#shit poem

[you-already-know-who]

I think there is something beautifully brutal about gardening. Becouse like if you think about thats the closest one will ever get to be a cruel dictator and I mean you litteraly are makeing the earth bend to your will. Soooooo- ================================== Claiming the tree crowns and the dirt under your feet as your own, that you will rule over it with an iron fist. So you Cut and you Bend and you Kill and you Destroy, with your wepons of iron and chemicals! you Terrorise, you Mold, you Burn, you take and you shape this land into your own image. You the sol dictator of the land, You The Composer Of Live And Death, YOU THE MONARCH OF THIS GARDEN. And yet no of your subjects can say a word. You the beast in the silent crowd, with your hands staint with green. You cut our branches, you mercelysly kill the ones not suiting your vision, you make this place into your likeing, no matter what you destroy and who you kill.

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

Elegy, I Suppose

I had a dream you were here last night

I was cold but you were warm

I woke up when you drew me in for a kiss

Maybe I’m just tired

But I wish the dream was real

Maybe it was

[moonysfavoritechocolate]

my body sits in the passenger seat of the car

in my head we are crashing,

tires screeching

airbags inflating

in that split second i close my eyes against the force,

and never open them again.

next my body stands on a balcony above the city

and in my head i am falling

it looks like slow motion but feels like a second before i hit the pavement

stopping traffic, stopping my breath

i grip onto the car door until it hurts

i step away from the railing until i don't feel gravity tugging at me, waiting to take me in its arms

it isn't death it fear, not really

it's losing all the living i've never done.

i want to know what it feels like to introduce myself to everyone with my real name

i want to know what it feels like to wake up on sunday morning late and not have to grit my teeth through church while my stomach turns over from the intense feeling that i don't belong here

i want to know what it feels like to wear whatever i want without considering how i feel about my chest that day

i want to kiss someone again, someone who wants me unashamed

i want to let someone in like i never have before

i want to find more and more people to laugh and love and live and cry with and learn their souls until they are just as familiar as my own

i want to dye my eyebrows and my hair

i want ink all over my skin and metal in my face that make people stare

i'm waiting for a metamorphasis i get to create

it's terrifying how many uncontrollable situations could cut it all off

take it away from me with one flick of the wrist

no matter how close i hold my life to my chest,

any tragedy could snatch it away

and i'm not ready

the pastor says you have to be ready to stand before God and therefore ready to die.

i am not ready to lose this life i dream about every night

and no, i am not ready to stand before God

every sunday i wonder if i am wrong

if everything they teach is true and my fate is the river of fire

if once i die He will take one look at me and be disgusted by how drenched i am in sin

so forgive me for screaming when you slammed on the brakes

i promise i'm not overreacting

if you knew how it felt you'd do the same

i'll still apologize as i always do, so much so that it's lost all meaning to me and to you

but i am always truly sorry

because you deserve a lighter burden to carry

[maihonhassan]

"Par tere aage kuch bhi nahi sab khaak barabar" said no one ever :')

[their-inkedskin]

scripture says

i was taught the bible said,

"for what you've done onto the least of these people,

hungry, thirsty, naked, ill, or imprisoned;

you've done onto me."

yet still,

i'd do more for you than most.

because you've looked at me,

seen my flaws,

my imperfections,

my mistakes.

i've never been an author or one for words,

but you make it feel worth trying.

just to see you smile.

[yosloss]

i pray for you to come back to me

not crawling

not on your knees

but wholly (holy)

standing tall

and i will say,

“let us worship ourselves.”

[creatingmoonlight]

if i felt a tap on my shoulder and i turned around to see my 12 year old self standing there

I would collapse with them

and hold them the way people hold bodies

when they are grieving on a battlefield

we would sit there like that

tears combining, theirs and mine

both with the ground beneath us

my wails thickening the air

their eyes glossy and unblinking

like that I would hold them 

till they faded from my arms

[aidsyouinthinking]

The “Metaphysics” of poems.

Where do our wounds go when they heal? Do shadows linger in the dark? Some must question are they real? Can one have a neutral ark? Does agony befall, if empathy-less trees surround? Does it exist at all, if within themselves it’s not found? Do souls shed or must it be picked? What part are we, what’s me truly? Nothing real, our mind just tricked? Singular; brain unruly?! Selfishness blinds us of consequences, If they’re never faced, were they ever there? Cooking the book of other’s expenses, does bliss waive debt from each type of affair?