Writing Hate Poems

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Details | Free verse |

oh, let me tell you a twisted tale . . . 

of robin hood and a merry band of followers
but my story does not take place in folklore but in reality
todays story is of an archer, a person skilled with swords and words
skilled in disguise, taking many false faces
and like robin hood of ancient tales, draped in green but this green is jealousy
like the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together
blanketed in secrecy, having no moral compass to guide the evil
oh the hate is a cancer on my poems and beautiful words
my poetry a garden ravaged by this outlaw with a sharp arrow
devious, crafty, sly, calculating, deceitful, fake, scheming, shifty
we know each false disguise you hide behind
every fraudulent name and game
oh, back to the story . . 
lets raise the curtain to this ancient tale
this robin hood and a merry band of followers
pretend to be good and kind but shoot arrows
trying to murder my words 
from dark hidden places, mingling joyfully
shifty and crooked, shady but quite artful in ways of destruction
a shining star shaped shield of silliness
the way is dangerous in this spider web of lies
bloods seeps from my broken heart like red tears
leaf-strewn gales utter low wails like violins on my murdered poems
robin hood and the merry band of followers
spit them out like stones
and when I read their words, the words squirm like snakes
robin hood of ancient lore stole from the rich to give to the poor
this robin hood steals our poetic muse 
not quite the hero of old
but be assured your swords and sharp arrows are nothing to me
because my poems will sail like swans on quiet waters long after you 
are burning down below for your deceitful ways

______________________________
January 21, 2016


Free Verse

For the contest, Twisted Robin Hood
Sponsor, C.T.

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016




Details | Sonnet |
Bitter Harvest Of Thy Wickedness

Thou hast slain thousands for that golden throne
Sleep in peace upon a silk laden bed.
Why now in old age, do thy dare to moan
In deep fear of ghosts of those murdered dead?

Are not thy treasure vaults filled to the brim
With stolen wealth from lambs of this dark world?
Yet thy black heart, feels the murder of him
And that Heaven bolt that may soon be hurled!

Triumph in destruction tis' bitter fruit
And thy wicked soul now sees the true light
Yet thou sprang from dark tree's most evil root
To try to bring forth never ending night!

Thou hast slain thousands for that golden throne.
Why now in old age, do thou dare to moan?

R. J. Lindley,
Jan. 11th, 1980

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Ana
She writes her songs and her poems,
not one person know 'em.
She listens to the sound of her music,
she's stuck to it like a tick.

If someone took the time to listen,
her true colors would glisten.
She's put on a mask,
and hid everything when someone asked.

She was the type of girl who would always laugh,
making you wish it would last.
She was the type of girl who would smile the day away,
too bad it is no longer that way.

She is now the girl who is depressed,
I bet you're impressed.
Since no one could tell
that she was going through hell.

Everyone thought she was happy, 
when really, she felt crappy.
Everyone thought she was having the time of her life,
who would have guess her best friend was a knife?

She spent her days alone,
she seemed to do everything on her own.
Never once wanted help.
Thought she could do everything herself.

Then the day came,
when she lost the game.
She fell apart,
and everyone saw her broken heart.

They saw the way she overreacted.
Oh, if only you saw the way she acted.
She bruised herself, scratched herself, and made herself bleed,
no one knew what it was that she needed.

They saw her tears,
and that was what she feared.
They found out she wasn't okay,
oh, she hated that day.

Everyone found out about her secret,
and she wish they'd just forget,
but she knew they couldn't,
and that they wouldn't.

She left that town and started over,
no one knew she went undercover.
She said she got better,
when really... something else occurred. 

She secretly hurt herself,
and walked away from help.
Everyone thought she recovered,
when really, she was undercover.

She secretly wanted to get worse,
no one knew of course.
No one cared to ask,
if she was wearing her mask.

Now it's too late,
she locked the gate.
Killed herself,
everyone had forgotten she needed help.

