PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

 

As real as this is, as real as this feels,

I know it won’t feel really real

until I experience something tangible

like a riot

or being told to wear a star.

I only want what I cant have,

Like Im hooked on poison,

Youre like a drug Im addicted to,

Your smell,

Your touch,

Your power over me,

Things haunt me,

Its all about us,

You know I can keep secrets,

I know you can keep secrets too,

They never said we cant touch,

Just how close can we get?

Will she ever know?

They dont know,

Hold on tight on this ride,

You traded things,

Is that what happiness feels like for you?

I know you enjoy the danger,

Maybe not as much as me,

That spark is there in your eyes when I look,

I think youre scared of how it feels,

You might enjoy it,

If you lose yourself in the pleasure,

How will you come back from it?

Why do I get the feeling youre craving something youve never had?

I never crossed the line,

If we even have a line,

Tell me something,

How far can I push you?

How close can we get before you run?

You look at me with those eyes,

Knowing the power they have over me,

Youre beautiful,

Youre completely enchanting,

Youre the source of my addiction,

Your eyes,

Your lips,

Your smell,

Your touch,

Your body against mine,

Your breath on my neck,

The feel of you against my lips,

The feel of you against my hands,

The feeling of you responding.

 

Im addicted to you like Ive been poisoned and youre the cure.

A part of history!
eyes wide open and a smile from ear to ear humbled at all I saw
standing inside history today surveying the past in total awe
speechless at all I saw when looking at a past so grisly
unable to speak in this moment in time seeing a part of history
walking thru a part of history I saw many things my eyes wide open`
I cant describe the feeling I got learning about a past so broken
I couldnt speak because to me there were no words to this story
standing inside the past thinking about a part of history
in that place so stained with blood, sweat and tears
all I could think about was those people who were full of fears
not knowing what lies ahead for them in a world of mystery
it made me realize how luck I am to be standing in a part of history

                 Zoeycup

"It's been a bit,

since I've written real words, 

real verbs, letters lined up 

to litter the page 

 

with alliteration, 

metaphors, hyperboles,

other devices that help gain

your undivided attention.

 

It's been a bit,

I almost quit,

because the last time I was on stage,

I felt like a tripped.

 

I felt like I didn't perform, 

I knew I was pulling punches, 

because there was much to consider, 

but now it's got me a little bitter.

 

I held back.

 

I held back,

lowering my tone,

juxtaposed to my actual voice;

loud.

 

I held back,

because of the 

familiar face

In the crowd.

 

I held back,

instead of letting it rip,

taking people on a little trip

to recount how one's lid

 

was flipped.

 

I held back

because I was scared

that I wasn't hip

and I wasn't hop, 

 

when I was raised on Wu-Tang 

and Nas 

in a place where 

where rain constantly drops,

 

and I know how

the beat drops, 

the mic rocks, 

and how rhymes can make time stop.

 

I held back 

because the tone of my skin 

has people guessing 

wrong my ethnicity, 

 

if you think I'm white,

you're not right, 

and to be honest 

that's not point.

 

Because I come from a place 

where I was too nerd to be brown

and too chale be white 

and too polite to be hanging out 

with the gangsters 

 

stealing cars 

and shooting at other's backs,

and if you think

I'm talking about blacks

 

that's the problem,

assumption causes caution, 

because not only were those 

want-to-be thugs

 

of fairer skin, 

my only friends

were much darker kin.

In the Marines,

 

we call ourselves green,

and you're either 

dark green, 

light green,

 

and there's no disillusion,

you disagree? 

Shoot, 

perhaps in the Army.

 

And yes, 

the Navy too, 

there's no turning back, 

I'm no longer holding back,

 

what I'm saying is true. 

The point of this piece 

is to bring peace

to me,

 

that I was wrong 

to hold back, 

to withhold from the reader,

because how can I call myself 

 

a poet

if I'm not painting a picture? 

With your mind as the canvas,

and my words as the paint?

 

I watched poets come on stage,

deliver works of art,

things beautiful, 

and I saw a beautiful, torn heart

 

put her hand up in the air

to an artist work,

like it was gospel in the church,

with thoughts on me! I saw,

 

but I held back,

and what I provided last time

was a finger painting 

of child's skill.

 

I need to be real,

paint a real picture,

my motions and emotion

the finest paintbrush, 

 

now fluttering about

all over your mind, 

hopefully breathing to life

that I, 

 

a man,

 

am more than some accusation,

of being mean heart.

Of being a relatable object,

supposedly,

 

to a poem so eloquently put

'he broke my heart,

and called it poetry'?

Get out with that

 

hand raised in the air

while another poet

spills out her pain,

and perhaps next time

 

I won't hold back,

paint a picture 

of how her heartbreak

did become my poetry. 

 

Yes, I'm being specific, 

and context would make

for a much hotter piece,

 

but I'm over this, 

over being scared, 

I've conquered mountains

and crossed bridges.

