Importantly know that we miss you,
every waking moment.
Because you’re gone,
And we’ll never see you again.
Did I tell you Mom and Dad still pay your phone bill?
So that we can hear your voice on your voicemail recording when we miss you.
Copyright © Katelyn Roussell | Year Posted 2014
The boots moved slowly,
Crunching sun-baked clay.
A hazy wind down alleyways,
It moves with moans
Then whistles softly,
A child stands in a doorway
Pulling something from his robe.
He keys in certain numbers,
Only doing as he's told.
He waits, then hears a bomb
As it explodes.
A helmet lands and bounces
Near his feet.
He shrugs. then merges with a
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
An angel formed from
lake of purity,a gift to
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the
garden of the elves.
Sent to earth,made an
abode in a gentleman's
cherished and loved.
As time travelled,another
fella whom she trusted
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost
snuffed,she feared the
love of her true love
would be lost. Alas! bond
of love is indivisible.
Shattered,with a broken
spirit she tries to mend
the pieces....on the
shoulder of her lover she
leans,hoping to soothe
her bruised heart.
A true story,a close
pretty lady friend of mine
was raped by her family
called her and told her
his mum was very sick.
She called me and
confided in me .
Don't know whether to
encourage her to call the
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
she can't remember
what came before the darkness....
her childhood vanished
and the world became blind at
the first stroke of violence
8/23/15 Contest: "Knock Us Down With Your Lines"
Human Rights Violations
Sponsored By Olive Eloisa Guillermo
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015
I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear
Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm
When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane
I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes
I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries
I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs
As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call
With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
Always swimming against the current, traveling a path that wasn't clean
A Pandora's Box of past experiences...This Is The Life These Eyes Have Seen
I remember when in grade school/sad at home/and fewer friends
In the throes of a shattered childhood...into the abyss this youth descends
Reading, Writing, and some Arithmetic, it was The Three R'S which kept me sane
Yet, in my psyche a storm was raging; nimbostratus and soaking rain...
By junior high much more than wretched/abuse endured would set the tone
Dark Midtown blocks, a hustler's playground...those streets of pain I walked alone
Things were done, it's called survival, deeds mostly wrong but, sometimes right
Only God above could Love me, a desperate child who sought The Light
I knew boys who sold their "manhood", a tragic fate, they sold their soul
Forty Second the eighties quicksand, and many kids were swallowed whole
Ingest these words of tribulation/I freebased when just sixteen
By nineteen on crack and fiending...This Is The Life These Eyes Have Seen
Chasing the cloud, yes, on a mission, losing sleep to find the drugs
Looking for hits, but, finding nothing/a thousand specks on darkened rugs
Then came prison/another nightmare/just twenty six/a second bid
Introspection/ineffable loneliness to pay for all the things I did
Striving hard to avoid all conflict, encountering things that made men fear
I went so deep within my spirit; no one could ever hurt me there
Adult years of daily suffering/teenage times that weren't serene
Still, several Blessings amongst the hardships....This Is The Life These Eyes Have Seen
Copyright © Poetiq1der Simmons | Year Posted 2014
I wake up with another tear
for I have again, relived the nightmare
will it ever leave me with any way to see
when will I again be able to see my family
the past is forgiven
so why is it still living
my heart was so broken
but soon after it was frozen
let it lie and the past die
for I have a life to live with
but the past is still being relived
how do I stop this past of torture
so I can find my new future
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
Pain is the sharp feeling of steel against skin. Red rain sprayed across cobblestone tiles fills the air with that rancid metallic scent. Bleeding from the gut that now red river floods the streets.
Pain is that empty feeling in the very depths of the soul. A black hole devouring not light but emotion leaving only pain and despair in its wake.
Pain is a hurricane sweeping through your life it uproots, steals, thieves from you the people you love leaving you lost, alone, broke.
pain is ... pain is …. Pain is
Copyright © Curtis Goldthorpe | Year Posted 2016
Try me, fool, and the semi gon' bang
I'm a big dog, I gotta' let my nuts hang
If I go to jail, best believe I'm bonding out
I always handle beef, that's what I'm all about
I'm not a punk, somebody lied--
I'm bustin' shots, let's get that fixed
Sleep on me, see me in ya' worst nightmares
I'm Hell-raiser, dead fresh in some Nike-Airs
Or in a monkey suit, totin' something with a banana clip
Leave you wet, like dry lips after applying Chap-stick
Ain't talking 'bout a blunt, but I rolled-up
I'm gon' wet these fools, hope they don't mold-up
When it go down, I go ape-shit, bananas
put coward to sleep, without the pajamas
Keep bustin' shots, like pimples on a maturing teen
I do my dirt, but leave the crime scene clean
Stay fresh, but they always call me grimy
They say I'm too gangsta', so they won't sign me
I put in work, man, I'm clockin' in overtime
Haters faces looking sour, like they suckin' on lime
You got beef, well guess what, that's all I eat
I stand my ground, you just sit in your seat
Can't let fools run me over, I'm not a roadkill
Leave you in the streets leakin', looking like an oil spill
You got a problem, I know how'tta' get that solved
Apply pressure, let's not get ya' family involved
Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013
i wittnessed a war just yesterday,
being the reason for much dismay,
i'm sorry for all the death and blood,
and all the soldiers in the mud,
i wish i could stop it just can't be done,
i'll need everybody including a nun,
i'll need jesus to forgive our sins,
that knock us down like bowling pins,
i'll need everybody to read this poem,
in hopes that all the soldiers get back home.
