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Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Connect like comets,
got thoughts but won’t comment,
controversial as a result of being honest,
honestly sick of the politics & sick of the nonsense,
actually I’m sick of it all to be honest but still I won’t *****,
conflicted by the conflicts that’re inflicted on my conscience,
from the constant onslaught of plots that they’ve got that I’m barraged with,
in this enormous orbit that we’re all in it’s ugly & gorgeous I’m nauseous but conscious,

just wishing they’d stop it & I’ve lost my train of thought but haven’t yet lost consciousness,

at,

a house party in The Hamptons,
July 6th. 2018,
last week D.C.,
next week Miami,

bless the vibes like we bless the mics,
that’s why they want us around,
if I get the invite & have the time I might take that flight,
because I’ve been all around but still up to get gown,

buzzing off of a mixture of different chemicals,
feeling Sharon ****** operating off of basic instinct,
Semi-Quasi-Serious-Centennial-American-Millennials,
wer­e are what is in so we tell them to get out with their doubts & we dismiss what they think,

live big & still get enough to give more than a little bit away to various charities,

with 3rd Eye Vision that’s 20/20 so they can’t pull a fast one on me,
in the perfect position I see everything while most of them can barely see anything,
not kidding but we do play no kids no way,
our artistic creations are what we will leave behind as our living legacies,

staying grounded at the same time we’re all stars outta this world like a fabulous galaxy,

where we connect like comets,
got thoughts but won’t comment,
controversial as a result of being honest,
honestly sick of the politics & sick of the nonsense,
actually I’m sick of it all to be honest but still I won’t *****,
conflicted by the conflicts that’re inflicted on my conscience,
from the constant onslaught of plots that they’ve got that I’m barraged with,
in this enormous orbit that we’re all in it’s ugly & gorgeous I’m nauseous but conscious,

just wishing they’d stop it & I’ve lost my train of thought but haven’t yet lost consciousness…

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
Lamar Lewis Oct 2011
It all happened so fast. Like most good things in life--the really monumental moments--it's like you float out of your body and come screaming back just soon enough to realize the moment had passed.

I didn't know how many miles were behind me now. It seemed like a thousand but it didn't really matter. I wasn't going to be one of those mindless wanderers--blindly probing my way through life's misery and defeat to one day wake up wishing I was young again.

I'm taking my youth back from the government, the bankers, the Wall Street gamblers and racing toward the horizon like there are commercial airplanes in my blood and skyscrapers burning in my chest.

You can only go to the same god forsaken place to have your soul ****** out of you for so many ******* days in a row before you either become one of them or make your own revolt and

collapse
                 *into a sea of ash

                                              slithering like snakes along the city streets.
You just run as fast as you can.

I chose the latter.
__________________­__


I'm going to do the cliche thing I suppose. Do as many drugs as possible, do as many women as possible, keep chasing the next good time until I get high enough to slap a saddle on my car roof and ride off into the Atlantic--fireworks shooting off in every direction to *** up the stars--refracting radials within the iridescence of the shimmering sea.

>explosions echo endlessly<
[wrap around the ambient rhythm of the TidePuller]

touch! caress! make love!--stare through eyes into deep blue souls and find something of yourself there.

That's how I'd like to go anyways, I don't know about you--.

That might just be this narcotic cocktail talking. I take my pills ground up in a wine glass mixed with cheap scotch. Then I chase with cups of watered down coffee--chugging until ceilings start to undulate and shake me loose. That's when I know I can start the day.

It's usually my most productive days when the ceiling tiles arrange into piano keys. Then I get to create my symphonies and soliloquies before I try to go get laid.

Now that I'm out here on the road though my mind is being blown.

Try waking to the same white black piano key ceiling everyday, to then finally feel the colors of the sky--for the very first time!

A never ending metaphysical canvas for the thoughts and longings of a drugged up DaVinci who just woke up in his time machine to start the 2nd Renaissance in the clouds. It all makes me wish I would have left years ago.

