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#my poetry

They say we’re haunted by ghosts

Remnants of the choices we’ve made

And the choices we haven’t made

I never believed in such things

Until I wrote my first poem

The words flowed so easily

So freely, onto the page

Little did I realize

I was bleeding them out

From every wound, every laugh

Every tear and memory

Each word took shape and form

As I bled the words from my soul

Giving life to every last one

Bringing them into being

These things that haunt me

Behind my closed eyes

Behind every door

Outside every window

And lingering on the edges of my vision

I see them, the ghosts of my decisions

In the mirror, in my eyes

Watching, waiting

To take hold and make me remember

Everything

.

© Michael Greywood Poetry 2020

3 notes · See All

forbidden lovelocks of her eyes
that caress him
woefully upon night’s toxic realms -
the impenetrable smiting of the
centuries, far worthier than
what lay upon their sinful smiles

a holy whoredom, she had been far
released from - almost wishing for
his death in blind salvation, 
encompassed as a treasure trove
with Philippian eyes

the end to all things pugnacious and
wild; a desirable skein of torture upon
her very lungs, though pinpricked
irascibly upon the sun

stunned by the mark of bestial 
succumbing, her absence since
wished for as melancholic as
softest pearl

never loosing autumnal wisps from
adamantly echoing slivers;
as golden as starlight ever would
venture, to emotively capture
that which fell.

1 notes · See All

Race is not a weapon and it never should have ever been if I made a small confession I would confess I was a better man


The impression that I’m getting is that I’m bettin on the lesson brought about by ancient sessions by forgotten mystic vet-rans, 


Don’t mistake my words for absence


Or a sign of social callous 


But it seems that lately I’ve been watchin


A lot of humans turn to malice


A lot of people becoming weapons


Fighting causes they found at breakfast


On the edge of a screen 


Printed there in bold clear letters


“It’s time to do some harm,


Either you’re with us or against


Know that you’ve been warned


And may your afterlife be blessed”

3 notes · See All

i want to write about how it felt to see you for the first time in 10 months. it was random and spontaneous, like it always is. night, the best time for us. i decided to message you, not knowing if you’d respond, but you did. 3 am and your car pulls up to my house, and i feel my heart start to beat faster. i open the passenger door and hop in, and there you are, smiling at me. hi in unison. your hair is long like it was when we first met years ago. seeing your face feels like stepping through the door of a childhood home. i’m so relieved to see you, and i feel safe, and i realize you’re still a home to me. being next to you like this feels like freedom. it’s raining lightly and it’s dark and all the lights downtown look more beautiful than usual. and you say it’s a beautiful night, and god it was. i step through your apartment door and it smells like you, you, you. it smells like being in love again, and i remember it all. but i remember that the timing was wrong then. i carried my darkness on my shoulders and so did you, and we were miserable together, and you hurt me and i hurt you. this time we’re older, wiser, changed. i see you from a new lens, and i understand everything i didn’t understand when i was 21. i also understand that everything had to happen the way it happened, even though it was painful. and now i’m here with you, and i harbor no more of that sadness or bitterness, and i am just so happy to have known you in this life. i’m so happy to know that no amount of time or distance changes this feeling that i have when we’re together, when we talk, when you smile at me. your mind will always be so beautiful; your heart too, and this is what makes you so special and good. this is why i’m here. it used to hurt to write about you, so i didn’t do it often. now it’s so easy. you inspire that part of me that is romantic, nostalgic, creative. it’s not complicated to write about someone you know you will always love. that feeling is effortless, out of my control, but it’s beautiful too. i just love you, and it’s simple, unconditional, with no strings attached. it’s real.

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And she wept the most bitter tears which I kept, unintentionally, melting her heartache into my skin, my blood, my soul became wrecked with her sadness…torn as I felt her hurt…her devastation…her tears became my tears…her pain my pain…and I held her and waited for the sun to rise. ~ B.T.