Goodbye cold world,
this was a story of a girl
who once loved everyone
then feared who it was who won.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013




Details | Rhyme |
She has so much pain inside of her,
she doesn't know how to address it.
So she turns the pain into anger,
after she explodes, she becomes quiet.

She goes up to her room, upset.
Why does the world hate her so?
She thinks to herself, “That’s it!”
But in reality, it isn't though.

She lies on her bed,
Pulls out her book and reads.
As she turns the pages, she loses her head,
In her mind, she thinks “This is what I need.”

A place to escape the world,
Somewhere she can run.
For it seems everyone hates this girl,
And nothing she does is fun.

She plays her cello 
And loses herself in the music
She does this when she feels low
Then she plays the song of her pick

She listens to the beat she makes,
Trying to make it sound perfect,
But oh, she keeps making mistakes,
She thinks that she will never get it.

She leaves the cello alone
And watches her shows
She then grabs her phone
And tells her best friend the show as it goes.

She leaves the TV on, 
Then she enters her laptop.
She stays on till dawn,
She just can’t seem to stop.

She loves the idea of leaving the real world
And entering an imaginary one.
That’s the story of the girl,
Who is never done.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Oh well here I go again, 
wishin for a dream that I could be wrapped in, 
entrapped in, 
torn away from addiction, 
destroy the tele… 
vision they strive to force upon you, 
its all false but you know I’m true. 
They will not protect you when you scream your broken cries, 
they are merely evil faces of masked men behind illuminati eyes 
with which they hypnotize, 
brainwash you with their lies. 
I've got those deep thoughts pouring in, 
all the roads I've traveled down
conditions I have traveled in 
here in my pretty town, 
the 910 deserves a crown. 
East Coast I'm representing, 
I promise you I am not venting. 
High on that purple haze, 
And still haven't slept for days, 
excuse these bloodshot eyes
with a krispy kreme glaze, 
some will try to say its just a silly phase...
My mind is so graphic, 
use words like special tactics, 
unmistakable like D'Jango, 
or a peace signs' angle, 
destroy the crave for war and struggle, 
no need to explain all the trouble, 
with places burstin’ into rubble, 
Rebel! Rebel! We’ll show ‘em hell! 
I’ll be fightin’ when I'm dead, 
kick and scream till my blood is shed, 
let authorities know the message will be spread! 
Put on a show with a little bit of passion 
or the bad things will continue to happen.
Get the love through your head, 
all this hatred should be dead, 
what I'm saying must be said, 
before the gauge goes into red. 
With vocabulary this brilliant makes a female more vigilant, 
like brothers boston what I speak 
my words alone will make you weak, make you faint, 
Like blood spilled by hands of a vigilante saint, 
trust me lifes too short,
you dont have the time my young cohort, 
wait until your words make an enemy
cause their threatened by the uncertainty 
that you will make it this far 
make a point unlike this war
next thing you know you see ‘em sweat
words fresh like paint drippin with purpose, 
makin ‘em wet.  
I finger paint a master piece with a just simple rhyme, 
just don't pull your piece on me just let me speak, my mind, 
while I unwind, rewind all this blasphemy, 
continential catastrophe, 
I may have to beg and plead so that my boys can rest in peace 
sorry for the interruption, 
don’t blame me for the corruption, 
for now I'll put my words at ease, 
hope you told someone you loved them today and that it wasn't a white lie, 
just a tease.

04.27.2013

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sedoka |

I invite this pain,
      Upon myself willingly;
  Plunging a sharp sword each day,
       Into my own heart,
    You cannot see my deep wounds;
        My own self-inflicted scars.

I pen my sad words,
      From a damaged weeping place;
  I send my poems on wings,
      Written with my blood,
  Swirling in the mighty wind,
      Will they land in gentle hands.

____________________________
January 20, 2016

Sedoka

For the contest, Self-Inflicted,
sponsor, Anthony Slausen

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.

As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.

