white blank pageThe problem.
Sometimes, I have to rinse my mouth out because of that. I still have their taste on my tongue. Hers and his and yours.
I can't get rid of this and start scratching my tongue with the sharpest words I can find.
Piano Strings. Thorns. Glass. Edges. Fear. Grasp. Coldness. Heart ache. Claws. Saturn. Lemons. Tango Argentino. Summer Camp. Lips. Beer. Razors.
But now the taste is a composition of other peoples' souls and an aeruginous copper coin.
Like tea brewed with sewerage and withered moments. That and 300 grams full of blood.
I try to fight fire with petrol and end up in an uncomfortable faint. Deep inside this labyrinth [made of scratches and furrows]. It is the maze of my dreams. And my hands are filthy and viscid from what I found in their shadows and corners.
I'm lost. . . a g a i n.
Lock me up in my core, where everything is possible except an escape.
If Love Would Leave a LegacyYour lovely crystalline bones,If Love Would Leave a Legacy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrapped tight inside chilled casing,
laying strewn against old cherry wood
with company of lover's notes upon your lower lip;
a last caress of parchment as we bury you in earth.
Goodbye my love, Goodbye,
words that refuse to leave lips chapped and clamped in mourning,
as silent and white as knuckles curled in trembling fists.
Reddest rivers slink sultrily down tight airways, filled with aching hunger,
and sliding alongside sores of salivated lies,
where I swallowed all my silent sobs in concurrence with
these barbed and yearning sentiments.
It was nowhere near enough.
Regret shall rid unsightly bones until someday
reunion brings souls superficially together;
adjoining beds of cherry wood
where I can desire you to depths of resolution.
and it is nowhere near enough.
My AmbitionsMy Ambitions.My Ambitions3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
People tell me I have talent.
And my attempts at poetry are noble and valiant.
I want my words to leave a mark on this earth.
I write for myself, to give me some sort of worth.
I still think anyone is capable doing I what I do.
Paint the same or an even better image of the one I just drew.
I've been accepted by a few, but rejected by many.
This life is perpetual and the strain is getting heavy.
I write for you, as well as for me.
I write from my heart, to set my mind free.
A man who writes poetry isn't the epitome of masculinity.
I had to disregard the stereotype and over come the humility.
My writing is all I have and it's the one thing I can control.
That's why its not just words your reading, it's a piece of my soul.
I want to be liked and to appeal to everyone.
But I've learnt this ambition can never be truly done.
I write for my family, so they can be proud of their first creation.
Although I don't show it, they will always have my love and appreciation.
I'm hoping a
Arms Of A StrangerThe view is painted today in such blazing colors,Arms Of A Stranger3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But at least are dimmed all the errors.
The vapid grey of his eyes turned into cyan,
While the blonde hair had rapt the shine of the sun,
Bodies without faces are swallowed by the mist one by one.
The distorted sound seems stunning,
But at least is indecipherable every word coming.
My sight is blurred but I think his face reminds me of another "him",
In these whirling waves I can barely continue to swim,
So I hang on this stranger's face,
Catch him in a breath-taking embrace.
The words I said came out so twisted,
But my tongue is knotting,
The phrase was almost spitted
His lips are stretching into a smile of understanding,
A whisper that is supposed to reach me floats away,
But I purport this was okay,
Sure, except the moment when I've almost lost self-control,
A sudden contact of our lips imbued with alcohol.
VulnerableI am alone in my closetVulnerable3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
between cardboard boxes
full of my belongings
I am packed away between them
hoping to disappear from the
notice of the residents just
like the boxes and furniture
I am not happy,
or even smiling
I am empty
like the bucket with
many holes in the bottom
I am sad?
No, not sad, but something like it
a little of each? possibly
I feel, yet I don't feel
I don't know my purpose,
just that there is one
I am a shell of a human being
a dying soul
a crying heart
a braking mind
a ghost of a shadow
and a shadow of the wind
I am nothing, yet something
I don't know
I am a creature without nurture
not knowing true familial love
only suffering under the
contemptuous gazes of my
I am a scapegoat
an excuse for abuse
a peasant to cast aside
encouragement? I don't really get it
I am sure of only one thing
sure that I am human
that I have feelings
that I have created and destroy
DriftElectric flashes upon the skin;Drift3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
reflections of fear's loving advocate.