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As the world around me burns -
The cops being our enemies,
People keep on dying,
In respiratory disease.

As the world around me burns,
Violent riots fill the streets,
And neighbor turns on neighbor,
To beat, to cheat and mistreat.

As the world around me burns,
I hold memories of you,
Closest to my bosom,
May “God” keep you in eye’s view.

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Just because you give a thumbs up, send a heart, double tap, doesn’t mean jack. Just posting a picture in a solid tone to mask. Weak egos revealed when they snap but time continues, tick tock. Seconds lost spent on phones. Calling out for a home while the prison is their soul. Fragile assholes who hate their own existence. I’ve seen the first and last. I had to blast the past. But if I repeat history, when I cross you, I’ll hand you nails. But would you hang? Knowing that this Friday is not black with sales. Seeing screens reveal fake news? Fake profiles construed because they are afraid, it’s amusing. I’m ready to die, I’ll rip my own heart with the words I spit. So with deliverance I’ll give birth to the revelation. New age in peace and I won’t let it be consumed by mere dreams of ignorant conservation. My frustration is given life and I’m willing to write while bleeding. A poet speaking while fighting the demons. I stand for what it means to be human. No excuse.

By Lucius A. Wulfe

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Soft, my eyes cannot see clearly, she moves slowly as the early morning light captures, like a dream, my mind questioning if this is even real…maybe an angel come to visit, I reach out only to drift back to sleep hoping she is there when I awake again, hoping she is real, for if not I would rather not wake at all.  ~ B.T.

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I said, “I’m fine.”

“I’m fine.” I said.

I’m always fine.

Why do they ask when I know they do not want the truth?

If I say I am anything else, they don’t know what to do.

It is always easier to say I am fine.

The ones who say they care lie.

At least that’s what they do in my mind.

As I mutter the same two words, my face stained red, I pick up the bricks that fell.

The shattered bricks of my walls which need replacing.

The memories I keep retracing.

I want to drown them.

But they know how to swim.

They swim in the water that is my feelings.

And I am drowning.

“I’m fine.”

As the water invades my lungs.

As it shallows my breathing.

As it crushes my dreaming.

As it destroys my meaning.

They tell me to trust, to open up.

But how am I supposed to trust if they do not?

Do not expect me to let my walls down for you.

The walls I have taken so long to build.

I will not destroy them for you.

But I did.

And now I must build them up once again.

I broke my walls and you broke me.

I’ll never be free.

If you want to move past my walls.

You want to see what is inside?

Climb.

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I’m having dreams of a different world

A different life, a different time

Where I wake up in a bed

And find a peaceful smile

A soft touch, a gentle kiss

And the world outside isn’t such a mess

I’m having dreams of a different world

A different house, a different city

Where I go outside

And I’m not afraid

For myself, for my friends

For my neighbors, no matter the color

Of their skin

Where people aren’t murdered in the streets

For how they look, who they love

Or what they believe

I’m having dreams of a different world

Where love is alive

Where love and peace thrive

No one has to take to the streets

To defeat an evil

That many claim not to see

They don’t believe

Like you and me

They don’t dream of a different world

Because they’re content

To fight this war

But I stand up with those

Who are oppressed, held down

I dive into the waters before they drown

And I raise my hand

And I raise my voice

Because I’m having dreams of a different world

A better world, for everyone

.

© Michael Greywood Poetry 2020

15 notes · See All

Sitting in this church against the wine dark pews/I’m speaking to god but I don’t think he can hear me/the moon shines through the stained glass windows/ the angels look down upon me and I’m ready for judgment day/they want me to repent for my sins but/I will not apologies for loving him/because I did/ wholeheartedly/but now his ghost follows me wherever I go/ saying/ look at what you did/ look what you’ve done/ what you’ve done to me/my guilt swallows me like a vice/I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry/ I would have liked to say that my death was sweet/ but it was all teeth and claws and damnation/I’m coming my love/ wait for me/ I’ll be there soon.

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