 

Reader,

I respectfully submit,

give me another chance.

I won't hold back."

can you hear me 

i am the whisper of tears

the nothing

floating in a sea

one two three 

dont blink 

dont blink

 covered in a flood 

stumble stumble fall

get up 

wake up 

the reality 

nothing is as it seems

sinking sinking melting away 

in shame 

in pain 

its only a game 

its only a game 

dont blink 

try not to sink 

its lame 

we all play this game 

this simple game of deciet 

ravished 

torn 

repeat 

till there is defeat 

shaking in misery 

laying there still breathing 

white flag raised 

no dont give up 

sew together the seem 

make it new 

blank sheet 

go again start fresh 

 

I can hear the busy city life right outside my window,

People rushing around to get where they have to be.

I remember when I was always moving and on the go,

Things are different now that the anxiety has taken over me.

 

The fear of what’s out there has consumed my brain,

Every waking moment is a struggle for me.

No one knows the depths of my pain,

I have locked it up and thrown away the key.

 

Feelings of no one understanding what I go through,

Thinking the worst will always happen, without a doubt.

Hiding in my home has become what I do,

I’m living in a shell and keeping everyone out.

 

How do I get away from this, I just want to be free,

It’s got a hold on me and I’m trying to let go.

I want my life back; I want to be happy.

This fear I feel just continues to grow.

 

Maybe one day I will get the happiness that I crave,

Until then I will continue to fear all.

Staying in my shell and trying to be brave,

 Continuously living behind my built up wall.

Racing thoughts taking over my brain,

My head and heart in so much pain,

Thoughts of impending doom fill my head.

Feelings of wishing I were dead,

 

“Just make it stop!” I scream inside myself.

Feeling as though nothing will ever help.

Knowing that the thoughts will stay in my head.

No matter what anyone has said.

 

I just want to have some normal thoughts,

And not always feel so out of sorts.

Feeling no one can ever fully understand,

Always seem to have my head in my hands.

 

The tears flow steady as I write these words,

Wishing I could fly real high like the birds.

Just get away from the racing going on,

Just get away, just be gone.

 

This is something beyond my control,

Why am I alive, what is my role?

How did I get like this, when did it begin?

Feeling as if I will never win.

 

So each day continues the same as before,

The racing feeling beginning to soar.

I wonder how will I get through another day,

 

Trying to keep these feelings at bay.

"Where so many rush to fall asleep,

I tend to creep,

afraid of the a lack of light, 

what's in store for tonight. 

 

Would you like to know why?

I'm afraid of what's inside,

what I always seem to need,

what sleeps within me.

 

When the darkness falls

and my mind succumbs to sweet slumber,

lumbering in comes the pattering of feet,

clawed, and I can't seem to scream.

 

I try to get out from underneath the covers,

to run away, but I am stayed 

by the sudden jacket, holding arms back,

while at my heels chases the maniac. 

 

It is the ghoul, it's in my room,

and now theres nothing but abyss,

amiss of clothes and shoe and tooth

as I run to only bring closer nothingness.

 

And now I am within reach, looking back

at the black teeth, to tear my wide and tall,

before tripping onto face,

no hands to break the fall. 

 

And looking to what had cause the trip,

innocent children, empty faces,

look into me, through me, and it hurts,

it burns, no clue why they are in my plight.

 

And now taking flight, they chase me too,

I am running to a single point,

straight jacket still applied,

my escape impossible, my voice mute. 

 

Again, so focued to the rear,

I forget about the front, 

looking ahead to see now in front of me

the biggest snake ever slithers on scene. 

 

The snake grows bigger, stopping,

rearing its head, baring its fangs,

it wraps me in it's tail,

and squeezes me tight.

 

I can't stand the grip, crying out,

but no sound comes, 

just the sound of my eyes popping out,

and the sound of the plop.

 

The drop of me, hitting the carpet,

falling onto the floor, blanket wrapped around me,

back in my room, not monsters,

no snake no ghoul.

 

Just the sweat drenched shirt,

the paper-dry throat,

rattled, another night lost

to the internal battle. Nightmares reign."  

Every once in a while, out of the blue,

as you sit quietly in a dark room

a cold shiver crawls up your spine

as if a centipede were wrapped around it.

The air seems laced with electricity,

and each creak yields a shriek.

The fine hairs on the nape of your neck

and arms stand at attention.

They hold vigil on top of your goose bumps,

seeking high ground from the flood on your skin.

Your heart begins to thump wildly.

and you can feel the pulse in your ears.

Your eyes widen and your pupils dilate.

Time, for a second, ceases to exist.

Like a deer in the road, you freeze up.

But where is the danger?

There’s no one else in the room

and all is dead silent.

Despite all your years of rejecting

the paranormal or supernatural,

this one moment pushes all logic aside.

You wonder if some, thing, sits in

the dark, watching intently.

No, don’t be childish, you tell yourself.

And yet, you can’t shake that chill, can you?