Copyright © jeffery scott | Year Posted 2014
Your words are like stones
Whether skipped or thrown
They fly alone
Bruising and breaking deeper than bones
Yet pain from these stones will never be shown.
Whether near or far
She'll faithfully wait
Till the unknown date
When those stones are kind and lost of hate
You make mistakes
Yes she can relate
But what if the pain becomes to great
Whe the kindness comes too late
Such small pieces of her heart
whats left to make
She gave to much
Now there's none to take
Just one everlasting ache
That your stones did create
They say you can never retake
A women's heart once it breaks
So next time withhold the quake
Your stones with take
And keep this lesson
As a dear keepsake.
<3 Kalee Lynn
Copyright © Kalee Robertson | Year Posted 2013
The acrid sight of my inner soul;
The unjust punishment I release when bored.
The wrathful fist I unleash to all I despise.
Along with the belligerent eyes I use for demise.
I am ballistic like a tornado,
An earthquake from the roots of my feet;
Along with the crater I form with my finger,
I destroy you, but make you linger.
The Raving face I show above,
I show the face of Armageddon and the voice of Satan.
The anger of the soul, the anger of MY soul,
IS THE ANGER THAT WILL ERASE YOU, UNTIL YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A HOLE.
Copyright © Michael Soto | Year Posted 2015
More things can happen or could have happened,
From a cold metal,
Sharpened in fine fettle,
Making skin nettled,
Damaging the mettles,
To keep minds unsettled,
Provoking to ask, if this is or if this was real or mental?
Blade on arms,
Skin might be harmed;
Skin was gashed,
Blade grinding and gnashed,
Red colors coming in a flash...
Blade on gut,
Feeling a sudden jut,
Provoked as a rut,
But, this was a guff...
Blade on neck,
Thinking about a sudden sweep,
Discord trying to overcome conviction and peace,
Even though, the blade failed again,
Failing to provoke the red gushes and streams...
Blade on heart,
Might be the last battle so far,
Trying to not give in, being so hard,
Though in the past, there could have been to many cuts,
And more deadly slashes,
Creating red splashes and plashes,
As I slowly might have fought, winning or losing,
Against the sleeping and life flashing feeling,
As I bleeded out..
Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Their violence, can only be condemned
Their fires, can never be extinguished
For their bullets, and detonations
Can never be undone
As living is not an option, for the lifeless
Their contemptuous acts against humanity
Cannot be denied
For the tears they have claimed, keep flowing
Promising no dryness, until peace prevails
And weapons, are lost
Reasons, bear no importance
Murder, can only be condoned by few
For bloodied portraits, agonize most
As often innocent souls, wishing to turn back time
Shadow the background of each
The growth of the cynic, only thrives
As compassion, evades his heart
His faith in mankind, is long lost
Though a cynic, I am not
My heart only throbs
As the city of love, is wounded by hate...
Copyright © Keshan Govender | Year Posted 2015
Cabbage Patch Kids Of North Korea
Most N. Koreans go to camp, Camp 22
365 days a year they stay
Eat 1 head of cabbage every day forever
They don’t need sun or play they say
Work occupies them
Children turn in their parents for some bread
Watch them tortured
When they die the children cry with joy
Wish they had more parents to sacrifice
To glorify the state for food
Cabbage is delicious with government approval
All children born in Camp 22 are killed at once
I guess you could say that is not very nice or much fun
But cabbage patch kids who do survive
Are permitted to eat a kernel of corn
From cow manure and work inside till they die
No less no more
It is a game of attrition not nutrition
But who are we to criticize
Camp 22 will survive
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
How long I've ached; how deep the sore!
My albino Soul- suffers blisters...
For with myself, I am at War
Run for your lives- Poetic Sisters!
Dodge the bullets; avoid the mines-
Watch the sky for falling bombs!
Oh, worry not, for all is fine-
It's just a little Napalm :)
Hydrogen, he's just a friend-
But atomic at his center
Radiation, Tunguska station-
Do not fear (it's safe to enter...)
The fray; the fight
Fought day and night
Unending battle- forever addled
(And no end in sight!)
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013