Romantic/Spiritual Poetry
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“untangled”
This push and pull
That governs my life
Is but the outer shell
Of a darkness that’s yet
To be faced
Until this darkness is converted
Into something else
I will continue to pull you close
And then push you away
It’s an unease that I cannot
Fathom.
So here I am trying to peel back
The layers of myself
To get to the center of my
Ancient pain
So I can be free to love
With my heart untangled.
Do you see me?
Or the color of my skin?
Can you see what I could be?
Or just see me as the word that starts with the letter N?
Do you see me as a gentleman?
A man that will hold the door open?
Proving that chivalry isn’t dead I’m hoping
Or do you see me as a threat because the system is broken?
Do you see me or the clothes that I wear?
How about the way I style my hair?
You pass judgement on me and call it an opinion
Is that because all you see is someone that fits the description?
I find it real funny
When you call me a monkey
But if you say man started this way
Then I ask you this question humbly
Wouldn’t that make you one of me?
Do you see me?
Or do you see a stereotype?
Walking on the same side of the street while you clutch your purse real tight
Heart filled with fright; did you then realize all of that was hype
Because I smiled real bright and said good morning…I was just being polite
Hopefully when you look, you see the God in me
That’s who I am trying to be like honestly
He’s the soothing voice I hear in my ear
When you are trying to tell me, I do not belong here
See you don’t define who I am
God has already defined who I am
I show you love because that is what God commands
But best believe I fear no man
Can you see me?
I want you to see me as a God fearing man
But weather you do or don’t, it is who I am
I am saved and washed by the blood of the lamb
See me as someone God was willing to create
To be salt to the world to help make this a better place
And love everyone regardless of race
So, when you look at me I hope you see his face
Can you see me?
I really hope you do
Because while you show so much hatred towards me
I’ll be the one praying for you!
They swaddle me in sugar
sweet platitude to ease
the rasp in my throat and
force my screams into my
stomach. This world is dry
I ache for the warm wet
of the womb where home
was in the soft soothe of
my mother’s voice. I am
living a life that blinds me
daily and folds me thinner
than fresh linens. My heart
is soft like my newborn skin
these bones are yet too brittle
for the heavy of this new life.
Make love to me as if it’s the first time you fucked me after we met.
I know things about you that you aren’t capable of knowing.
Some, many times I crawled back to us,
You pretended that emotion no longer bind us, and we’re not allowed to have sex.
Every time I see you I force myself not look at the watch,
Because time stops and besides we’re not right for each,
This is practice for new people we might meet down the road.
I can count things, that hold you back, up to a hundred,
Faster than my pretend-luxury car goes zero to sixty.
I won’t ever be able to tell you the words that will save your life,
If I whisper them into your ear, you won’t hear me.
I no longer fear rejection and lie to myself about things that give me anxiety,
So that fake…
View original post 23 more words
Sometimes my branch sticks out more,
it gets lonely.
Although, I’m first to touch the sun,
I’m also first to feel the wind and rain.
People, passing by, take turns swatting at me.
Drops of water settle on my upturned leaves,
I study the many reflections.
Until the air changes,
and my bloom falls away.
My core remains unchanged,
just more bare.
I’ve traveled a bit more outward,
while trying to reach the sun.
The others are following my lead,
but, remain conservative.
I know that I will be first to feel the cold settle in deep,
and the first to gather loosely falling snowflakes.
My voyage to see you
became perilous,
my boldness faded,
my heart was poured
on a note and placed
in an empty bottle,
even if i do not make it,
i hope you read my
heart on this note
when it gets to shore.
Have eyes that have cried seen God or pain?
Why must the appearance of emotion seem so insane?
And over time
Do the scars on your skin show affliction or a story?
Why does growing seem so gory?
And what of the stretch marks on your bosom belly or backside?
Have you been crucified for your imperfections or praised for what has stretched you on the inside?
You know
Wombs carry wounds
Each month we shed blood for the sake of preservation
And we hold blood for mankind’s creation.
It’s sad how our strengths are perceived as weaknesses
How our tears are signs of distress rather than joy
And our beauty is defined in flawless appearance
Rather than honored for its everlasting changes
The strength it carries throughout the ages.
The wears and tears
We wear it well.
Women are essential pieces of the broken pieces of this tattered specie of mammal called humans
As protons are to a nucleus
Our uniqueness is a vital part of our existence.
Treat us as more than just property.
| ASTE OF LOVE, 4min, Austria, Romance/Experimental Directed by Paul Scheufler What is the taste of love? Could it be sweet, sour, bitter or even salty? A girl embarks on an aromatic journey of love, stimulating her taste buds to the point of climax. With all senses, she explores the various forms love can take on. “Love is as diverse as our sense of taste”. CLICK HERE – and see full info and more pics of the film! |
Make love to me as if it’s the first time you fucked me after we met.
I know things about you that you aren’t capable of knowing.
Some, many times I crawled back to us,
You pretended that emotion no longer bind us, and we’re not allowed to have sex.
Every time I see you I force myself not look at the watch,
Because time stops and besides we’re not right for each,
This is practice for new people we might meet down the road.
I can count things, that hold you back, up to a hundred,
Faster than my pretend-luxury car goes zero to sixty.
I won’t ever be able to tell you the words that will save your life,
If I whisper them into your ear, you won’t hear me.
I no longer fear rejection and lie to myself about things that give me anxiety,
So that fake me will made into the man I always I wanted to be.
It’s make-belief, but it soothes my chapped lips and bruised ego.
by Cynthia Hilston
How many of you remember the dreaded research papers you had to write in high school? Raise your hand. Better off, don’t raise your hand. That’s too reminiscent of being back in school. But anyway, I’ll tell you this: if I never have to write another research paper in my life, I won’t complain.
What I hated the most about the process was how formal and rigid it was. When I was in school, the Internet was still pretty new, so we, the unfortunate victims, spent hours in libraries using dusty reference books that served better as paper weights and taking notes from pages with tiny print. We had to write on 3×5 notecards in pencil. We needed to come up with an outline, and this was to be done the proper way with the numbers, letters, Roman numerals, and I don’t even know what. The rough…
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