Infect me white and loud,
cracks of rumbling noise rolling
over brittle bones
making me a beautiful
O c e a n.
and how he loves to rock within me;
a sailboat on blue tremulous waves,
waiting for tsunamis.
Breaking NewsBreaking News.Breaking News3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's somebody's mother.
Who was beaten and raped by another
Individual who couldn't control their seedy sexual desires.
Just because you can't smell the stench of burning skin.
Doesn't mean this world isn't intrinsically on fire.
That's somebody's daughter.
Who was kidnapped, molested and tortured.
By another who couldn't control their dishevelled cravings.
Super heros do not exist in this reality.
Does that mean this world is not worth saving?
That's somebody's father.
Who was shot by another individual who would rather
Resort to violence to settle a trivial dispute.
The things humans can do to each other.
No one can deny this world is not filled with ill repute.
That's somebody's son.
Who was a victim of a hit and run
Situation that should never had occurred.
His family are now seeking solace from a church.
But can anyone really say that in the end
We all get what we deserve?
Do you judge me?Do you know me?Do you judge me?3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Do you actually look beyond my face?
Do you try to know the person,
Behind which clothes I wear?
Beyond the badges on my jacket?
Beyond the shell I live in?
Or do you just condemn me?
By the first glance.
Slot me into a category?
Into a judgmental group?
Which one will it be this time?
All are things that I've been called before.
Do you care about who I am?
About what kind of person I may be?
You take one glance and that's all you need.
To slot me into a group.
To abandon any other impressions I may make on you to the judgements of one word.
fake it till you make iti don't want to live on this planet anymore.fake it till you make it3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so i'm packing a rocketship to mars
(no you're not invited),
where the seasons don't change and
the people forget.
i can learn to forget too just give me some time.
i can write an entire book on how to lose your memories,
if you want.
you might want to find someone else
to help you make those memories though, because
i'm the kind of person who's never seen a shooting star
but sits in the dark
when there are meteor showers outside.
i'm also the kind of person who ignores your phone calls
and hides under her blanket.
maybe for the same reason.
make a paper crane. burn it, starting with its head.
the wings should be last, don't make something that can't fly.
(i can't imagine being a penguin.)
build a wall. anywhere.
maybe you can even tear it down afterwards.
change your favorite color from his eyes to
something that can't hurt you- like maybe
grass green or baby blanket yellow.
maybe buy a n
On Platonic LoveThat love is beautiful,On Platonic Love3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The apple on the tree,
Which endures every famine,
Yet lets the apple be.
That love is plentiful,
The sea that hugs the shore,
Which meets solely at the brink,
Yet returns ever more.
That love is contentful,
The twine of You and Me,
Which clasp our eternal strings,
Yet ne'er to become We.
Paperback SpineIn stories,Paperback Spine2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the lucky ones
have their lives changed
by one little moment-
one dandelion puff
between your palms.
And the author stresses
this moment, how tiny,
that seemingly unimportant
into a novel.
You have to be
My eyes have gone dry
and my lungs are about to pop,
and my tongue is oversaturated-
After a Poetry CompetitionAfter a poetry competitionAfter a Poetry Competition3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
During poetry's decline,
Sat many a wishful rhapsodist
Loyal to the heroic line.
The results were finally determined
And the winners called to stage,
Applauded the groaning ceiling fans
For the Miltons of this age.
Once in a while came a well known name
Followed by much cheer and glory
And amidst another's razzle dazzle
I heard a distant voice call me.
And so I rose in the sudden lull,
Unknown to all but my shadow,
And strode onward to the far off dais
As the dabbing of palms did grow.
And noticed I in that long walk
To collect what I had won,
They who clapped the loudest
Had been clapped for by none.
The TrenchWe stand here in our muddy trench,The Trench3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
And raise a glass to all.
For those who are about to die,
And those who've gone before.
There is no glory to be found,
when hiding in these holes.
Clinging grimly onto life,
Praying for our souls.
The air is thick; the stench of fear,
We step through rotting dead,
Wishing we were miles away,
From horrors just ahead.
Its time to face the enemy,
And make the blighters pay.
So all stand by your ladders lads,
We're leaving here today.
