Best Slitting Poems
I can feel the slow sleep sitting
In a window made for slitting
Lullabys that have no morals
Tales of lies that seem so formal
Snow flakes falling on the glass wall
Melt before they can live at all.
Toxic waves of rude depression
Desperate days, & unjust opression
Is this pain? That burrows in my heart?
Am I just insane? Or am I falling apart?
Soft hysteria lives in my head
Sweetly whispers words for the dead
Trying to tell me it's not over
All I need is angry closure.
She just wants you when you're lonely.
You can never be her one & only.
Everytime you shed tears for her,
Her slender finger grasp just grows tighter.
Is this pain? That burrows in my heart?
Am I just insane? Or am I falling apart?
You are not enough woe her.
You can not make her forget.
You are not enough to love her.
She'll play you like a broken record again.
And Again.
Is this pain? That burrows in my heart?
Am I just insane? Or am I falling apart?
This is pain, that blackens my heart.
This is pain that takes my whole world apart.
LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS’ KILLING CRY
(Apropos The Boko Haram Girls)
i
We no longer hear
the screams of the young girls
nor the whimpering
of their little brothers—
nor the echoes of falling tears
of grieving widowed mothers
and the muffled hush, hush, hush
to new born babes.
How much longer
must we awake
to another morning
we wished we never lived to see?
Mornings where
the horizon’s plains
are dotted with earthen keloids
of humpbacked graves
in overpopulated makeshift cemeteries
where food crops once grew.
Horizons reminiscent of
the screaming echoes animating
from departing Middle Passage ships.
ii
How much longer
must we experience nights
of damned deranged dads—brothers
roaming, ravaging, raping
sisters and slitting mothers’ throats;
damned deranged dads—brothers
driven by a demonized illusion
of the Nile goddess of fertility;
intoxicating themselves
with chalices of their families’ blood?
How much longer?!!!
How much longer
must our daughters remain
forgotten victims
Of those who’ve lost the free
in freedom—like those who’ve sold the in
in independence—lackeys
to and of ancient slave masters
who’ve learned well
the western ways of deception?
iii
Unmoved and no longer
grievously concerned,
the world mesmerizes itself
with a deceived sacrilege image
of a revered Nile goddess.
Meanwhile, defiled bodies
of African girls
are no longer newsworthy…
these wretched of the earth sisters
continue to suffer ethnocentric
rape and gendercide: perpetuations
of free roaming…hoodwinked brethren,
inebriated with neo-colonial genocide.
~~Chronic Pink~~
(Parents Peril * The Nightmare)
Evil sits and whispers - sweet lullabies
Chimes within my head,
Damnation scratches at my conscious
Of what was and is!
ASLEEP……………….
Water runs down my toes
Rain taps at my windowpane
A fear; I relive my childhood days
~~Dark April showers bring in a chronic look~~
Motions before daybreak, to face a colorless what!
The trickle of musty wind meshes under my skin
The panic begins to initiate the voices
Unstable - a gash of blood fills the mind
SLEEPWALKING……………….
Dark feelings pollute the inside my head
Visions of slitting my wrist from end to end
My subconscious betrays my sanity
Praying is what got me through the dark-mares.
I held my own hand that very night
Telling myself it would be all right
Suddenly!
MY EYES OPEN WIDE……………….
Walking down the narrow hall
The Chimes, the Chimes!
Snapped into a moment of crime
The trail of Sweet lullabies came from my parent's room
Shhh!!! Hush now, *humming to the evil chant*
Whispers of dust whisk through the air
I grab the envelope opener,
My heart pumps, piercing each neck
One by one, they look up -IT WAS ME-
A demonic child’s laughter erupts
A Chronic Pink look
Pacing off the bed
What have I done?
Cries of nothing led me back into my room.
There and only there, water sits under the sheets
The emptiness in my head was the sign of complete
Falling asleep to the quietness around the room
Waking up to, the parents peril sight every night
My subconscious holds no sympathy
To: relive the same chronic pink memory
AGAIN- I begin to hear the sound of scratching violins
Where dreams of demons wear pink
by;pd
9/10/2012
During the Second World War, people were panicking everywhere in the world. And of all continents, Asia was one of the most devastated in the history of wars.
So many people in Asia were victims of slavery. Most of them are women. They were victims of molestation and rape. The worst of all, slitting them in their necks or being stabbed so deep between their breasts after being disrespected.
The story of the loaf of bread started not in China or anywhere else in the North, but in the Far East -- the place called "Pearl Of The Orient." Pearl of the East, as it is sometimes called, is situated north of Borneo and south of Japan, east by the Pacific ocean and west by the China sea. The map itself shows a shape of a human form.