__________________­_


You see, I'm your typical twenty-something passionate kid trying to turn a ****** past into some kind of salvageable foundation for a chance at catching up with the rest of normal "adult" society. But I've got some problems with this whole "reality" thing people are so adamant at upholding.

Last time I visited my human family around the world they were all drowning in debt and poverty; trying with every fiber of their being to find that one bright spot. Stuck. In the deepest, darkest, most cavernous rotting excuse of a day to day life.

All because some meaningless number
on some computer
in some bank building
with their name on it
either is too small or doesn't exist.

Most of my human family know things are bad,

But most in the impoverished third-world are so deprived of basic human needs that they never get the chance to ponder who really holds the key to their cage.

So they are inclined to accept the status quo and the system and try to live inside of it. Failing to find sunshine within the deepest depths of an erupting volcano; mistaking the heat, the burning alive, for some kind of sign that the brightness has got to be somewhere close. So we will just try to sink a little deeper with the rest of them.

Here in America:
Sure, let's go on back to ringing registers for minimum wage all day until my ears bleed and my head wants to fall off so I can go home to watch some television!

Yes, God Please just let me relax here with my box of flashing pictures and scintillating sounds. The only truth I'll ever need.

Just let me relax here with my reality being defined for me by the volcano directors--telling me that I didn't just come in my house dripping with magma all over the carpet.

YES GOD, just let me relax a little before I have to go to my volcanic, skin searing hell again tomorrow morning. Where they tell me on T.V. that I'm going to find that sunshine I desperately long for. But It'll always

*collapse
                 into a sea of ash
                 to scar the sky grey, silence the sun's rays, blot out the stars, and darken our days*

You just sigh and say "Tomorrow's another day..."
_________________­__


Yeah, I was right there with them yesterday. I was with them for years. Getting brainwashed and ***** slapped by advertising--getting barraged with constant reminders that all I was meant to do was to work my life away--decide to be some tiny insignificant cog in this "economy" they call it.

Looks more to me like I signed up to be some mindless consumerism *****! Sheeping my way along... buying and wasting; buying, wasting; buying again, a bunch of **** I don't need and throwing it away.

We're Living in a society infected with some sort of capitalistic contagion that pretty much siphons off the Earth's life force.

We are conditioned into a reality that the richest & most powerful would like all to believe.

Art-full hearts are stomped on, told to get a job, and plan for retirement. Told to slow down and be reasonable rather than speed up. Velocity of the heart may as well be an act of terrorism unless it's for marriage--and LGBT is on the no fly list.

This is a reality set up predominantly for the endless profit of a bunch of trans-national corporations who won't be satisfied until they hold complete and utter dominion over their ***** and pillaged planet.

Perhaps then they'll be rich enough to fly away in spaceships to **** the next Earth and leave all us sheep here with bargain sales, social networking and reality T.V. as distractions...

Too bad for them some people still read. So I'll learn the different strains of herb from my local library and become a ***** of feeling good, freeing love, and accepting all artistry.

Have you ever seen a painting in the sky? Or witnessed windy symphonies in trees? Hey, don't judge me,

you're the one addicted to killing everyone and everything with your mindless dollar bill.

kneel before almighty god,
mind your founders,
adore their wise countenance,
looking up at you,
re-assuring you,
comforting you,
taking the pain away,
but DON'T RUN OUT!
you'll be back for more.
you'll come crawling back.
You'll do anything for just enough,
just one more fix.

It's got its hooks in bad,
don't it.
___________________­_


PRODUCT-XA110357: Capitalism
DRUG STATUS: Still in Clinical Trials
TEST SUBJECTS: Human Race
PHARMACEUTICAL LABORATORY: Earth
INITIAL FINDINGS: Subjects not receptive, keeps causing: Anger, Greed, Jealously, Oppression, War, Ignorance, Famine, Inequality, Imprisonment, Slavery. Environment not receptive, will cease functioning in the future. Time of Earth Death is unclear. Thankfully it does seem capable to last through the next few fiscal years. A relief, as this is what our stockholders are concerned with.