I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.

I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.

And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.

And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.

He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.

And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.

Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.

She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.

I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.

I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.

The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.

Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;

But we still all cry,
Why?
Somber tears all fall in one big wave

crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
Imagination trims
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Hollywood rounds
Quills deliver
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
Tragedies
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less

My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Dead
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less

I cringed for originality 
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED 
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less

Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark 
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A single kiss from thy lovely lips,
so sweet and so divine,
yet I taste posion upon your tongue.

Your beauty so glorious,
like a blooming rose so beautiful,
yet, why do mine eyes go blind
in the sight that you walk along with another?

Yes you, walk with another,
arm under arm,
lips touching lips in romantic kisses,
it makes my blood boil,
for mine lips are dry.

For mine eyes have seen your glory,
yet no one here listens to my story.
You are evil, yes you are,
don't try to deny,
Listen to a man of experience,
you might as well save some expense.

I write of our long romantic walks
we took together, under the shade of olive trees,
how we went apple picking in autumn time,
and made love in the foyer.

Nomore of that sweet and passionate love,
nomore silent kisses in the night,
when the wind blows hard against the branches,
that tape violently on my windowpane. 
Nomore somber tears shed, when you got sick,
and nomore warm embraces when you shed tears of betrayal.

Betrayal now is a game played by a fool,
such as I,
to think I'd have a happy life with you?
Huh, only a fool would think such a thing,
but now I sit, looking at the foyer,
where we once made sweet, passionate love,
nomore will that foyer be filled with exotic pleasure.
Nomore will you be filled with smiles and exotic pleasure.
I've done my job, as a good man shall do,
now pack your things and get of my stage,
the spotlight yawns for anew,
and the audience grows tired and restless of you.

Now I live life anew,
you too shall see life in new eyes,
walking hand and hand with the blond, blue eyed devil
you call your own.
Shall he take one kiss from your lips,
and die of the posion he tastes on your tongue,
shall he go blind, when he sees your true, black beauty?
He will see the ugly soul, covered up by white rags,
and cheap makeup,
and then he will come to me,
and shake my hand in condolence
and say, "You were right!"

Now you are all alone,
looking for another, as you did many times before,
Now you are alone, walking an open road,
spying on another,
fear of being alone.
Now, you see when you play games with a good man's emotions,
don't try it,
because a good man is not meant to be toyed with.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
I need you
To clutch me tight and
Wipe my tears away.
Telling me 
‘I know it looks bad but it’ll get better’.
 
I need hope
To come along and
Recuse me from 
The ceaseless
Pit I recurrently fall into.
 
I need someone
To be there when
I have my blade.
To say
‘Don’t damage your beauty’.

But you aren’t there.

You don’t listen;
Not to me.
I’m never there for you,
You completely
Shut me out.
 
As if I don’t care.
Like I’m not good enough.
Too pathetic; too worthless.
Not worth
The trouble.
 
So no one takes 
My blade from me.
And the angry lines slash
My arm
In every direction.
 
So there is a hopeless void
Inside of me, 
That grows bigger
Every day.
As you push me further away from you.
 
And I cry, 
Every night I cry myself
To sleep. Focusing on beaten
Broken hearts.
Because without you there is no reason to go on.

Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013

Details | Crown of Sonnets |
Dam girl when Im locked up you set me free/ 
When Im not myself you set me free/ 
Im behind the lock and you got the key/
 Im blind with hate but you helpmy love see/ 
WhenIm lot and alone you take the lead/
 Without you I could have never planted my seed/ 
I hate to say it but you make me better/ 
You know I love you even without this letter/ 
When Im cold with sadness you my comfort warm sweater/
 I know I can be a bad boyfriend but Im going to be a better father/
 I might have wanted a son, but it really didnt matter because now you having my daughter/
 Im guess Im too stubborn girl with me why you even bother/
 my heart gets heart gets colder but for you it only gets hotter........

