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Rage In The LakeJust watching you dwellers walk around
But can’t you sea that I’m stuck in this lake
I’m stuck because I can’t breathe up there
No one pays attention to me because I’m quiet
You people make my fins flare up in anger
With your role-playing and filling up your quadrants
But there is nobody in here
In my little lonely lake
I try to talk to you all but you people push me aside
I’m just a stupid lake dweller and I don’t know anyfin
Yeah I know I can be a little slow
I sometimes to forget to breathe
But that doesn't give you the reason to look down at me
I know I’m a little odd but I’m higher than you all expect one
I’m king of the lakes so don’t think I go easy on you
You are not aware of my rage that is build up in this lake
Man in woman's shoesWhen she looks in the mirror she sees a man.
His head held up high and he has whatever he dared to dream.
But when she looks down she sees a woman.
Whose head is tilted and barely even there.
She urges to be this man she sees.
But what will her family think?
What will her boyfriend think?
Will she have to find a new family, a new loved one?
A man walking in woman's shoes
That's what she feels.
A man that has to wear woman clothing.
A man that bleeds once a week each month.
A man that has been knocked down because he’s the opposite gender.
Where people think he can’t survive on his own because breast lay upon his chest.
Where wearing makeup is the only thing that can make him pretty or beautiful.
All he wants is to live in world where he can actually be a man and not a woman.
That’s all she, no he, wants.
A world that can love him for him.
Not where he gets knocked down and beaten for wanting to change.
Thurkear miirikKwi nhee vrak hush
Sia nhee dretri
Ssifisv dout saurivic vur wurunwa di aurix
Ssifisv dout fothisev acht wer svant
Si geou ssejinw wer l'graic mrith sia nhee miirik
Hush sia danthe thric rigluin ekess l'gra
Dask geou troth jacioniv vrak
Jaka ssifisv vur wurunwa di aurix
Si geou clax wer whedabra vur fold
Xurwk mitne sari coi
Vi isk ihk wux
Vi regipre mel'thurkear
Ssifisv sia moxt vrak
Vi z'ar treskri itheikic persvek wer z'ar mitne
Nhee vrak ssifisv
Mobi thric dril ekess resist
Dask nishka troth persvek wer thurkear
Wurunwa di aurix nhee vrak
Ditch DemonsShe tried to climb out but nothing work
Her nails digging into the dirt walls
Her face beaten up
Blood slowly dripping from her mouth
All she wanted was to be happy
But she was thrown in the ditch
Beaten and crushed
Only to be left with her monsters
Spitting out words and curses
Them repeating negativity that was coming
Digging their nails into her back
Sorrow and agony being injected into her veins
No matter how much she screamed
No one came to save her
Just left her there
Hurt and bleeding
The ThirdsWe didn't mean too, it just happened
I just wanted to help
I wanted to be left alone
I just wanted to kill
But we couldn't decide which side we'd be on
We spilt ourselves into three
But we couldn't be our own
All I wanted to was help but it fell apart
I just wanted to hold you and understand
But two-thirds of me didn't care
I was afraid that you would leave me for her
She hurt you but you kept talking about her
A third of me cares
A third of me doesn't give a shit
And the other hates you
I just wanted to be left alone
But I was given this stupid job
How can I keep this thing equal?
When I just panic and run around
I didn't want to talk people but they pester me
I hide away from all the things I don't like
Hide from the world for it can kill me
I can't take much more so I'll just disappear
I hate you all
I want you all dead expect one
You people are so imperfect
I can't trust you for I know you'll kill me
You all are out to get me
So I'll get to you first
No one can stop me expect this
What would be the pointWhat would be the point?
Your heart can't stop bleeding
Then why try to sow it up
What would be the point?
If you couldn't breathe
Then why try to take a deep breathe
What would be the point?
If your mind was broken in pieces
Then why try to solve it and put it back together
What would be the point?
If you couldn't feel and understand
Then why try to have sympathy
What would be the point?
If you were hurt and bruised
Then why try getting up and only to fail
What would be the point...?
Fake a Smile for Today and ForeverShe was okay for the first days
Then she slightly fell across the floor
Skidding across bleeding a bit
She got up and proceeded to only fall
Placing a smile on her face she went on her day
But when the night comes she's a totally wreck
Her wounds open and cause her to cry
No butterflies to comfort her to bed
No sweet words to encourage her to sleep well
She becomes a prisoner of her mind
Her beautiful world now destroyed
Her emotions cutting her throat
But in the morning she's fine
People can't tell that this happening
And she can't explain if she tried
Promises to her are breaking
Her heart is breaking
But she just smiles and goes on with her day
Annoying Little HoarderMy sweet little bird sings to me
I love to hear my bird sing
You wish you had a bird like mine so I shared
But little did I know that you were a hoarder
At first I didn't mind you listening to my birds songs
Then I felt like my bird no longer loved me
But now I feel pure anger and annoyance
Whenever I try to take my bird back you pull its wings
Causing my beautiful bird is not able to fly back
Sometimes my bird calls to me
But you silence it and push me away
It my bird not yours
Have you not forgotten who let you borrow it?
Has anybody not taught about give it back of what you borrowed?
Are you so blind that cannot see my anger arising?
And how dare you not speak to me or thank me!
I could easily take my bird back and lock it away
But I will not for I want my bird to be free
But seriously you need to give me back my bird
Or find your own
Dreams can we interrupt yours?Is it nice?
To lay in your comfy place and dream things
Are your dreams nice?
We wish we knew
No matter where we are all we see is black
We can't wake up from the nothingness sometimes
But for some reason we know the body is walking
We have to share it
Because we can't decide who is in control
Are dreams nice?
We want to know
No matter which one we are
The others are awake and doing their own thing
Are dreams bad?
Can we join into your dreams?
Since we don't have any
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
Helping handsDrowning the fears
Drowning the yells
Drowning the sorrow
Drowning the drama
I think I have surely fallen
But I feel hands trying to stop my fall
These hands are my friends
They are afraid to lose me to my self
They know that I can not be trusted when I'm depressed
They are the only ones who I really think care
They never gave up on me and never will
I thank them for that
For I know if it wasn't for them I would not be here
I would be in the deepest part of hell
Burning all alone
I great to have friends
But sometimes I do wish I didn't
Too see where I would've end up
But I shall never know for I can never leave them
They're to dear to me
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More