Symptoms of Withdrawal
Users who are addicted to money and are going through withdrawals may or may not experience a loss of food, water, shelter, clothing, transportation, education, free-time, happiness, fulfillment, reverence of nature, beautiful moments, relationships with friends or families, and love.


FDA Warning
If you are poor, lazy, and uneducated it is your own fault. Being poor and lazy may or may not result in Debt. DEBT may or may not lead to SLAVERY, stress, illness, and an early death.


Poison Control Center
If you have ingested too much debt, slavery, stress, illness, and are fearing an early death please do not call any corporate buildings. Access your phone, computer, or go to your local library to find reputable resources and EDUCATE YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY. Get some nice speakers and start exploring ALL GENRES OF MUSIC. Look at as many paintings, sculptures, forests, and gardens as you can--as often as possible. Lay under the stars and dream about what YOU want to do to make a positive impact on this world. FIND OTHER POSITIVE PEOPLE and AVOID NEGATIVE PEOPLE. If you know someone that is poisoned who you want to save please refer them to the nearest Poison Control Center

-->Smile at the sun--feel its warmth<--

----------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------------------------

happy hearts:--after love--not money--free from pain--sickness will surrender--
addicted to art, peace, compassion, and empathy--feel the sky get closer--.


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"In a state of enlightened anarchy each person will become his(her) own ruler. They will conduct themselves in such a way that their behaviour will not hamper the well being of their neighbours. In an ideal state there will be no political institutions and therefore no political power."
-Mahatma Gandhi
Composed October 2011. Revisions (Lots of Them) February 2014. Blend of Fiction & Non-Fiction.
Aquinas Aug 2014
I have weeks where I want to be out every day until the sky is painted charcoal with the last flares of the sun's hug
I have weeks where I want to stay inside every day because I'm barraged by human interaction and I need more air for my social lungs

But I'll never regret to answer your text
Call you when I'm in distress
Or invite you over to help me undress
To feel your lips connect with my pores
So that when you leave I'll miss you more
Than I ever did the day before
Harsh Nov 2014
It was like we were wrenched from Morpheus' grasp and shaken, until our eyes adjusted to the harsh light and our bones stopped their clattering. We make like tea bags and steep in hot water, letting the dregs of the past day settle at our feet.

We drag our feet through the quicksand pavement and trudge through the black-tar roads to work. War is rampant in the world and in people's hearts, we see murders on screen and deceit in the streets, we're observers to the horrors of humanity. All we can do is watch with pained eyes.

Our minds are barraged with arguments and advertisements, ethics have been defenestrated, our worries overpopulated, our patience stretched thin and beaten cacophonously. Our consciousness is beaten down with pessimism, our thoughts devoid of hope.

Our souls weep at the state of things, the martyrs gather in drones at St. Peter's gates. We do good only so people will be good to us, we greet each other with half-smiles, and half-truths. At the end of the day we drag home, our consciences heavy with the burden thrown upon us.

But we meet again, we kiss, we embrace, and we join hands and strip ourselves of these mundane garments, we’re a mass of hands and skin and long sighs and worn-out smiles,

and with tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.
http://youtu.be/VgoFzBqbSaU
Cory Childs Mar 2011
His Holy Empire


At the heart of sacred grounds, a shaft of ivory rises
and reigns atop a throne of clouds, where veil of white disguises
a wilting rose, a potted plant; did Gaea plan her fate?
Behind the stained-glass window's view, Joanna meekly waits.


Act 1: Poor Joanna

Twirling her hair idly, Joanna looked up out the window and sighed.
"I've wistfully waited so long for you to come home and save me… Save me from wondering and wandering too far alone." She slumped into her seat. Life was so unfair.