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Morning sun rise up
Coffee in a cup
New leaves from the branches of trees
Cold air passing by me, I embrace
 
Clear like a blue sky
My face seems as I passed them by
Laughter, sweet smile are sort of happiness
But right inside, I’m dying and wanting to rest
 
You came along, you brought me there
The place where nobody care
You got me drop back on that unknown place
You’re gone and go along with someone else
 
Where is the promise?
Where is the plan?
You let me go, all was gone
Like a bullet in a gun
 
I missed the moments we've shared
Sitting in the grass, pointing the bird
But I was drawn with all your lies
Got me broken in a surprise
 
It’s not easy to let you go
‘Cause my heart will always love you
But need to accept we’re not meant to be
‘Cause SHE owned your heart TODAY!
 
You’re now newly wed
And already have a kid
You left me broken
You left me in pain
 
Pretending to be happy
But it wasn't anyway
Feelings changed
Thanks to my Friend
 
But when I’m alone
Reminiscing is going on
Smiling outside, crying inside
‘Cause behind my laughter, sorrows hide.

Copyright © Joan Iligan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Sinking in deeper,
No way to escape,
The dark and scary Reaper,
Fore told in the Book of Life.

Is this my end?
Will I ever see the light of day again?
No. My wounds, I must mend.
I must find my strength.

Stand my ground,
Face my fears.
Only then will my voice be found
I must survive.

Break the suffocating chains,
Run from the darkness.
Power will fill my veins.
I will Fight!

Fight the painful names,
The horrid memories,
The demented games 
And escape My Black Abyss.

Copyright © Jewels Chavira | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
You see her?
Why don't go be like her?
No one likes you,
so this is what you must do.

You must stop being yourself,
get off of you shelf.
You must please everyone,
to do that, you must be number one.

She's the perfect girl,
you're the no one in the world.
So go ahead, and give yourself away,
since you're going the wrong way.

You are no longer you,
see what you can do.
You are now her,
that's better than what you ever were.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |
the negro is inferno. doomed for hell. sinful with lost indulging in their own ignorance. made into a reincarnation of the devils wishes. the devils wants the devils needs. they say the pigment is the reason. but i say Jesus is the reason for the devilish seasons excuse my blatant response to the evils that have been done in the name of the SON. the inferno negro is the movie of this country, always watched and critic-ed. you must understand that self hating is very wicced, misunderstood when you walk through a suburban neighboorhood the devil is screaming conform!! conformm!! inferno negro you dont belong so just get along, even if the devil knows. the devil knows your story and your weakness and he lives behind and inside the so called supremacy system we live within. peace inferno negro know thyself for you are so lost in this Babylonia hell.

Copyright © KingWata XX | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Music is my escape
I sing along every second I can
It is the only place
Where people seem to understand

I sing at the top of my lungs,
Sing every word from my heart,
I eventually start to feel numb,
And soon I will fall apart.

I start crying and choke on my words,
I can no longer sing, too busy crying my eyes out.
My vision starts to blur,
That is true, without a doubt.

I’m crying because the music I listen to,
Seems to know my life story,
And it seems to know my feelings too,
These songs just scream out my whole back story.

I relive the moments the songs are talking about,
How they are all gone, or how they had hurt me. 
I just want to get out,
I wish that you could only see!

That I’m not that happy person anymore,
I’ve changed, but for the worst.
In my eyes, I only see closed doors,
And believe me, this isn’t the first.

If you saw me now, you’d hear my music,
See me shed my tears, and wipe my eyes, 
You’ll see the life drained out of me, as if there was a tick.
Oh, you’ll also get to hear me confess to all of my lies.

I try to forget everything and lose myself in the music,
Sing along to get any emotions out, 
That’s pretty much the basics,
What I’m all about. 

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Let Me Go!
I don't want this anymore!
I can't go to sleep at night,
all I seem to do is write.

