Writer's tears

Just another bear on the shelf~Poet~30 years~ from England

[writerstearspoetry]

The army

The army is rising

Mankind would have feared it

Only the manifesto of the day

Is apathy.

Fuelled by

Canned battery acid

This is the Mother’s milk

Of the disillusioned hive

They charge through the day

Numbed of all

Intelligent thoughts

By the radioactive

Overhead beams.

Then, as night falls

Hearts still humming

Like the factory machines

Resonating with

The erratic thoughts

That spew out

Like the never ending

Production line.

We have grown accustomed

To the endless monologue

The tears

The hate

The mindless conversation

Help the cogs run

In a well oiled engine.

Our scars

And emaciated smiles

Become our plumage

To the social colonies.

It is no wonder

We reach out

Trying to find meaning

In the world

Where hope dangles

Never quite in our reach.

[syntacked]

via weheartit

[writerstearspoetry]

The door

I know why

They call it midnight mass

The dark hour

Of unapologetic reverence

All rational thoughts

Desert you

And your senses succumb

To dark and foggy shroud

In this opaque realm

Lies a door

Left ajar

With a sinister beam

Piercing

The very fabric of reality

Eyes scan the environment

There is something there

But the blackened curtain

Masks everything

Partly from view

Thoughts of the door

Come back to haunt me

My imagination fills in the gaps

That sleep deprivation

Leaves in its wake

Hyper awareness

Grabs me by the heart

And locks its grip

Rapid suffocation

Illusions

Of an untimely death

Surround me

Like the creaking

Of the door slightly ajar

[thegoodvybe]

[writerstearspoetry]

Just when I think I understand you completely, I find out a little more. I don’t think I’ll ever unravel the enigma that is you.

Writer’s tears

[writerstearspoetry]

Tape loop

I drink the poison

It is my choice

No body forced me to

The borders close in on me

when the air is blackened

mouth is vengeful

and my thoughts are tape looped

I play the victim

As my heart quickens

Damp and soiled

the veil is lifted

The hot air rises

cherry blossoms dance

to the sultry sun

And as I breathe it in

I invoke a higher self

Enlightened, I’m forced to look

all that the mind captures

the eyes sting

a cloud shrouds the magnificent sky

and the tears flow

I now wash in the river

fatigued, I find solace

In the self-wrapped misery

the mountains are illuminated

by the twilight

then another passing of time

gives way to another eventually

then it starts all over again.

[poetry-for-sleepless-nights-dea]

Sweet, Salty, Sour, Smoky...

The taste of love is varied and not at all what I expected. 

It starts sweet like honeysuckles and rolls in your mouth easily. You never want to swallow it whole, you let it sit there soaking into every inch. 

I had known love would be sweet, but not salty. 

The salty is another part of love alongside sweet. It comes after but is just as intoxicating. They coexist for awhile in the beginning, intertwining to make a delirious mess. It is in kisses and sheets, covering your entire body in its sting. 

The sour is what no expects in the beginning, maybe at times, but not the way it sticks on your tongue no matter how much you try to wash it down. 

It is just a hint when it starts, the end of a swallow. It isn’t bad, it adds something to the sweet and salty. Complexity…excitement, but even that can get tiring. You try to overpower it with other tastes, add more salt, sugar. It might leave for a few moments, but it always comes back. The only way to end it is to cut out all of it.

The smokiness is all that is left. 

At first, it is like the taste after burning your tongue, it is the taste of healing. It is disgusting and everyone wants to avoid it, but it is impossible if we want to taste the first sweetness again and again and again. It gets better over time and eventually, it only passes over your tongue when you remember a moment, a certain taste, a love. 

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

via @extramadness

[rupikaur]

your resilience is everything.

[musingofapoeticsoul]

[storiavitali]

Sunday rumination

I suppose I thought if I could teach the meanest man I’d ever met a lesson about kindness, then I was capable of showing the softest man how to be strong.

It is not the same. It will never be the same. It doesn’t matter your education or background. How much you love them or try.

Some of us are who we are to the thread, the cell, the carbon. I choose to no longer look at the softest man as a defeat.

What we had was genuine. I couldn’t pull him out but he let me try. That hole wasn’t a veneer; it was the core of him. A cage he didn’t seem to mind. I was blinded by virtue.

I just wanted so badly for someone like him to love me, that when he did, I failed to grasp the reality of us.

A part of me denied the validity of his love. I exalted him to the pedestal out of that very need. Out of perceived rarity. Worshipping his every word in much the same way others have done to me. So foolish. So imbalanced.

Admittedly, I was jealous of his innocence as well. His cavalier lack of responsibility. His quiet life. His easy culture. His pure joy at the littlest things. Simplicity is what I longed for both in a partner and in myself.

Alas, I was most unrealistic in thinking someone like me with all my passions and life experience and full-on past would be appreciated by someone so naive in ways. I mean, I was married for a decade. He had barely dated two women when we met.

In the end though, I was the naive one, wasn’t I. I ignored my intuition. Head in the sand because of love.

Oh, but I did love him fiercely. With all the burning clichés of an Amazon sun. I know no other way.

And so it goes.

[wavepainter-deactivated20180920]

I feel as though the first woman i loved afforded me this same reality in many respects..

I’m still trying to love her to the best of my ability.. but the chasm in my consciousness is crippling.

I don’t want to pull anything or anyone down with me.

Some people deserve what you can’t give.. and i still have a hard time dealing with this reality.

I hope i can be enough.. to myself.. some day.

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“My problem is I can’t stay mad. I always end up forgiving people, even when they don’t deserve it.”

via @love-diaries

[writerstearspoetry]

I would sooner forgive than have a heart as heavy as a stone.

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“Those who are heartless, once cared too much.”

via @love-diaries

[writerstearspoetry]

Tempt

One of these days

When I hold this gun

And aim right between the eyes

I’m not just going to pretend

But actually pull the trigger.

Temptation is the juiciest fruit on the tree

And I don’t just want to pull from the branches

But sink my teeth in purposefully

And Imagine

It was you I’m biting into.

I’m addicted to the rush

When bound and strapped

Teeth pierce through skin

The sting quickens

Blood flouries upward.

The force as it hits

pushing up to the limit

the impact set in rhythm

fingers crumpled holding

up to prop the motion.

The drug that pumps through

makes you feel invincible

Like watching the scenery go by

The wind licking at your hair

as you let go of the wheel.

[musingofapoeticsoul]

[3amsouls]

“all i want is your clothes on my floor, coffee made for two and to make you so happy it hurts.”

—

[poetbitesback]

the girl is honey but do not be mistaken she is not her own, she is not her own. maybe she is sweet, maybe she is golden but she is the product of nature. she is sustenance (but not for you). 

she is what society  tells us we need in our tea, our relationships so they bottle it (her) to place on shelves  and then forget all the work that goes into being girl forget that she too comes from a thousand flowers, forget that she too has been stolen. the girl taken from herself  and the honey taken from the bees.

do you understand? the girl is honey. touch her, she is sticky  so you won’t forget the feel of her, but she is not yours-  you shouldn’t have collected her.

- the girl is honey || O.L.

[writerstearspoetry]

I love this!!