Despite her attempts to resist, Joanna soon quietly submitted to gravity's pull on her drooping eyelids. Just as a smile began to waltz across her face, she was violently jolted upwards by a surge of adrenaline. She instinctively buried her disfigured hand into her abdomen as her eyes darted about the unkempt room and over her unfulfilled duties. She suddenly found herself in front of her dresser's mirror and watched as her shaking hands dug through piles of cheap jewelry and stuffed animals, indiscriminately tossing the toys onto the floor. Finally, her hands found what she had been searching for. Her reflection smiled back as she ritually lifted her brush and began to make herself up.

She hated how her face looked without makeup; she had grown to believe it seemed strange if it wasn't shiny and exotically colored. Each layer concealed her blemishes and bruises so well that she sometimes forgot they were there at all. But now, no matter how desperately she painted, the comfort wouldn't come! She loathed what she saw! Joanna winced away from her tear-streaked reflection.

"Why am I so…"


Act 2: Echoes of Solomon

But she couldn't will the words; she didn't even know what it was that she needed to ask. Joanna felt conflicted and unsure as she was barraged by the jostling images that filled her head. She felt so queer when she had offered to shake his hand instead of immediately taking his arm, as was customary when a bride-to-be first meets the man she's been arranged to marry… so ugly when she noticed that every woman at the wedding was wearing makeup except for her… so damnably rude when, after he had ordered the musicians to play a minuet, she had interrupted them a second time to request a waltz… so ashamed when she had danced with such wild, voluptuous abandon… so horrifically guilty when he stumbled, when she made him grab her hand so forcefully that bones snapped as he dragged her out and scolded her for embarrassing him… so naïve to believe that she could think for herself… so overwhelmingly worthless for failing to meet his expectations?

She hated her desire to dance. She hated her desire to eat. She hated that she was miserable, even though she had done everything that they had promised would make her happy. What was she doing wrong?! She cried, "Why? Why am I…" and collapsed. Joanna's walls crumbled as she let herself be swept away by the rivers of repressed sorrow that welled from her heart. Feeling drained and strangely lighter, she found the will to face her reflection.

"I've been so strong since Saint George has been gone. He'd be proud, I'm filled with prayer instead of fruit!" Joanna was caught off guard by her reflection's sudden scowl. "But the days have grown into weeks unknown… I'm feeling frail, what's a damsel to do?" Joanna turned and looked out around the cell as though for the first time. Her probing fingers disturbed the dust-coated bookshelf as she helped herself up and stretched toward the window's ancient, forbidden latch. She threw open the gates of her perception and leaned out to observe the wilderness through wisps of clouds. Her hair flowed freely in the wind and her eyes beamed like the sun.


Act 3: When Adam Delved and Eve Span

Joanna looked up in a familiar way and said, "Tell me: Who governs the trees beyond the courtyard? Ease me; why are the leaves conceived to fall?" Joanna's trembling knees finally buckled as she cried, "Bear me! I can't stand when all I have are unanswered questions. You left me helpless! Won't you please lead me?"

Joanna tried to get back on her feet, but sickly fell to her knees in a fit of coughing. She looked down at a wooden cross that was framed by the purple of her most luxurious pillow and said, "He taught me what happens when little lambs go astray; with no rod to guide them, they'll find themselves prey. I'm too afraid to leave, though no lock bars my way. He bade me love the leash. In lord's courtyard, I'll obey."

Joanna reeled deliriously as she rose to her feet to be bathed in the growing light from the window. She reached out with a bony finger to touch one of the cherubim that were lacing the window with golden embroidery, but her hand passed through as though nothing was there. Joanna didn't seem to mind. She looked up and said, "I've wishfully waited so long for you to come down and save me… Save me from wondering and wandering too far alone."

