Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rozey Mar 2019
I am not the weak little girl you recall
I am the girl who got up even after the roughest fall
You pushed me when I didn't shove
You hurt me when I would help
Now I will not stand to be thrown
So try to push me now.. I sit cheerfully on my thrown
Queens feel the pressure to be this beautiful individual and to set an example. They are pushed to perfect their image and on days they want to be at peace, they are seen as lazy. Days where they can't deal with the chaos, they are seen as weak. Nothing they do makes them perfect enough but, they still sit on their royal chair and smile because they know it is their choice to run how they choose to run their kingdom, their life.
Eyithen Mar 2019
She was the queen of poisons,
Pretty to look at
But deadly

She has many names
and wears a purple hood,
she chases the wolves away.

Consuming her is lethal
You'll never see her coming,
She will burn you from inside
and leave you paralyzed.

She will steal your breath,
Make you numb,
And listen as you whisper your last words.

She is a killer queen
She'll end you from inside,
best watch out for that purple shroud
Or she could steal your life.
Aconite/wolfsbane/monkshood- a deadly plant with many names.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2019
Spring upon the rose and live on the flow—
delve into the fragrance that goes full tilt
on petals that never drift with the wind.

Let it be—without form,
without a visual show.
Let’s not forget the truth:
even in pitch-dark invisible moments,
the Moon puts up a show.

Believe it or not—around that sweet spot,
the artistic paragon, Paradise, may be the next stop.

The butterfly paradise slips out to fly,
wafting into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo—on its picturesque wings it holds every eye;
where it reaches, no one knows.
It’s on the other side of the pool—
only Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!

Any pause is deadly, heavy-handed on that route.
Death is no more; it’s unknown now.
And time—ripe for beauteous sight—is on for good!
If only one can hold their gaze,
walking the secret alleyways of God!

Oh, they flower in the fire,
dip into the sea in a single drop of water,
and pan out to another world within this world.
This time, Moses resists not—
his eyes peep beyond the burnt Mount Sinai,
gazing through burnt kohl,
across the shaded pollens
of the Ultimate Burning Beauty!

When it’s live in the true terra incognita,
it could be beyond the paradise rainbow—
the one show the true seekers sought the most.
Before long, all the rest may fade into the kohl.

Godsent, the most beautiful feminine paragon—Fathima—
lifts the black screen off at once, casting her gaze
from every never-blurred, myriad fractal pixel.
All in all, even the never-known pi digits in toto
soak into the one true description of reality's show!

Be en route—
it’s only the chosen eyes’ wonder-show,
where the handsome swans of Paradise stand on their toes.
Marcelina Mar 2019
She damaged them all
They were nothing, but
mere pack of cards.
Crashed in the game of
poker hearts.  Once had
a heart not it's
long gone. Destroyed in
a game similar
to hers.  She had learned
from the finest of
her destructive kind.
She fought and lost it
all.  Now she´s gone
mad, with her strangling
sweet red and white rose
aroma, merciless
beauty with clothing
made of dignity silk.
Sins she´s paid fo like
all the others will pay
for theirs. With their hearts in
her claws, in her jars as
they once done with hers
because she is the queen
of all their aching, defeated hearts.
epicenter in
cadence hence
this joint
dissolve in
in musicals
and devour
much repertoire
with audience
now patron
as theatre
did establish
hits on
Broadway for
the season
and place
its shows
on location
a man in a wheelchair
Nicole Mar 2019
A girl, a fool, a sinner.
I dance on tabletops of marble and glass
And when I fall, I fall hard.
My blood on the floor
Stars in my vision
I stand, and I sway, and I laugh.

You see, I bleed everywhere.
Red stains on my sheets,
The pages of every book on the shelf,
The hands of the people who try so helplessly to hold me up.
A bullet wound that never heals
And my clothes are crimson just like my smile.

My fingerprints are everywhere,
****** and smudged,
Because I need to exist and I need it known that I exist,
I need my existence to be scientifically irrefutable
Because if there is no proof I was here… was I?

I am a ghost in the hallways of my own palace
Haunting my own home, a whisper in the walls.
I do not belong here I say in the mirror.
You do not belong anywhere my reflection replies.
I find the darkest corner and bury myself there until somebody comes looking
But nobody ever does. At least, not looking for me.
They’re looking for her, the reflection, the girl I could be,
But I go with them anyway because I can’t be alone for one more second.

A long time ago I was a healer, and people believed that one touch from me could fix
The worst of their problems.
It was a beautiful concept and when I held court there would be a line of villagers
Bowing at my feet, begging for a kiss on the forehead, and I obliged
Not knowing what infected my kiss.
I spread a plague amongst my people and they all fell,
And I woke up one morning alone.

I’ve realized that the gods aren’t invincible.
I’ve met them and seen their faults, their broken pieces.
I studied their weaknesses (and trust me, they all have weaknesses)
And when the time came, I didn’t just destroy them.
I devoured them.
If you’ve ever wondered what ichor tastes like,
It’s a lot like blood. Like copper.
(Ask me how an angel tastes. That’s a story for another day.)
You see, the only thing that is invincible is the teenage girl.
A stake through the heart, a silver bullet, the teeth of Cerberus himself,
They can’t touch her. She dances around them all
With agility you can’t fathom unless you’ve been her.
You can’t stop watching as she rises and falls, rises and falls,
Blood on the stage and her dress and her palms.
Like me, on my tabletop, a chipped-tooth smile
And bruised knuckles that let you know I can fight.

You don’t look invincible my reflection says one day.
Tangled hair, glistening eyes, pink splotches on my face.
I’m smiling but I’m shaking and there is blood everywhere this time,
On the mirror and the sink and the floor. I’m scared of her,
The girl in the mirror, because she is the only person who sees me like this.
She is the only person who knows the truth about me,
Knows my awfullest secrets and yet she stays in the mirror.
You don’t look invincible she repeats. You look broken.

I smile. A true, genuine smile, and there is still ichor on my lips.
Same thing, I tell her.
my first poem in like 4 years wowza
Xgaizer Mar 2019
You look at me like I was everything
You follow me like i was a King

You treated me like I was your Queen
You smiled at me like I'm the only one you seen

You see me like I was your Prince
Save you in so many evil whence

You see me like i was your Princess
That can save you on so many curses

So I give you so many kisses
build an empire with those sadness

Let us make a promises
build walls with those pieces

I put you inside my chest
And love you for all the rest
whence means a place at least for, just bare with it. thank you so ,much :)
Paul Butters Mar 2019
You can’t beat that musical beat,
From tinkling triangles
To blaring horns.
A quick ditty
Or grand symphony.

Music can mould mountains,
Oceans and plains.
Make you feel any emotion
Or atmosphere.

When songs and poems marry,
Their offspring are awesome:
“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…”
Mercury magic.

Those rhythms run like chugging trains.
They fight pitch battles
Within our brains.

Drums keep beating,
Guitars whine.
Ever repeating
All through time.

Chuck Berry with his rock and roll,
Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul.
Elvis truly was the King,
Want some crooning?
Play some Bing.

Beatles, Queen or Stones,
Who really cares?
Roll over Beethoven
Bach or Lennon
On your dancing squares.

I know that rap can give you the blues,
But there’s so much music
You’ve got plenty to choose.

Musical memories adorn our minds,
Warm associations
Of nostalgic times.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2019. Last stanza added 6\3\19.
Let the band begin to play...
Next page