The whistle blows, we're on the move,
The sound of firing starts,
The first man out is blasted back,
A bullet through his heart.
Fear has run its course for now,
All goes quiet and numb,
Each man says a final prayer,
His turn to die has come.
I reach the top, rush blindly out,
Run straight on through the blast,
Time slows with every second,
I have visions of the past.
A childhood filled with time to waste,
Endless days of fun.
Loving parents, playing games,
And laughter in the sun.
Leaving school and starting work,
A girl to
HomelessI sit with the snickersnack sound of them passing,Homeless3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The globberwalk gait of the rich and the round.
They try not to notice,
Avoiding the gaze,
Of the homeless skeletitude state of malaise.
Give me more than your gloating disdain,
Your stenchweaving haste, ignores all the pain.
My empty existance,
Some throw me some change,
For easing their conscience, then scuttle away.
The government henchweasles move me along,
I roam into doorways where I don't belong,
But none are now open,
For embarassment clings,
To dirty carbunctuous shambling things.
How can you not realise that you could be me,
You were born lucky, your choices were free.
But I was spawned in a pit of no hope,
With the hands of addiction,
Wrapped round my throat.
So slither on blindly, for you dont want to see,
That only good fortune makes you different from me.
We Are The LiarsWe twist are words to talk to you,We Are The Liars3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And bend the facts
to make them true.
We are the wolves, that lead the lambs.
Like gods of death
who guide the dammed.
The tricksters and jesters, who kings all loved;
Until we had them lynched and clubbed.
We are the ones, who break your rules.
While dancing on your laws like fools.
Your friends and family that will always last,
It is we who wear the mask.
We lie to make our world more,
While wearing masks that you adore.
We are the ones who set up the fires
And bury the living
in funeral pyres
we are the ashes
Crowned with thorns
And misplaced desires
We are the liars
Real problems - Not killing people.Bullied every day, in and out, my apathy is my best friend.Real problems - Not killing people.3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I never cared, the cuts would heal, broken bones would mend.
But every time it happened, there was a voice, whispering.
Kill them, you know you can, unleash your anger, give in.
That's the worst thing for me, about being bullied.
Not the pain, not the humiliation, but being restrained.
If I could unleash it all, I'd feel so much better...
Go on, unleash yourself, make yourself feel better!
No! I can't, and I honestly don't want to.
It's too much hassle after, being hated for what I do.
So yeah, call me a freak, call me a liar.
Come on, give in, they're just feeding the fire...
To quote my favourite song, I will not bow, I will not break.
"Hey, what you listening to? Oh, you're such an emo freak!"
I roll my eyes, apathetic, as they steal my iPod and smash it.
You're letting them?! Smash them l
02Acidic words linger on silver tongues,023 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A delighted whip of cruelty's favor,
And I, my love, am cruelty's song unsung;
A tormented soul so simply captured.
That which is soft doth turn apprehensive,
Colored submissive by mere act of thought;
Thou who batters leaves keen hearts held captive,
And coats tongue rancorous with souls distraught.
But thou, sweetest love, stunningly capture:
Ensnaring within thy faultless deceit,
A spider weaving web down to fiber;
A goddess of things held false and discreet.
And once seduced with thy silky poison,
I observe that passion merely sharpens.
All She Has©LonewolfpuppyAll She Has3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The pictures on the wall
tell of what she loves.
Te over-flowing bookshelf
stores her reality escapes.
The hidden sheets of paper
hold the things she'll never tell.
The camera on the table
show someone she wishes to be.
The broken headphones on the floor
say music's never quite enough.
The light-switch - always off,
says she prefers the dark.
The long, shapeless shadows
say she's scared of what's in them.
The door - forever shut,
says she loves and hates the loneliness.
The reflections in the mirrow
show her what she hates.
The clothes hanging up
remind her of who she's not.
The bunch of orange flowers
is fake, kist like her smile.
The sticky notes everywhere
advertise all that isn't done.
The school bag - all shredded
says she carries too much at once.
The red pen scrawling furiously
writes the words of her heart.
The pencil on the sketchbook
says the shapes wont flow like words.
The beaded bracelets in the corner
say she['s very creative indeed.
The pad of paper -
I Dream of a World...I dream of a worldI Dream of a World...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where there's no gay or straight.
And no hate.