As she smiled and dreamt of dancing on clouds, Joanna laid down and died.
To hear a rough midi draft of the accompanying music: http://corychilds.bandcamp.com/track/his-holy-empire
Devon Baker Aug 2011
If Happiness is a contagious drug
then I’m sure I’m hooked and high,
where'd the sad flee off to,
when did the falling sky stop crushing my lungs.
I’m for sure that the air's flooded and barraged in fantasy drugs.
If God's got happiness in a needle then I’m in the bathroom,
plunging my thumping veins of cyanide in my happy suicide.
The air's thinning down,
lungs collapsing
rooms running round and round.
I've got the trigger twitching up to heaven and space,
I’ve got the barrel lodged against this perspiring face,
guts to glory life to lord
I’ll blow the universe sky high,
never to see,
never to hear,
never to know fear.
The roulette's spinning a Russian game of life or death,
I’m lost in conscience,
high on **** and happiness.
Give the word my hands a twitch set to snap,
scoured to tense,
there's nothing left, but these dreams of bliss.
A heresy of contused and flowing light,
day dreams illusion sugared sweet in an infedimine delight.
Pull the switch assign my soul to lasting high,
take my crackling mind for one last ride.
Maggie Emmett Nov 2015
It has a new scale of reference
vast, vicious and unforgiving
death for millions will be anonymous
machine gun arbitrary and indiscriminate
shelled and shocked, barraged and buried
no whole corpse to recognise as human
no remains to mourn and grieve
just rich blood and bone for Poppies
growing strong in the Flanders' fields.

Landscape resculpted to barest bone
earth desecrated and destroyed
every old tree and young bush uprooted
tossed like feathers to the blackened sky
debris swirling in the clouds of poison
gas and the putrid stench of burning flesh
in pyres that smoke and stink for days
just fertile ash and dust for Poppies
growing strong in the Flanders' fields.


© M.L.Emmett
Read at an exhibition of the etchings of Ottto Dix, a soldier fighting for the Germans as a young man in WWI. He was persecuted by the Nazis in WWII
Go to National Gallery of Australia website to view his chilling art.
Amanda Stoddard Apr 2014
How do I escape
when the negativity
nooses circumstance around my neck
and ties it to my every insecurity.
It’s like my surroundings feed
off of what I hate the most-
I am constantly barraged
by resentment for the people I should love
and I read too much into things
that I should let go.
But how do I change what
i’ve spent most of my life
chained to?

The walls that surround me
are more like a cage
where negativity and sorrow
collide, crash and then burn
holes in my way of thinking.

Positivity is hard to come by
when every step you take
is like a drive-by shooting
you somehow planned
for the sole intent
of making your life hang
on the edge of a chair
waiting for the death row pardon.

Death wishes don’t come often for most-
but in the dead of the night
when I am alone and weeping
over the spilt milk I have slipped
and broke my backbone on,
I realize they come too often for me.

When the night whispers softly
into your subconscious
reminding you of all the things
you wish you didn’t remember,
curl up with your favorite pillow
grasp your bulletproof vest
of a good book into your
sin stained fingertips
and remember,
the night never wins,
because eventually
it must turn into dawn.
Hal Loyd Denton Mar 2012
The Quiet Time

Setting on the evening tide in the silent void you will hear more than you did in the volumes’ day more

Truth untainted without deluded aspects just pure raw gorgeous plain knowing words wingless with out
Guile they speak of there own content no more or nothing less be barraged by this contagion regal

Unadulterated without vile tampering you feel exhilaration the sweetness the fragrance that innocence
Gives behold the garden and the flowers speaking the night air is one of the greatest calls you can hear

As the tear speaks of sorrow and its need of silence then but let the heart rest and peaceful knowing and
Rich stirring will reach you with tenderness the same as a baby’s touch you fall inward to blessings that

Are flowing by you streams that cradle dreams delight a voyager who seeks a passage and finds it and
It surpasses their expectation and nestles in the heart as honey when it touches your tongue what

Pleasure a thrill that rolls smoothly onward restful you touch peaks and valleys that lie in the depths of
The soul a broadening occurs enlargement of conciseness it is imperceptible in many ways but the sigh