Many people who have lived in the Pearl country had a hard time during the Second War. One loaf of bread is equivalent to one family's meal of six, or even ten. The scarcity of bread during those times is not caused by the insufficiency of flour or yeast. Salt, as an ingredient, is not supposed to be the problem too. Only that salt was used for other purposes.
One loaf of bread is the prize of winning the lives of one whole family in hunger and danger. In different ordeals that almost all captured families were going through back then, if you don't have a loaf of bread then you have to earn it. Otherwise, every single member of the family dies. Many times a loaf of bread is placed on top of the head of the man of the family for shooting. And sometimes a loaf of bread is used for marinating human flesh. If you don't know the exact number of slices in the loaf of bread that you are holding, your life is in danger too.
The loaf of bread is the story of a country's downfall for defending its land from invaders. The loaf of bread is not just food, but life for a loaf of freedom and justice.
Slinking silently through the night
on tiny tipped toes, claws withdrawn.
He mustn’t sleep until daylight’s dawn,
prudently prowls, avoiding light.
Clever, cunning crones craft a spell
to purloin his priceless powers,
control them in Eve’s evil hours,
condemn powerless prey to Hell.
Hither, fine ferocious feline.
Soulfully sing your sacred song.
Whiskers hoary, lavishly long
subtle signs of ancient bloodline.
He will not succumb to witches
who wish to control, to command.
Here he makes a substantive stand
to thwart wicked witches’ wishes.
Cruel claws render stinging slashes
slitting through wrinkled, withered skin.
They shrilly shriek their dying din,
melting ghoulish, gray-green ashes.
Emo-esque tales of Razors slitting the cord
My spirit is tainted like an Ouija board
Arching Daemons summoned my name,
at the belly of Hell's burning wave.
In tune with the wind's shrieking fame,
The Moon was hung on my dampened grave
as a portrait of pain and despair.
Hand-held by Death's debonair,
A heart once cantered on Biblical lies
Cherubian Daemons that my soul now defies.
"For my song may not be gospel, yet
feared in life and Death.
I am one whom none reject
I'll always be there- Till your final breath."
"Aw, Stop claiming your life is over,
for it has but begun.
Starry nights; a pearly shore to Her
even though the noose is tightly strung..."
My junk drawer
Too small for so much
Plenty of silverware
Inside it's container
Too many napkins to count
In pile and a few scattered about
Which seem to disappear
Way too fast
A pizza cutter somewhere
Long, sharp knives
Of which most are missing
The last one used for slitting plastic
For frozen dinners
A spatula or two
An ice-cream scoop
Not used enough!
Two can openers
One of which is broken
Enough material
For just one person!
Life as of late has been a path I have not perceived that I would go along again. I thought that I was getting better then I ever have been before but now I see it it the other way around. I’m a sad pitiful excuse for a human being who isn't taking the full opportunity of life. Instead of going out with friends and living the time of my life, I sit inside slitting my wrist and worrying what the person I never talk to thinks of me. I’ve lost so many friendships if that is even what you can call them because I worried about how I acted around them and never realized thats why they liked me in the first place. I would always conform to the people I wish to called friends not know that I was just a pest to them that they were trying to avoid, I was so jaded as to wether someone liked me or not I didn't see the clear evidence that they didn’t. Even then I still try to conform for them as if they approval is as important as god to adam & eve. They promised me things, got my hopes up for months on ends knowing in the back of their head that it would not happen, it was as if I was just their little puppet on strings dancing to whatever tune they wished to play. I’ve been so focused on how my future would be that I never realized how shitty the present is for me. I got to these therapy appointments where they give me pills on pills telling me i’ll get better but always get told im getting worse. I only have myself to blame because I know I dont want to get better I just want for the pain and distress to be over in an instant cause when i work on fixing it the smallest things makes me feel worse then when I started. I’m sorry for being to be a weird, awkward, annoying person for I have not done anything to help your opinion of me to change, I just make it worse and worse. I dont know why I thought I would fit in with you if I cant even fit in with my own judgement of myself. I’ need to disconnect from the world and everyone in it as if a never ending hibernation that I only come out of once I’m accepted. You can think and call me whatever you like as long as you are honest I appreciate to know how I am an outcast to you that way I can hide it as I try to impress you with another pitiful attempt at giving you the friendship you have rejected in the past
-K
Wandering amongst the darkness, my life was in jeopardy
A pack of stealthy ferocious wolves, were stalking me like cattle
Slitting my throat in fear, blood dripped in pools for the rabid canines
*First attempt at Sijo!*
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go . . . "
ee Cummings
I carry your essence with me
In the fire of hope that has been lit
In the very depths of my heart
I carry your eyes in the radiance of mine own,
At least,
They are there on those days that mine are not puffy,
Red and sore, after having cried the night away,
Lamenting at your silence and your coldness!