Sometimes I read...
I read until I finish.
When I finally go to sleep,
I hear the sound of the alarm "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

Oh gosh,
I can't handle this anymore.
I am going crazy here
and no one seems to notice it, my dear.

I cry myself to sleep.
telling myself everything will get better.
BUT IT DOESN'T!
And I know I mustn't

but I want that knife
just as much as I want that gun
I hate this world
and everything about this girl

She sings and tries to get attention
yet no one gives her the time of day.
She falls into the books she reads
no one knowing, it is escaping, she pleads.

This girl is me,
oh but you knew, right?
Since all I ever talk about is me!
Gosh, can't you see?

I'm my enemy!
I'm my own nightmare!
No one is hurting me!
It is me who shouldn't be let free!

Lock me up! 
Kill me!
That way I won't harm myself...
I'd like it if it was someone else

Please, do me the favor
and let me go
for no one can save this girl
from this cruel world.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
*A assignment was due in class. *

Every time a gun shoots
A tree looses its roots
Every time there is bloodshed
Along with it millions of tears are shed
Every time a heart is stabbed
Someone else’s life gets barren
As violence grows
Many more mothers moan
The sounds of destruction
Overpowers the voice of those
Who are innocent
Who suffer with no reason
Who beg for life
Who have heart full of innocence

Why do so much violence?
That the child’s cry cannot be heard
When his father is killed
Why do so much violence?
That a mother moans
Over her child’s dead remains
Why do so much violence
For winning any stupid battle
Which is taking lives
Of people who have wives
And mothers and children

When you can keep calm
Talk things out
Do whatever you can
To keep violence out
Because there is no sin as big as
VIOLENCE

Copyright © donna lu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

velvet tears slip down my cheek.

a gentle cry.

and the wet drops seep in the corners of my mouth

until

my lungs are full of my own salty, crystalline tears,

bringing buoyancy to boats that sail inside my veins.

as a rule, I try not to cry.

if a single tear is shed, who is to say that another will not follow?

compelling the rest to join

until I’ve immersed myself in the sea I’ve incepted,

and soon

all I see are the opalescent peaks of water colliding with my skin.

Copyright © Morgan Tate | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
The Eyes

The eyes so shattered and so blue,
You sit there and you knew
The pain of losing someone close to you,
And you beg for their return,
But a wish so great, can never be granted.

The eyes shattered and blue,
Watch you,
Take the bottle and drowned yourself,
They watch you destroy yourself,
And they know what they do,
Yet they show no remorse, no pain in heart.

You fall asleep
On a dirty mattress,
Held up by broken dreams
And nightmares,
No pillow, no blanket
Just air you float on.
And your blind eyes close in the night,
The dreams come back to haunt you
And the eyes, they watch you,
So shattered and so blue.

Till three o’clock hits again
Wake in cold sweat,
Spiders on webs weaving a nest
In your head,
A cry out for the Madhouse,
Where the eyes so shattered and so blue
Stare at you, through a window with no reflection.

-10/3/2013

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Born to live,
Never wanting to die,
fearing death to its every limit,
as blue eyed death grabs my shoulders
and laughs with grim
and I fear death even more.
Car crashes, murders, greed and envy
takes me to a place where I can't find hope.
Laughs grow and brings tears to my eyes,
I hope off trains and dodge cars driving down freeways
taking time to sit down and look at my ways,
that push me left nor right.
Up nor down can I see the time tick away
I can't wait till I walk Jacob's ladder,
till a black demon tears me down,
and sins rip me open,
like a surgeon to a patient on a table,
Me, myself and I take time to see the wrongs in life.

Do I dare shake the vines from the dark green jungles
that tangle deep in my mind, body and soul?
I shake with vengence when time turns its face from me.
Time has no time for me
and she takes me by the hand and wastes my life away
with endless heartbreak and drunken whores and buffoons,
who care only about themselves.
The evil souls burn away,
and their blind eyes do not see what they do to others' hearts and souls.

