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Phoebe Ellis Poem
I beg of guilt to riddance my sin,
sincerity mixed pleasure of call deep within.
My mind of haze to idea once preformed,
mascot contribution to my theatrics well formed.
Beauty and a beast to a sickening desire,
my body fuelled with pain from my minds deep transpire.
Berate of my complexion, fabrication and hope,
sacrifice my solitude with hopes of being cleansed deeper than soap.
Cremation from the burning of wait does bring forth,
my stature destined to the mirror now morph.
Soul, hand of pasture ,and faith in the god once named,
all placed in pieces of a figure left to blame.
Waiting on a miracle to work to good deed,
hoof of purest lamb now sentenced to breed.
Thorn and thistle cursed to beauty of rose,
man’s fortune to women with a price of propose.
System segregation from the people born truth,
turn to natures sin in purpose of youth.
Belief met bravery in hand of defeat,
rush to the opening of a church in large fleet.
Memory reconcile with death fortune placed,
sanction granted to power in need of erase.
Intelligence fought sympathy in the war of troubled mind,
am I useless without leadership if my demise meet unkind?
Body built to the soil cursed by I man,
colonies trapped in brutality of gods plan.
Beggar, theif, and humanity at hand,
Are criminals to be punished if future lie in the sand?
Is truth upon belief of a system unpredicted,
the structure a temple yet torture left unrestricted.
Mind place of memory to the mistreatings underway,
if I hold power to speak why should boundaries get a say?
Free speech is a right in the rule book of law,
however issue runs deep with dictatorship to core.
Does a cry of babe not rustle in your mind?
A predator to be freed yet a crook to be fined.
A god of justice is spoken in scripture,
but thy neighbour is thought on suspicion, never close to a sister. Harmony sung in words comprise,
dealings from the devil while society treat to infantilise.
If a body is a right to the owners spoken truth,
why should societal exception meet way to the youth?
For a pasture, a priest, or a saint of country name,
would allow such action to ignight as if flame.
Then action should compromise the wrongdoing upon mass,
the power of performative government is as fragile as glass.
Copyright © Phoebe Ellis | Year Posted 2026
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Phoebe Ellis Poem
If I am to be starved of equalised expression please ,I beg of thee, fead to me wolves who understand how slaughter pays fair. Predatory perception never sufficient upon the pray pack I reside rare.
Harvest season shoots its arrow upon harms way,
yet my hunger hunts no longer night or day.
Wolves shape feeding upon ewe of youth speech,
Yet my colouring deceiving as my colour not what I preach.
Black and grey as if beast of pray lurk,
Though my animalistic intention more towards pacifist clerk.
Food chain fabrication as inlier does breed,
But starvation required a prominent feed.
My skin unmatched to the race I am born true,
Fluff to coat armour though black found prey few.
Tantalisation deep denied at my root,
Violence propaganda fall short of persuit.
Memory reconcile with the fur coat now placed,
Upon my heritage brought my dark fur erased.
If I believe to be victim yet not desired by pursuer,
My mind entrapment of fear to viewer.
Perception relies upon feverish gaze,
Then how does my biology go against what she says.
A rivalry, a hunger, a striking desire,
Not founded by the publics best of hire.
My body a cage I am trapped upon mind,
Still not one of the foods hoped to be dined.
Famine follow through figure I reside,
Not a match between perception I fail to find.
Fire flown fury yield my deep despair,
The connection between my feed felt beyond repair.
Negation of whether my flesh is pristine fight,
Ethical decision upon if it is right.
Though my colour is of seductive to the fellows of famish,
The blood course through my veins believed destined to ravish.
Copyright © Phoebe Ellis | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Phoebe Ellis Poem
I think I’ve always been stuck in grief, I could grieve my birth from my first birthday.
I may have been, but if that is so, I am grieving still.
When the end reaches you a bit too fast you suddenly can’t reason yourself out of grief,
Because logic doesn’t form sadness into innocence anymore, and you don’t dare dream of relief.
I hold so much emotion, carrying myself with aggression excluding anger something beside rage,
A subtle feeling that stills my movement stumbling backwards into life as I age.
Throwing forward punches with thrill that lands on no saviour to the plaphur of my existence does shatter,
Following forth to the ground of good stead falling through the air to the latter.
Existence doesn’t suffice for living in this reality that my pupils too blown to replace,
A thrill, a feeling, a forgetful encounter something I wished to forever chase.
My heart does beat but in my body doesn’t feel for the emotion my mind whirls may control,
A thunder of wake meets my body still as a death engulfs my being whole.
I don’t shiver, I didn’t speak not since the remittance of your soul does reap,
A killing, a purge of my heart driven track seeking the survival your own does lack.
I do not weep, do not wither under the disappearance of sun,
Your feel connect river no longer walk does run.
Guilt carried through death in a way many fail to understand true,
Heart does not quiver at the feel of ghost you.
Copyright © Phoebe Ellis | Year Posted 2026
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