I carry your kindness with me
Even if it feels like a sword slitting through my body
As I wonder if you do feel for me,
At least, even, a tiny little bit!
I carry your breath in me
I live because you do
I shall perish the day you shall cease to be
I am already dying,
A little bit at a time,
As you steadily and firmly keep
Putting me back into my place,
Reminding me
That maybe,
The fire of hope that burns in my heart
Is nothing else but a fragment
Of my own imagination
And that dreams, in real life,
Never do come true!
Still, amidst all of this blurry haze of hurt
I carry you in my heart
Hiding my tear stricken eyes behind glamorous smiles
And perfect make up
Going on my way
With the broken pieces of my heart
Stuck to each other
Lighting up the world with enough zeal in my gaze
As to make the rest of humanity
Want to follow me!
But I am living solely for you
I shall cease to be
The day you would snatch your heart off my grip
And tell me
Go on your way,
As our roads differ!
I shall cease to be
Drowned in the flood of my tears
Buried in the tomb of my own pain
Burnt in the pyre of my own madness
Remembered as the one living for that impossible love
As it had been willed by the skies!
Written on 3 November 2019
Writing Challenge, November- Some Kind of Love
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Let our hands interlock into a
beautiful zipper of prayer and
take pride in being african!
"What is the pride of being
african"
Asks a girl- unknowing of the
roots from which her family
tree grows ..
The lines on the palm of her
hands resemble the veins of
the african leaves she was
born into. Her
Bi-racial hair curled up in locks
of african beauty
Nd yet she asks " what is the
pride of being african?
An african woman whose only
pride is the curve of her hips
and the natural arch of her
back- ignoring the map with
which her mind can make- or
the different shades of brown
her skin radiates into the rich
airs of africa..
In the middle of an undeclared
war
We uncounciously submit to a
mental slavery ..seeking
comfort in the pains of the
past.. Slitting our rists with
resentment and self pity..
Handicappin our minds -
moving forward but still
arriving at the previous
destination!
Such wounded nations!
Why do we scrape the african
tatoo in the arteries of our
hearts by poking the the past
makin way for its venom to
make us bitter...
Perpetually impregnating our
minds
Only to give birth to a
vendetta!
Is that the pride of being
African!
Adding insult to injury
we duck and cover
Hidding from the touch of rain
Shieldin ourselves from the
sun's smile
But then.. Then we embraced
the weather and posed in the
sun as if God was takin a
piicture..
Then children with no toys
believed they could transform
oxygen into gold
Then a mother through trials
nd tribulations could still find a
corner within the circle of her
mud hut
Then the diamonds of Africa
lay in the sparkling eyes of a
new born -raised to the
heavens as an African
declaration
I listen to the invisible wind
chimes made by mother
nature
Singing songs of praise
Painting african countries on
this canvas we call Africa!
I see the poetry that lies
within future Nelson
Mandelas.. Seretse Khamas..
Futures You's and Me's
I inhale the soils and all the
memories imprinted on them
jus as Africa is imprinted on
me -
I rub off hurtful footprints of
hunger
slavery..
All for the pride of being
african
Let our hands interlock like a
beautiful zipper of prayer- nd
take pride in being african
My sad, deplorable glory is a nightmare for another
This knowing is sickening to the bone
The need for anothers' pain is like a virus
Slitting the veins of truth and delirious want of false
Watching the bile flow through
I emptied a full, sorrowful glass for you
Without even a moment’s glance
Your parched lips opened to drink
But like poison the sustainable exhalation surrounded your body
I shrank at the shrieks of your disquietude
Not knowing what to do
Expression died with the loss of flow
I couldn’t flourish in the bleak winters of your loss
I couldn’t grow
All happiness in a flash of susceptibility
Turned to woe
I gave into thinking it was all an unworthy dream
But the answers, the symbolism was never clear
The loss of your very soul is what I fear
I never meant to poison you in what I take as nourishment
And here now you rot
At the expense of these sad, empty tunes
They must mean close to nothing to you
Pain
Pain
Why do I revolve around the pain?