Might be mysterious but it waits for visitors then it flashes through a brilliant smile it divides and
Conquers in a world of division harmony closes tensions gates the still prevails like the silent wind

Made heavy by moisture on this the harvest of thoughts and words march to instill in your world
You have been by yourself and at length you have unknowingly decreased so as to make room for

Wisdom that seeks stillness always its intent is to evade the world fraught with ignorance build
Bridges that crosses divides making connections drawing forth alliances that cheer you and others to
New heights of achievement just as this writing has tried to do God bless you
Paul Sands Jul 2015
I would not refuse to *******.
not on a mere ethical technicality
a cursed dialectic sheared and far less pretty
than the contents of your *******
smooth as oysters lips from where your barraged ocean
falls on salty fingertips

you shall bathe in this warm artifice of my adoration
and be my play waif,
my relief from the wristed finesse
that I have become so used to

and I shall take you away from this place
where the chill of a boneless glass sustains
the shadows and fog of a self-financed ******
and Eurydice might still be expected to rise
from beneath a carpet of stone blossom

but in the sober morning a killer may raise
the bones of dead eyebrows and watch the moping steam
evanesce from the wet heart bed
bled full of drowning lungs,
the mangled target of perspective reduced
to something so blessed
Yesterday morning I watched the dramatised documentary "The ****** Adventures of Anais Nin". This, with the exception of two previously used lines, is what has emerged during the course of this afternoon
Joanna Oz Apr 2015
endless drip-drop-plopping pling-pop puddles pooling over
their self-constructed boundaries,
spilling into rainbow chem-drip paintings on the darkened pavement,
melting into unseen hues of wetness.
the super-saturated ground continues to collect the leaking of the sky,
compiling samples of the potions spilling from clouds who gathered too much magic to hold onto by themselves.
bustling busy-bodies cower under fabric roofs,
only to be barraged by rising tidal waves rolling at their feet,
sneaky splattering from dirt sick of being stomped upon.
under the cover of brick and mortar
searching eyes are stuck staring out blurred window-panes,
hypnotized by the water-works and
feeling nostalgia for a time when they lived under the sea,
evolutionary longing for ancestral roots that escape understanding.
entranced by the suspended flight and splendid crash landing of
parachute droplets sent through a long descent as singular entities
to dissolve back into a homogenous being at the end of the journey -
separating and reconvening, reforming and dissipating.
drip-drop drip-drop all the same,
everything as everything else under the guise of arbitrary names,
dripping-drop plopping in watery refrain,
I am the same as you are the same as we are the same as the drip-dropping rain.
persefona Feb 2015
A zeppelin perches in my gut.
heavy air balloon bubbles up at the top
it is at its stop.
numbing.

the bottom atrium holds rushing footsteps- stubbornly colliding.
and before my closed eyes in the blackness of the mind-winded by the whitest of frost-white flower flash cards deal and conceal the emptiness of snip off eyes.
stinking flies lonely in their lives, barraged by their sticky snaggy wings
they draw sharp daggers, pinning sorrow on to my breath.
my mouth thirsty for salty blue water lies
hungry for the breath of another kind-
shadows of tuberoses on hot mornings
pipe dreams and pies in the sky
Boaz Priestly Apr 2016
if you pick me up
from my house
and find me standing in the driveway
fidgeting with my hands and tapping
my foot
it is not your fault

it is the feeling that i do not
deserve to be treated kindly
carved into my bones
and i am trying to scratch it out
because seeing your smile
makes tears sting my eyes
but the second i slide into
the seat next to you
and you put your hand on my knee
i already feel safer

if i spend more time
looking at the menu than at you
it is not your fault

i am not counting the calories
because they are not listed
and it is usually only hospitals that do that
but i am afraid to look you in the eyes
because all i will see is love
and a sparkle that i am afraid
i will ***** out

if i only eat a little bit of my food
and  ask the waiter to bring a to-go
box to the table along with our plates
it is not your fault

