Self Sabotage Not to romanticize But it’s hard to appreciate the love behind someone’s eyes When all you’ve seen is hate What am i supposed to do When loving feels wrong But being hurt feels so right Slip into my comforts Hide in my own shadows The sun scares me Manipulation is my mundane And kindness is my kryptonite How am I supposed to be loved When I only seem to love hate And only seem to hate love
First the sheet Fitted Tucked Tight My comfort, Comforter tan from years of routine Bunches on top of my pristine sheets Layered pillows line half my bed Two body pillows Black and white Lean against my headboard Memory foam is next Two purple pillows sit side by side A team Next are aesthetics White pillows against the purple Hide the colors Hide the comfort Wake myself up Folded at the end of my bed A black fluff A blanket filled…
Does God Care for the man or the woman The rustic harshness of a human life Shadows out of view of his light The sharp inhale of art A cry for help from the hidden The ones whose lives go unseen who carry the burdens God will not embracing the metallic stings of life Only to quickly rust away
An extreme close up Life lines paint the screen Creases light up the face Deep lines embed the TV They circle around Two black eyes Darkness dances behind his pupils The reds of his eyes sharpen their vision Peering at Me
You lay in solitude Sneaking through dreams In a motionless march Through the mind – The restless call you lazy, For they resent you. Your simultaneous Action and relaxation Mocks their efforts: – A world without imagination Is a world without. And suddenly the efforts of the lively becomes meaningless – Dreamer, laziness evades you Although your limbs remain motionless Your mind is busy Constructing the world
Suppose the only assault A woman received Was a dog’s greeting after a long day And imagine we lived in a world where young girls Could walk down a street Without a man nipping At their feet If only violation meant violinist And the world was filled with Music instead of hungry men If spring cleaning Could be applied to a dirty mind It would save a young girls life Suppose this poem was never written. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Poetry Creative Writing Twice a week we conjugate in a circle writers and scientists fourteen minds connected Sharing the elegance of language poetic prosperity begins to seep Into the very walls of our room The circles energy pulsates Our thoughts pop and burst Until Marcil expands Hot energy running out every door Metaphors melt into hot puddles on the sidewalks And similes streak across campus We fill our minds with each other’s thoughts One spits out ideas for another Like…
A dream of addiction Conquers my rest Images of a boy Flash through my senseless mind Even in my dreams I cannot escape My love for him His worked hands holding my soft ones Brown eyes dance through my dreams And his smile flashes me awake I roll over to see him on my phone Smiling in his sleep Does he dream of me as well?
Called on He calls me to speak Dear God why me Flushed cheeks spit out my words My mind goes numb Dear God why me Where do I begin My mind goes numb Sputter until I speak Where do I begin Stiff eyes fall to me Sputter until I speak Wipe wet hands on pants Stiff eyes fall to me All of my air has leaked from my lungs Wipe wet hands on pants Flushed cheeks spit out my words…
Garnet gore splashes my screens blue lights massacre my eyes Bloodshot viewing blood Flushed faces drained of life watch Yellow bodies marched into their graves My phone shows me whatever I want One click away is grotesque grime Filth illuminated in my fingers Dripping from my mind Pooling and clotting through my brain Devious desires lead to devastation And desires are easily fulfilled When blue light splashes with crimson