The empty glass of your spirits remains stained
With the insides of all things true
Torn away
Smothered in a ghostly, ghastly gore
I couldn’t see you could not take it
The sorrow I meant to erase to fake it
But instead make it
The reason I live is to sing for you
To disintegrate the swelling blue
But instead I crawled into your only space
Leaving only disgrace
The gore splattering in jewels across your face
I’ll tell you what
All my achievements are naught
They are only fakes
I am nothing without God’s grace
I spurt with illegitimate words and tunes
That you can never face!
As if by the heaven I inspired
I am drunken with your bile
Of pride risen above the mile
What is this sadness—
This anger, this madness?
Show me what to do
Show me what to say
I’ll dispose of all vagaries I dared to feel today
And replace it with pain
Replace it with pain
Discordance from another is my nightmare smothered
And this the majority crave
The need—the desire for acknowledgement
We will take it to the grave
I never wanted heartless fame
A poison in a cup
I never wanted anything
Only to fill you up
I poured the glass and there it came
Just sad, tired air
Nothing left to give you
Not even the sentiment of a stare
The truth is I am scared
The truth is I am scared
I guess, at times we are all. . .
Not there
7/13/13
Nature is my travelogue
She poses in mystery
As we surge through backroads
The temporary compartments of our lives
Crested infrastructure upon circling migrations
I am without token
The sun falls unrestrained
Daring capture of fluid magic
Or slitting through our mountainous rubble
Each post ventures a veinous riptide
Grasping on baked bellies, we pose
Parking lots sprawling the half turn
Destiny is without a shape
The tune of mercury spasms a punctured clock
Bargains without a back
And barriers that spiral the inevitability
We have just begun
I want to drown my urge to die
I want to kill my pulse inside
I can't breathe, I'm paranoid
Everything in life I avoid
Don't speak to me, I'll look away
Inside my eyes is just decay
I'm already dead, but have yet to die
Why do I keep my body alive
My soul is dead, eyes are lies
So is the smile I hide behind
Pull the plug, I'm a fake
In a nightmare and I cannot wake
Drown me! I'm flooded in pain
Please help me regain
Some peace, some rest
I want to die to live again
Set me free
Slitting my wrists isn't working
The more stares I get
The more I become numb
I just need to be gone
Eliminate my pain,
I'm already out of breath
Suffocating on my hopelessness
Every day I am alive
But I'm craving to die inside
Curved smile because your so naive
You think I'm happy
Yet I'm being crushed
My head is overflowing
With these thoughts that are too much
One word, suicide
Sparks a light inside of my eyes
I don't want to pretend to live
Let me go, flood me in sin
There is where I want to swim
Six feet under the ground
Don't be selfish
And keep me in pain
To tourture my lifeless body again
Let my body float soundly
Rushing water, ocean salt
I promise I won't feel it at all.
End it, hold me under
Then bury me so I can slumber
Goodbye lifeless eyes
As I'm dying I'll be coming alive
Haunting images
Deleted from my mind
Laughing
As I leave this world behind
Water
Floods my lungs
Death
Leans in for a kiss
Together we sink into insanity
And drown in infinitys abyss.
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE – IT MAY BE TRUE
It is a myth that people can be objective in their opinions.
People focus on qualities in others that they themselves have.
A kind person sees only kindness in others,
A mean person sees the meanness in others,
A kind person does not focus on the meanness of others.
This holds true for poetry fans, like me, like you:
Some SOUPER who talks about “the gritty, sharp, philosophical feel that you create”
Or who uses an expression like “ slitting the poetic wrists of a word weaver”
Is indeed such a person, such a poet.
When a speaker assesses another as “an architect of words”
Who can have you “reeling with sumptuous dialogue…applause!”
Then it seems to me that the speaker is in reality such a person.
Some guy can say “this may be brushed with light tones
But the sentiment is friggingly deep...”
And some gal may offer “bewitched am I with this exquisite expo on a bloom”,
And in both cases they are the true poet; and moreover,
If someone is kind enough to like a piece of verse and to say so,
It is an act of highly personal significance for the poet who writes,
For poets almost always write from the heart about their inner world,
Entered only by invitation to special people. The poem is the invitation:
Written so that only those who understand will respond.
Poetry is a foreign language to most people,
To whom reading it is like playing Beethoven* with mittens on,
Or drinking French wine* with a coca-cola chaser:
The true inner effect is completely absent.
Write to other poets often, for when we tell another of our admiration,
It reveals our own self in plain words.
……………………………………………………
NOTES
*Beethoven = deaf old guy who wrote tunes.
He and I have much in common, except I don’t write tunes.
*French wine = the finest in the world – as claimed by the French.