I dream of a world
Where skin doesn't matter.
It's the inside,
The glowing light
That makes the world brighter.
I dream of a world
Where there are no smokestacks spewing,
No train tracks using
What the companies are schmoozing.
I dream of a world
Where everyone is heard,
Where no one is deterred,
Where no one is absurd.
I dream of a world
Where we all can unite,
Where we all can ignite
Our power of flight.
Listening For InspirationTaste the breath of timid wordsListening For Inspiration3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
arising from my speech.
Dripping through my lips,
unfurling sails of poetry.
Catching wind of empty waves,
the words fall one by one.
They stoop the gentle break of day
and melt through river's run.
Curl beneath the shaded trees
and hide in hollowed rocks.
They topple through the spider's weave
and splash through bursting drops.
Sit behind the sunset
and before the rising skies,
dipping palms in Bluejay's songs
while frosting tearful eyes.
Complimenting purple streaks
across the orange noon.
Their silhouetting shadows casting
freckles for the moon.
Passing secret whispers
through the cursive of my pen,
these sleeping inspirations wait
to see the sun again.
Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longerJustifications and Salted Smiles3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.
I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?
They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where you are
so your problems don't follow
and neither does time.
It all fades away
until you disintegrate
like your worries.
You can only get there
with a heart that doesn't beat
because humans' empty brains
You need to be all the way gone
I want to go and find myself
and live the dreams I never had.
I swear, it's not that bad-
The PuppetLike a hollow shell,The Puppet3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A plastered smile,
A painted tongue,
My arms and legs tied tight by wires known to me.
A puppet on their sickly strings,
Vicious masters with poisoned teeth,
Grimace at my show.
"Not good enough puppet!" they bellow.
"Sit straighter, talk faster, be better, behave!"
After months of performances,
I am tossed into a corner.
My strings tangling, choking my porcelain throat.
Seeing my tears, the blood masters spit,
"Your pain isn't real,
It's all in your head!
You've not a dime in your hands,
And you're practically dead,
But don't worry, puppet" They smile toothily.
"You're always allowed to be yourself."
'Tis This a Pen, or a Sword?Do not fight me, I am you'Tis This a Pen, or a Sword?3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The song you sing, and all of the things you do.
The beating drums,
your scrawling thumbs,
that chicken scratch,
the ideas you hatch,
Do not fight me, my friend,
'tis I, your bitter end.
Fight for life, struggle for air;
just BREATH: ever aware, that I am there.
Yes, I am the verse blasting through
your front lobe onto the page, before you knew,
what words to even use
to create me,
To let it be,
to love freely.
Do not fight me little one,
I am your master, and I have already won.
This game? Is done.
Your verse? is sung,
Do not fight me little one,
I am your poem, but 'tis I, that won.
But, I am you,
I am all of the things you see, and do.
So in the end, if you fight, you lose,
Because you are me, and I am your muse.
All I HaveAll I have is my dreamsAll I Have3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As I drift into a sleep
By a lullaby
Sleeping inside me
Is a dream
A dream of reality
Like a faint flare of flame
All I have is my dreams
For I can't control my actual life
By one who has to be
In control of some life
Because he can't control his own
All I have is my dreams
He has no power
All I have is my dreams
He has no control
All I have is my dreams
He does not exist...
Abdul-Malik Wajid Hunter
The Legendary Pen Meister
How one Dead Views the LivingMy life had always been painted in sombre greys. In death, how it blossoms!How one Dead Views the Living3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When the rains come, the watery drops fall like tears of ink: echoing and dancing across sparkling sapphire puddles. The sun, a golden mystic orb, shedding its beauty on all it touches.
I see rustic weather-beaten cragged faces of the old, set with eyes of faded blue. I behold bright smiles and blushes upon the fat cheeks of the young. My ears prickle with the twirling thousand-noted song of birds. The beauty of all these things I never observed in life, now bursts upon my ripened senses - in death.
In a trance I view this new-found paradise. Life, I have come to realise, is most beautiful to the spectator. The spectator has no need for understanding or judgement.
I look upon a derelict dilapidated street, filthy with squalor. I cast my eyes over the crumbling paintwork of rotting window frames, housing broken panes. Here and there sickly weeds break through mouldering masonry.
Oh what a picture, what a spectac