it is the flashbacks of my family
making fun of the way that i ate
one thing at a time
because even as a boy
i was already being wrapped tighter
and tighter in the grasp
of trauma-induced OCD

if i **** away when your foot
touches mine under the table
it is not your fault

nor is it really mine
and isn’t that strange
that my mother only doling out
cruel touches can still cling to me
even as a young man

if i only take one bite of the dessert
that you ordered just for me
it is not your fault
and i am sorry if i hurt your feelings

but even though the anorexia is
now just a faint whisper in the back of
my mind
it is still there
and at just a whiff of the sweet
i am barraged by the cruelty
in her eyes
when she told me how fat i was
and then praised and loved me
when i was nothing more than
skin and bones

if i go rigid when you hug me
and then bury my head in your shoulder
it is not your fault

i am not good at receiving affection
or kind words
because i grew up with a severe lack of both
and i had none of either left to give myself
because i did not know how to
but i want you to know
that standing there
in the circle of your arms
breathing in your distinct smell
i feel safe
and loved
like i’ve come home
rachel Aug 2014
You get your picture taken
The person behind the camera says "Smile!"
So you do
They say that if you want a pretty picture you'll smile
So you do
You can show your picture to your friends and family
They'll say,
"Look at that beautiful smile!"
"You look so pretty!"
"You look so happy!"
But that's just it
You LOOK so happy
That's the thing with image
We strive to be beautiful
Thin
Graceful
****.
We think these things will bring us happiness
They don't.
They bring attention.
We are constantly under a microscope
A lens
And everything we do is picked apart piece by piece until our confidence is ripped to shreds and our eyes are raw from tears.
The expectations of the world around us are overwhelming
We are barraged on a daily basis with criticism
Ridicule
Judgement
Harassment
Ignorance
Many of us are capable of treading water until we feel it's safe to swim with the rest
But there are others who slip under the waves and no one stops to help them
No one acknowledges the struggles
The feelings
The pain
The starvation
The cuts.
Our problem is that we don't strive for happiness
Happiness for ourselves and for others
We only strive to appear happy
Many of us succeed
But few of us actually are.
Even fewer of us take the time to consider those who are pretending
Those who smile when they are told
But hurt when they close their bedroom door.

A smile is too beautiful a thing to be left empty.
Hannah Marie Feb 2019
confessing my sorrows to a daffodil
petals reflect colors of disdain and contempt upon me
I reach not to the reflection but to a bottle of encapsulated freedom

oft did my feelings reverberate the sound of a forbidding touch
laying upon a hill of dirt
I’m doused in shades of blue
palpating the flesh that becomes mottled
sloshing off layers hoping to satiate this hollow body
these bones become stilled by a heart that no longer beats so sure
a temple barraged with unbidden webs
clouds come and take their place
brandon nagley May 2015
(Cross heavy) Old found poetry by meself...A cross to bear, nails to tear thick through. Canst thou shovel thine own grave? Gravedigger art thou payed yet for thy expenses? No message's coming on in. Just burdenful sins to cut the blue made veins, where the bloodiest of stains grapple no completing. The dogs are teething as babies to the ****. ******* stay stuck in the devils inventions, none to know or mention what society seems to fail. Do we prevail? or get conquered to lost woe fears? Holy spirit shalt thou come near to be thy carriage i lay this carrion body? Claireaudience has found me barraged in darkest of flagrant sadness. Such madness have i been born into, or was the madness thrived in me? No locks nor keys to pass, Limbos fated match, Chimera's live hatched where no love has been given.......
Amanda Stoddard Mar 2014
I was never taught what to do
in a circumstance where
age was just a number
but I didn't know any better.
I knew not about sexuality
only polly pockets and barbies.
I was only seven.
But somehow that circumstance
was uncircumcised
and he made me realize
dolls are just pretend
but this world,
this world is real
and it will steal your words
leave you with wounds
and take your sanity
in just one dark cold night.
I didn't know it wasn't okay-
I had thought this was normal
and every kid my age was like this.
But I knew something was off
when the generosity stopped
and the guilt started.  
It was then I realized
this isn't something I will grow out of
this has become a part of who I am.
I'm not sure if this scar will ever fade
but not a day goes by where I wish
I had done something to stop it.
I was young and naive
and longing for attention.
Somehow I was subject to the wrong kind
Where there should have been love
there was lust
where there should have been affirmation
there were bruises.
So maybe I just wanted someone to notice
I wasn't okay
It wasn't okay

