Byproduct
By Dustin Branum
Have you no clue how hard i try
To keep positive alive and negative aside
Why must you insist, genocide
Why must you feel the need to lie
I don't remember the reasons why
I cater to your deceptive lifes
What makes you think I'd oblige
Why must you live this way of life
Have you no clue how hard I try
To not do the things I so despise
To keep a hard face and try not to cry
If I do so, shall it be my demise
And should it be, I give you my word
Destiny will be mine fulfilled in time
I'll show the world that's being disguised
Time to reveal this knowledge I hide
As everyone starts to wonder why
But it's little too late to rectify
Nothing you say can justify
Living such a demonic life
My deepest fears are coming true
Total darkness is bleeding through
Raging inferno that's within my soul
No longer desires to maintain control
Exposing this darkness for all to see
"Reveal your demons!" You beg of me
Social guillotine
By Dustin Branum
9/03/26
Acceptance is dire,
I let this be known.
My only desire
was to feel I belong.
The empty will devour
everything I own.
Knowledge acquired,
the tongue is unknown.
Interpreter required
to speak the untold.
Silence gets louder,
the darkness gets brighter.
My Destiny expired,
no longer headstrong.
All hope is gone,
decaying empire.
No king for the throne,
no skull for the crown,
no cheers from the crowd.
No acceptance required,
no longer desire
your approvable satire.
Chronicles of the revolving door
By Dustin Branum
When exactly does life begin? When will this
tragedy come to an end? It's like over, and over,
and over again... When will I ever find peace,
my friend? And nobody knows how far I've
been; Nobody cares about the pain
I'm in. This knowledge that
burns deep within, with
a withering soul,
reality will
bend.
The
light
turns dark
with a grayish
blend, begging for
mercy, it's demons they
send. The light is illusion I
can no longer depend—There's no
Destiny for me to defend. Yearning for
happy, acceptance, and Zen, Instead of this
anger and evil times ten. No kids, no wife, no
next of kin; Lonely and broken, this chapter will end...
Exactly where the it began.
Empathy
By Dustin Branum
So, keep up with me:
In order for one to give a f**k
one must have a f**k to give.
So, one must’ve got f**ked
to have a f**k to give.
Someone had to get f**ked
for the rest of us to give a f**k.
If it wasn’t for the first f**ker that got f**ked—
the one f**ker that actually gave enough f**k
to take a f**k, to have a f**k to give.
Everything we know of all existence
evolves around a f**k-show of empathy.
If it wasn’t for one that gave a f**k enough
to have empathy,
thus born: i-human.
Getting f**ked to have a f**k to give
so we can all give a f**k together
Instead of being f**king f**ked.
So the question is, if you don’t give a f**k,
and if they don’t give a f**k,
and you don’t even give a f**k if they give a f**k...
Then who the f**k gives a f**k?
Well, I do.
There's an emptiness within me,
a loneliness I can't appease,
the days grow longer as I long for you
I know it's out there somewhere,
a love that can't wait to be shared,
another heart that beats in the same tune
and though my voice my be broken,
my heart remains outspoken,
you can't hear me but I'm calling out for you
and when in my mind it may seem hopeless,
my heart remains devoted,
you can't hear me but I'm calling out for you
Confusing is the irony of sorrow,
that a heart so full of love could still feel hollow,
and the echoing is a deafening sound
still I know it's out there somewhere,
a love that can't wait to be shared,
but I know I'll be lost until you're found
and though my voice may be broken,
my heart remains outspoken,
you can't hear me but I'm calling out for you
and when in my mind it may seem hopeless,
my heart remains devoted,
you can't hear me but I'm calling out for you
Your index is still in grip than your appendix.
Your words are still in repulsion of mirror, consciously.
It does kill, I think, both ways. indecision as a pill cutter and anti-cutter
Three subjects wide ruled lines, even though
the very first one did not melt, so far.
Yet, these days, they do come again, as long-lost sun lights.
Once a study table with a glass top, used to believe that.
there was a student.
sweating to study,
harder and harder in watching lives, passing by, finetuning and fines and dues.
and tuning in the farthest try than in nearer sigh,
happening democracy in the pressing opposite
cramming the fine paper space in an obscure awkward offset
Where words fall short to heed or hide
or make a duo in understanding altogether.
Looking inwardly, I am too
Or else, it is better to let go
Truly it is far better to let go
than to hold back a strenuous good bye
That should end at least half an hour ago
Peculiarly, blossoming at the doorstep, once again!
I went from shy to outspoken
I have Trixie to thank for it.
Trixie was everything I wanted to be but was not.
She was loud, proud; self-confidence oozed out of her in every direction.
When we were in our early twenty's, Trixie was murdered.
This darling, wonderful, everybody-wanted-to-be person was gone.
Snuffed out by Devil-Only-Knows-Who.
This is when I decided if "they" could get Trixie, they could get anybody including me.
I was so shy in those days, I looked down in a mirror.
I rarely smiled, afraid to draw attention to myself.
I was a young mother of two, and terrified I would die
before I ever got to live.
I did not have to be Trixie, but I had to live for both
her and myself now.
I felt this was my mission, my duty, and it became my mantra.
I did not change overnight, but I had metamorphosed
so completely within six months, that my aunt who has known me
all of my life asked my mother "who I was", and truly did not seem
to recognize me.
We are happy women, Trixie, and I.
I feel she is in heaven, cheering me on, loving the fact
That her death changed me from an ugly frog into a wonderful, upbeat, happy, inspired, enthusiastic, creative princess.
her sudden untimely death left her speechless ~ silence is golden
Cliché: Cat got your tongue?
January 5, 2018
Contest: Monoku 5: Cliché
sponsor: Silent One
Thinking about you as usual and what we have, It feels good to have someone who has also removed the mask of insecurities and trust issues, someone who forgives your past mistakes and realize exactly what they have with you so it was fate that you two got together. I'm living a dream with you in my reality and now I realize every relationship I was in that didn't last was a much needed casualty for us to get to this moment, wanting to tell the world that you finally found the one is the true meaning of being outspoken, I'm open all the way for you and I know the feeling is mutual, do me a favor don't ever change everything about you I love, it perfectly suits you.
Created from a distinct mold of,
Is a counterfeit personality in me,
Covering up how i really feel,
Expertly Engineered by I,
Me and Myself disagree,
As aerial blueprints,
Diagram my artificial front,
I judge,
Holding the truth in contempt,
Slamming my gavel,
Squeezing the last bit of life left,
Out of honesty.
The real Me and Myself,
Leak out in smooth poetry,
Metaphors of reality,
Similies of confusion,
They hide behind thin sheets of paper,
And speak over a megaphone,
To all,
Experiencing what is me,
Inside themselves.
Poetry must speak
whether said by strong or meek
Muses have their say
What will she say next?
To turn a simple saying complex.
What will she write this time?
To change complexity into a vulgar crime?
We want you to understand.
They need to have freedom banned.
For fear of impressionable minds.
The youthful kinds.
To keep them jaded.
Freeing them from the torture that has been faded.
It's still there.
Hard and strong, unable to compare.
Hidden beauty in the disgrace.
Ugliness in every place.
Broken homes and hearts.
Ability is lost to put back the parts.
So what will he say that’s new?
To make everything you think to be untrue.
And what will he write now?
To raise your eager brow.
So leave the truth up the observant.
Because our emotions are raw and fervent.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.