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#poets on poetry

young blacc queen,

bathed in melanin ,

I see you cuttin 

tryna just peep in,

oooh this community

has you believin’

its okay to bleach 

forget all the self love speech

that you memorised…

close your eyes

bury your head on ur thighs

crouched up, ina corner

this is the last time…

the last time you said the same thing….

I mean

young queen, this isnt your fault

bathed in melanin 

isnt your fault.

society has droved your community

to self hate

only can relate

through social perception….

they smile in your face

and your skintone is mention

as a light joke,

fight your tears, dont let them demons provoke……

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My Sea

My body is poetry, it curves, twists, ebbs and flows with an inner heat, saturated with gasoline.

Light me up, in a second I’d be flames, destroying everything, self immolation, a form of peaceful protestation.

I put myself out here about as smoothly as a knife against your throat; try not to flinch it could end with us both in a cinch.

My body, is small, it takes up very little space, yet my thighs rub together like flint making flames.

Leaving third degree burns in place, I should be ashamed now, yet it is hard to hide it, so why fret what I can’t change?

I have scars darling, they lace across my legs, my ribs my wrists, they tell stories of long ago days.

Days, where my skin sparked and flecked with flames, I am a flame eater, the intricacy of the story, it didn’t destroy me.

I wear marks now as badges, as if to show you through shimmering white slashes that I am now made of steel.

I’m impervious to you, I’m poetry, I have words slashing through my veins, they flowed once, they are filled with flame.

Don’t make me spark, don’t trigger it up, just let me snuff it out, I’m all full now on it anyways.

Veins full of clots, lungs coughing out ink, I don’t need to bleed for you to see me in the deep.

So just stop here with your wondering stare, you don’t have to ask me, how the river came to be a sea.


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Lukas W. // Your spring
The way she kisses my scars, like they are made of flower petals and the way she looks at me, like I am a garden and she is nothing more than a girl who is fervently in love with Spring.
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Trying to share myself in small pieces, cutting bits of me off, so you won’t choke on it, yet my blood doesn’t flow easy, doesn’t cascade gently.

I struggle because I’m too much, it all pours out ravenously, I’m like a thirsting man longing for a drink during a drought, I don’t know how to temper myself.

I don’t know how to be pleasing, I just pour it out, on this paper in a gush, with a rush that sometimes repulses the unwitting, unprepared to handle someone like me.

They say I’m “intense”, I never know, is that a compliment or an insult? Should I cringe at the remark or embrace it gladly, I can’t help it, my minds a waterfall.

Don’t stand too close, you might find yourself drowning with me, we could cascade together into this deep, but you have to be brave darling, are you ready to embrace me?


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Please Rain

I am 1.2 meters away from breaching

The lowest level on record

The record of all the tears I have collected in life

It has become a dam

A damn of all the odds

Goddamn memories, it has been raining ever since

But El Niño suddenly brought happiness to my life

Now I’m afraid it’s draining albeit slowly

Lower than the record low of 2010.

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On the turning away,

on the tired dice left by the towels

and the half filled can of butterbeer,

on walks where you’re always

four steps ahead,

or the sex without passion;

without conscience,

or the moving to Texas

a place where our love was impossible,

and the crying,

on the crying the last

time you saw me

because you thought it would be

a summer

but instead it was a lifetime

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does the princess really save herself?

A part of me still wants the same fantasy I wanted as a young girl. I saw myself as a princess; brave and kind and I wanted my Prince Charming to come and save my life. The older I get however, the more I realize how blind I would have to be, to let that fantasy take over me. But hey, a girl can still dream…

Picture credit ( @micky_sher on Pinterest )

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“The dainty cup of the earth allows your hands to grip and grasp the slim curvature of her waistline. She willingly bows her head before your thirsty lips, making you desperate to douse the insatiable fire within. And with that very poison, you are doomed to wither all the days of your life.”

—Maileta /// that girl is poison

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When you finally realize your glass is empty.. I’ll be here. If you ever stop and listen to your guardian Angel, I’ll still be here. Even in the afterlife, I’ll still be at the same old table, no longer collecting dust, no longer mourning my thoughts to the demons in our past.


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Viking Blood

I’m struggling to the surface, caught up in this clear water, it ripples placidly around my body, a shimmering dance in bright light, hiding the obscenity of this fight.

I scowl at myself, for letting my feelings sneak up again, betray me again, lie on my sleeve again; I should never have let the anvil of my heart pull me down again.

But it got filled heavy, to the brim with this old dead weight, a weight I fight like hell to shake, yet I’ve learned over time, the more I struggle, kick, scream the deeper it drags me in.

I’m a warrior, so I just allow myself now to float upward, the chained heart sinking below me, thinking to myself, this must secretly be a blessing, staring through the clear.

The water masking all my tears, I’m a warrior, you can’t see me cry, I’ve got Viking blood in me somewhere, if I were strong like my mother I’d kick these feelings ass.

I remind myself as I sink into the clear blue deep, at least my mind is at ease. I am facing now these feelings, acknowledging them as they drag me in.

Eventually I’ll catch up this chain, break it in two with inhuman strength, be free of the anvil of a heart that seems to be trying to fill up with you, I’ll let it drown.

I’m a warrior, I don’t need this heart, I stare at it analytically, I can study its corrosion, I can wait till the perfect moment, to tear it out, toss it away.

Use up my Viking strength, embrace the mother in me, the one that knows when it is time, to kick my own ass and turn away. I don’t need this heart.

It never has done much for me anyway, I think this as I stare through the clear deep, the faces of long dead lovers, ones who lost their fight, they stare back at me.

I promise myself, I’m not like them, I may be a lover but somewhere deep, I have this Viking blood, I’ll channel the fire of my mother, I’ll free myself from this deep, I’ll be a fighter.


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Pause for a minute and think, do I really have time? Your inner self will answer, NO.

We are spending our lives doing things that are not productive. We are studying subjects we don’t like,we judge people, we talk about them and their choices, we are doing a job that we hate, we are in a toxic relationship just for the sake of love, we are living our lives up to people’s expectations. Huh! Instead of, focusing on our lives we are focusing on how our lives should be according to people’s perspectives. We are doing everything that we don’t want to do and if we choose to do things we like then probably society will not accept us and they may question our existence.

But do you think it’s necessary? We think we have time but we have only this life maybe this day, this hour, this minute or this second. Things we do to make people happy (those who don’t care about you) is just a way of hurting ourselves and questioning people’s choices doesn’t make us sensible. Just close your eyes and open your heart to new beginnings, love and heal people instead of hurting and judging them. Focus on the life and choices you are making because at the end of the day we all are walking on separate ropes and who knows, maybe this is our last day, minute or second. This moment (success, happiness and failure) is everything because we think we are the owner of time but the truth is we really don’t have time.


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I dream of your mouth like I do of caramel, as something that isn’t good for me, but that tastes oh so sweet. Something I can’t have, probably never again, but long for anyway. You once pressed your mouth hard on mine as if to devour me, I shivered inwardly from a compulsion to catch you up, maybe with a revulsion, knowing something this sweet couldn’t be good for me.

Caressing the tongue against the roof of my mouth in suspense, hoping for something beyond hope. Wishing for something that could never be. Yet darling you were like caramel to me, sticking to my teeth, licking hard against them trying to peel it away, yet savoring the very taste. You still haunt my dreams, and it seems I will never get away. Not from your taste.


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