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 Aug 27 Sky
CantSeeMe
staring at a screen
it says ‘bad gateway’
what does it mean?

I don't know
but I've seen this before
that's why I'm in
survival mode
it's gonna be okay
I'll just take the next road
left

writing poems...
in my head
 Aug 27 Sky
F Elliott

Stone upon stone,
the walls were raised;
each block a silence,
each silence a debt
never spoken of aloud.

Within,
the child’s voice echoed,
but the mortar held fast,
sealing grief in chambers
where no light could enter.

From the outside,
the fortress looked steady,
even noble--
its towers reaching upward,
its gates well-kept..
its banners bright.

But within its walls,
rot thickened
and the beast..
undisturbed,
found shelter.

Every silence defended it.
Every smile concealed it.

   Every careful word
   laid another stone
   against the truth.

And though the watchman cried,
the city called the fortress beautiful.

Every fortress defends
but none heals.


Every wall that protects
      is also a wall
    that imprisons.

Trauma builds with silence as mortar. Each unspoken truth becomes a stone in the wall, each careful smile a tower that hides what festers inside.

From the outside, the fortress looks strong.. even admirable. But within its walls, the beast remains untouched. This piece speaks to the architecture of denial: how families, communities, even whole societies build fortresses that protect appearances while sacrificing souls.

And to those who build their fortresses of silence, who entrench themselves in deception and call it strength.. this is for you. There are battles that words alone cannot soften, and for those battles the posture is Headstrong.

This is where the silence ends. The fortress you defend cannot heal, and the fight you dismiss as madness will not bow to your walls.

For those who choose to be self-entrenched.. who make the fortress their stronghold, hiding behind its ramparts a counterfeit “strength” built from the empty pit of unresolved years, dressing up brick and mortar to conceal the hollowness within.. this song is for you--


"Conclusions manifest
Your first impressions
got to be your very best

I see you're full of ****
and that's alright
That's how you play,
I guess you get through every night..

Well, now that's over

I see your fantasy
You wanna make it a reality
paved in gold
See inside, inside of our heads, yeah
Well, now that's over"

I see your motives inside
Decisions to hide

https://youtu.be/hYW5iD6eqM8?si=ye8lzLVMbRkPE63Q


This is not where you belong.
The fortress cannot stand forever

The child will outlast the walls.
Selah

xo
 Aug 27 Sky
Nat Lipstadt
be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them
Oct. 6, 2015
4:30am
Manhattan Island
 Aug 13 Sky
Rastislav
She sat alone, beside the door
not asking much, not asking more.

She didn’t wait for steps to fall
but for a glance.
No cry. Just call.

. . .

She wasn’t silent out of fear,
nor lost for words that wouldn’t clear.

She simply held that hush so deep
your broken soul
could rest, could sleep.

. . .

When you were cruel, she did not shake.
When you were low, she’d bend, not break.

She breathed like grass, a quiet thing,
forgave it all, just with a blink.

. . .

You could have left.
Or screamed. Or lied.
Or tossed your anger off with pride.

She knew it all.
She didn’t plead.
She breathed, just breathed
like hope, like need.

. . .

And if you left and never came
past morning’s hush, beyond the flame

she still would sit…
no names, no cries…
and watch the night
as if
it shines.
 Aug 13 Sky
Agnes de Lods
A warm wind touched my face.
I walked out into the open space,
I saw a blurry, fading horizon.
Somewhere, you are,
I am here, after a sleepless night,
Writing another reflection,
Tired like an empty battery.

I do not like the masks that shout.
The fight over who is right.
I do not want an analysis.
I touch the bark of the tree,
I hug the birch with my arms.
I see its white pages,
Written with irregular lines,
Torn, fluttering in the wind,
Which I cannot read.

Her eyes look straight into me,
They understand –
How well they understand me.
The rustle of leaves lessens the tension.
Autumn will come soon,
The summer wind whispers to me:
This country, this language,
These people, these doubts.

This is not blind luck,
This is your blessing,
Purple, rainy months, a fleshy heart,
Falling hair, joy when relief comes,
Crying into a pillow –
So as not to disturb another’s dreaming
About the so-called reality.

Bare feet touch the ground.
I tread carefully on the edge of worlds,
To be both here and there
With my integrity.
I am everything and nothing.
I am gestures, epilepsy,
The belief that I see human thoughts,
Inconsistent with what they say.

Blue, sun, and somewhere you.
How good that you stayed.
When everyone was saying:
She is different,
She talks to ghosts.
You stayed, showing me
Your true face.
 Aug 12 Sky
Tymeri Hinkley
The moon calls to me tonight—
I cannot resist her charms.
I slip beyond the confines of my room
To let the evening soak into my soul.

A full moon spills her silver light,
Darkness braided with her glow.
Rocky earth crunches beneath my feet,
Each step alive with sound and scent.

The high desert hums its song:
Stars glimmer, coyotes cry.
A noisy stillness fills the air,
As daylight’s brightness fills the sky.

My heaven is green grass,
And scent of sagebrush and hay.
I belong in this moonlit nirvana,
Where constellations burn like fire.

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my scars?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my eating disorder?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my father?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my OCD?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about how they ruined my trust?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my trust issues?

Will you love me anyway if you knew about my anger issues?

Will you love me anyway if you knew about my mood swings?

Will you love me anyway?

❓❓❓❓
 Aug 12 Sky
guy scutellaro
across my face.

I saw spring coming
in the meadow
where the wildflowers
whisper to the wind.

found freedom on a snowcapped mountain top,

smiled to the child offering violets
cradled in her tiny hands

and when she smiles to me

her joy ripples like sunlight
across the sea of love.

the curtain is lifted.

the soul becomes visible

(always in the wild places
in my heart.)
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