I believe the strangeness of me is that I love too much,
and care too much to actually open my eyes and see what burns away
infront of my very eyes.
I only see what my heart wants to see
my romantic side kills me away,
while my physical being is falling apart with heartbreak and sorrow.
The strange part is,
love was never there to be found,
and the strangeness of me,
is that I love too much to see blue eyed death coming to get me.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
I took a class last semester 
creative writing 101 

the teacher challenged everything
that I had ever thought about poetry
he said " No thinking outside the box"
He was full of rules and control

I'd always though poetry had no boundries
and that it was at it's greatest the first time
the author jotted it down on paper.

He was all about revisions.
But How do you revise a poem?
Doesn't that just erase the point 
you were trying to get across 
when you first wrote it? 

He told me sayin things like love, 
pain, death, sadness was too abtract
so he challenged me to go without using those words.
I'll admit my descriptions got better but 
it took all the fun out of everything. 

I wasn't in the business of writing poems
to make it into something perfect.
Poetry was something that I used to release.
Grammatically correct or not it helped me to 
gain some inner peace. 

So ultimately in that class I didn't do well. 
In that class I rebelled the entire time. 
His definition of poetry were so completely
different from mines. 

I want to know if your a real poet
or even a real professor 
if you fail to inspire?

Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Bio |
This is not a perfect story, its a feeling that i just want to share with you. I need HELP

The love i show to everyone in my surrounding, its just rediculous the way have trained myself to become or should i just say its my character thats how i am. I hate it when i cry for nothing, its just that i cant get it, do i have to be perfect to earn something in life. Am a good dancer, a good writer as well as a good person, but what have i earned in these living nothing absolutly nothig. Have plied myself to be thee who loves all and never attempt to hate any even thoes who have shown me hatred. Deep in me i feel the agony something somewhere in my daily living is not satisfied have allow my instincts to believe that its just the human strategy we are never satisfied and can never truly and pratically be satisfied, but in my case its a bit different. I miss love, looking at the whole situation properly i cant tell who loves me and who really hates me devastating anomly. The history of my life carries untold stories within its path, i dont even know who truly i am. One thing that am very sure of is that i am always there for thoes whom i feel am bound to be there for although i could be somewhere else. In tears i sometimes sit to ask why, why do i have to be these way. Am so mean to myself as the ones am so hardly trying to be a help of, at a moment i hate myself so much that i dont want to exsist anymore, i wish to be another somebody of somewhere. Just because i couldnt once make it right to the ones i feel bound to help. I am a lost soul screaming loud for attention at some point i can explode if i could, there is such much going on in my head i have issues that i want to talk about things that i just cant keep to myself. Thanks to writing i can state it down. This is a rapid that have ever since search to write about about but i  just could figure it out. I really cant tell weather my own mother loves to talk less of my dad or my boyfriend. My motto, never have up the fight for love, deep inside me am gone, empty and lost, but in my heart i know i can make things happen and watch myself work wonders i believe that. It might be hard to understand if you cant feel what am feeling in me but am completely lost. Do i even have talents? i dont know i have no idea, what i think is am just that loser that dont want to accept her destiny. There is nothing i repeat nothing in this world that cant be solved, my soul is longing for satisfaction love and nothing but the truth. The big thank you i always carry around in me goes to thee the almighty thee who created man from a thick clot of blood and gave hime life despite all what he know that would happen, who has given me the chance to live a life. Suddenly am starting to see life with a different eye than i normally used to as i am writing this,have just figured out life is me, i am my life its only me that can make myself feel just the right way i deserve to feel. Have made so many wrong dicisions, gone through so many hard ways that i could have actually safe myself from. Have given away my last penny to make another fellow feel happy and like me for thoes moments, have thrown my pride away to make a boy fall for my adventurious way, have hurt someones feeling to make another one like me, have done so many harm to myself and others. I just dont know where to head to sometimes i just feel like i should just kill myself and free my thoughts but then I always have this tiny voice in my head that always reminds me of Gods love and it works everytime, thats just what keeps me moving anytime i want to turn back. Have written a manuscript that carries living in it but its still in my laptop. At a certain point i thought putting down 28 pills in my tiny body could save by story, totally wrong thought am stronger than that.   SAVE MY STORY.

