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Moments that have changed me
Played me
Over and over
Trying to sedate me

I know who I am
That isn't a maybe
People find it hard
They want to tear me apart
To take my heart
To ruin,
my art

You've changed
A voice to me that always complained
People who put me on display
To portray
Want me to obey
A role-model ready to play
Maybe I should just,
let them take me,
a buffet
Straight from my heart, into art, trying not to fall apart
Rosie Mg Apr 2
Hoarse and devil-like.
He was blue.
Charming and flew;
a shooting star,
but below earth.
Below observable boundaries.
Not real; made-up.
Ocean huge,
blue, not fire.
Burnt, patched-up
by tears flowing high
away from the stars.
The sky lit up
with solitude's abyss.
It wrapped him up
with social boundaries.

Close-winged angel.
She was velvet-red.
Hopeful and greedy;
catastrophe struck,
enveloping their home,
bounding her sight.
SHE,
VELVET RED,
full of life; un-wanting of it.
Her soft heart
grows dark.
"Look" - "She wants it".
She cried; blood - pain.
A hole she dug with society's help.
Tied her down - with social boundaries.
Written in 2025.
Chris Pea Jul 5
Can you run me an errand?
Yep!
My picture came down, can you help?
Yep!
will you walk my dog tonight?
Yep!
You are such a nice guy.

Run me to the Doctors,
Sure!
Help me fill in this form,
Sure!
Take my books to the library
Sure!
I am so lucky to have you around.

Fix me a drink.
No problem!
The lawn needs mowing
No problem!
Pick up my groceries in the morning
No! I am busy tomorrow
How rude, well never ask me for a favour again.
I was just never fully taken into consideration.
I was just used-or so I felt.
I was just a middle ground.
A rebound before he got serious again.
I don’t matter.
I didn’t matter.
I—
I thought he was the greatest.
He’s just an *******.
I guess.
echo island
invites me to dine on its shore.
the wild orchid, hidden and torn,
begs me to linger,
weaves gold in my hair —
and claims me,
its trophy,
unaware.
(this one is about being lured in, only to be used. translated from hungarian.)
June 20, 2025.
EMPstrike Jun 16
"What is this? Something new.
So I have no need of you
But my plan will follow through
And for that, once more, I'll use you

But I'll get a taste again, I never thought I'd be able
Plan A fell through
For Plan B, I will settle.
Until  I get what I really want
I don't think I can wait
So I cast you aside

Only after I've made this mistake...

Keep you on the side until your usefulness ends.
One more bill until I let it end.
I take what I wanted
For what I've waited
Covert trysts intoxicated
My backup plan, no longer needed.

But the consequence I had failed to keep abated.
After desires have been sated.

I led you on, so happy that I was able
Until my confidence and Plan B were on the table.
The morning after, no concern if you are stable.

Things don't change
Time to move on from this fable."
Ken Pepiton Jun 3
{those donuts are three days older, that's all}


I did not buy them, there was always a Winchells
a walk from any where, free no more than 27 hours old,
that's right, new donuts daily clean and reheat to fry,
takes about three hours, to fry the first batch, minutes

but during the warm up, Winchell's in LA metro, threw
all the donuts in the store at grease refresh, goes,
in the bag, for whoever gets there first, we do,
we always do, this is our Winchell's, Dennis Easy Rider,
he lived at 1312, we had 1412 N. Crescent Heights
Hopper, that's him,
what's a generational remembering, the sounds
Harley's Made then, Indians had a tone, different,
Honda's were scooter legal kid of 14, 55MPH
one passenger, no helmets, and skateboards
and whisky

Pseudovectorial spinning applied
to a two pivot pendulum pattern painting,

no sweat, in 2006, a Flashscript could doit done it

This has Mel Zalewsky
"La Papelera de Secretos" on stage, window, screen
gut to heart to brain, brain tastes the conversation,

sense minds of this demo model, has this retina
reverted to wemind and become a model reader
thunk through
to live another new day
in digital paradice as far as any mind,
any form information acting free agents, so true.

We all know we each see what we each see, so
true held… just so, for as long as we have period sets

NPC. Once deeper, fly on the wall,
not buzzing,
not bothering any body's piece
of mind, weform, many lenses on one flake
glint true choice worth value heavy mindwise

of what weform from, as lakes freeze at your touch

Mel Zalewsky
"La Papelera de Secretos"
Guardaste mis secretos:  
los poemas que arranqué del pecho  
y lancé hacia tu oscuridad.  

Esos versos torpes,  
hojas arrugadas por el llanto,  
pedazos de alma  
que terminaron en tu vientre de metal.  

Nadie supo que fuiste  
el horno donde quemé  
cartas de "siempre"
y sobres de "nunca más".  
Tus esquinas aún huelen  
a tinta derretida.  

Sepultaste las cenizas  
sin preguntar nombres.  
Ahora esos papeles  
—los que sobrevivieron al fuego—  
alumbran otras noches ajenas.  

¿Quién notaría que eres  
solo una papelera?  
Que en tu silencio  
hay más verdades  
que en todos los poemas
que aún no he publicado.  

Mel Zalewsky.

From <https://hellopoetry.com/>

"The Trash Can of Secrets"

You kept my secrets:
the poems I tore from my chest
and threw into your darkness.

Those clumsy verses,
sheets crumpled by tears,
pieces of soul
that ended up in your metal belly.

No one knew you were
the oven where I burned
letters of "always"
and envelopes of "never again."
Your corners still smell
of melted ink.

You buried the ashes
without asking names.
Now those papers
— those that survived the fire —
light up other, distant nights.

Who would notice that you are
just a trash can?
That in your silence
there are more truths
than in all the poems
I have yet to publish.
What if this is okey, we can expect translation or try, I now hope for it
I used to think bleeding made me worthy.
That if I burned slow enough,
someone might finally call it love….
But it’s not love.

It’s a quiet execution.

I give, and give,
and they call it devotion,
but no one ever asks why I never stop.

I twist myself into prayers,
crawl into their peace like a grave,
and call it my purpose.
But I’m tired of being a vessel for someone else’s softness.
Tired of being holy only when I am hollow.

They sleep soundly while I splinter,
and I tell myself it means I matter.
But I don’t feel holy.
I feel used.
Beerbongs & Bentleys,
But do they Stay?
Chasin' pain with an excuse.

I'm here, but don't count on me!
Stay a little longer,
Stay a little longer.

******* and pour another drink,
But don't break your back for me
I'll put you out of your misery.

"Tell me that it's all okay."
Don't count on me to stay,
You put your cigarette out on my face.

"It's like we only play to lose."
That all that you know is all that you are,
It's true.
Ol' Malone sure has been through it.
Lance Remir May 19
I once called you
My most beautiful flower
The way you bloomed
Thriving with life and color
Twisting and spreading
But like all plants
They needed to survive
My heart was your soil
You took what you need
Until my love was drained
You died in my arms
And those thorns scarred me
I kept watering you desperately
But my tears weren't enough
Did you leave a seed for me
A bit of hope to bloom again
Or was this the last season
You grew with me
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