But I still hold this inside me
latched onto my subconscious
like a virus
sickening the only sense of mentality I have left.
No one knows the secrets I hold
and I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
Though from time to time
I am reminded of his face
barraged by his presence
I somehow keep it together
because in my mind
I am living
and he is just a ghost.
Although, I wasn't okay,
although, It wasn't okay.
I will be, okay.
Dark n Beautiful Jul 2015
A man left work one Friday afternoon. Being payday, instead of going home, he stayed out the entire weekend hunting with the boys and spent his entire paycheck. When he finally appeared at home, Sunday night, he was confronted by a very angry wife and was barraged for nearly two hours with a tirade befitting his actions.

Finally, his wife stopped the nagging and simply said to him, "How would you like it if you didn't see me for two or three days?"


To which he replied, "That would be fine with me."

Monday went by and he didn't see his wife. Tuesday and Wednesday came and went with the same results.

Thursday, the swelling went down just enough where he could see her a little out of the corner of his left eye.   (by Joke.Com)
Ces Jul 2020
Emotions can be:

little magical sprites fluttering
inside your heart
caressing the deepest recesses
of your soul
gently giving you that "high"
happiness
euphoria
inside you springs
a boundless utopia

Or...

They can be devious tricksters
gremlins, the vilest of
these little devils
torturing you
pricking you with a thousand needles
of sadness
grief
the lowest forms
of loneliness.

Inside us dwells
the eternal Yin and Yang

We may be walking contradictions
irresolvable paradoxes
toyed by the whims of unseen forces
barraged by these mysterious
sensations, feelings

and yet,

Such confusion is what makes us
human.
Matthew Nov 2019
tanning at high noon
under the shade
protruding the shape
from a field of sunflowers
towering the surrounding grass

I'm beaming back a smile
bewildered and bedazzled
barraged by amazement
to the grandeur of their petals 
and their seeds
a roasted culinary delight

nature's compass
staying eye to eye
with the life giving rays 
full of nutrients sun-fired
beating down from the sky

yellows, browns, and
bright dull greens
are they not just Beautiful
SomethingRascal Mar 2014
Things seem to be
somewhat real this evening
a chalice moon
far in the west
dare i say, lonely?

and for once this comes to me
without me being asleep
and i find the words to speak
from another kind of dream

things would be so easy
if the same **** appealed to me
at least they would be cheap
because cheap is so easy

if only for a moment
before fake lights upon my eyes
and options in front of me
barraged with packaging

the air it seems to be
enough to sober me
moisture frozen to my face
as i occupy the space

enlivened by the opportunity
of moving place to place
to get that necessity
and return to a place high in the trees
The rock we forge upon the world,
The slab made of belongings and people,
The place that seems to unquestioningly exist based on feelings of responsibility.
The only schedule we have being barraged with other possibility's. Good and bad.
A realistic windshield outside of which the unknown is kept out.

The jungle planet exists and we stay in circles. Well defined patterns of green blues and purples.
Love work and honor and loss of our lifetimes. Collect in our heads all the yellow and white lines. Green lights and stop signs. Friends and our bloodlines.

Speeding past poison, driving through lightning, electronic storms of the unknown and the frightening.

Our foundations are spaceships as we float through the spaces that pass all the places that we've never known. The difference between us is great and the genius we've built all around us keeps life in our homes.

— The End —