A Dream
What happens when you feel so lost, so devastated knowing that no one seems to be understanding your situation. When the whole world turns their backs on you, you feel empty, its a terrible feeling.

A Wish
Wanting to become a somebody to make a certain person in your life happy, a wish that appears not to becoming true, wanting to publish your first book at the age of 20 but you almost 20 and nothing.

Copyright © betty njie | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Why do I feel so alone?
Why must I have this feeling,
when His love is shown?
Why am I crying?

I hate how I deal
with everything thrown at me.
Why must I feel
like there's nothing I can achieve?

I know He's here,
and I know He cares,
but I always fear
that no one's there.

I feel as if 
everyone will leave me.
Almost as if
no one loved me.

When I know
everyone cares...
It's just hard to show,
I just wish they were fair.

I cry almost every night,
thinking of how to die,
of how this came into my sight,
how to say goodbye.

I'm sorry.
I know this isn't right.
I've just been lonely, 
all I want to do is to stop this fight.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
4/17/2013

To love or not to love that is the question 
Do I tell him how I feel;
Do I tell him how he makes everything seem surreal? 
Or do I stand back? 
Close my mouth like I've been caught up in a trap
Or should I squeal?
You make life seem so unreal 
This is the way you make me feel
You make life so surreal until;
Reality hits me, that you are no longer mine 
And we had to say our goodbyes 
It was no longer our time to shine
But forever in my heart you remain
I try to keep my feelings domain,
But I cannot resist the urge 
Of how you make me feel.
You make life so unreal 
So surreal 
Just by how you make me feel 
Is this love 
Or is this tragedy
When will my fairly god mother come sprout
And talk to me what all my dreams are about?
Will she give me that glass slipper or will I have to ask her?
I am always scared that my life will end in disaster 
Holding on, not letting 
My hope begins to show.
You saw the vunuablitly  in my eyes,
You saw how easily I begin to cry 
So you took it further, and pretend as if it we're over 
Maybe some things are better for us than we think 
True love can make our hearts sink
And our souls grow bitter 
And our skin turns old
We were once
So brave and bold;
And now we don't even have a place to call home 

Copyright © Sami LaRose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Why is it hard to write happy things? 
Why is that negative thoughts are easy? 
Why is that when I’m happy, I write sad? 
Why is it that hell is easier to see then heaven? 

Why do I do this? 
These poems are depressing
Someone help me now

Why is it I’m positive, yet write negative? 
Why is it that I try so hard and fail? 
Why is it evil over good? 
Why does my heart stray away from morals? 

Someone please help us
We are trapped in bad habits
Negative thoughts win

Copyright © Christian Guild | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
You know what I find
What it is I don't mind
Is when people be hatin'
I mean, I'm just statin'
Because your ego's weak
Other's downfall you seek
But you know I don't care
You ain't going no where
I stand here and smile
As my name you try to defile
Here's what I have found
I care not if you're around
Here's to you, red neck hicks
And you bunch of tricks
Your jealousy don't fade me
Being me is to be free
If I wanted to come hard
I'd revoke your poet's card
But don't care what you think
To me,poof you gone in a blink
Oh my feelings are hurt ,psych
Hand held out, I drop the mic!

Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |
Kill me now,
no one needs to know how.
They don't care anyways,
let me waste away.

I'm so alone,
I'm always on my own.
I was happy one minute,
now I want to cut.

I'm trying to stay strong,
but it's been too long.
I'm giving up,
since no one is helping me up.

I'm falling down,
and there's no one around 
to keep me sane,
so all I want is pain.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013