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#vent poem
aurevives · 9 months
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— Aure Vives, excerpt from ‘Hymnal bite’
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rosebud-poet · 1 year
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[Black text on a white background that reads:
my gender is whatever makes me easiest to kill,
my gender is breeding stock, kill all men, can’t you just stay unobtrusive and neutral, the question cut apart in debate chambers, my ragged flesh and bones picked for statistics and arguments by vultures in suits who go home to too-young wives, breathing out my same old screams to useless onlookers sitting in rows, you’re disgusted by my blood on the floor but unwilling to shoot down what’s killing me slowly, what are the magic words i need to say to get you to care that i’m dying, 
my gender is polite young woman in a pantsuit long long dead, forward-thinking and modern, isn’t it funny that she lived as a man, she wanted better opportunities, we dug up the body and passed it around the archives and if you look here you’ll see the place where they cut out the most important parts, so sad to see such irreversible damage, so sad she never had children, so sad she was mutilated, but she was such a trailblazer, the first woman to put a bullet in a state senator’s head,
my gender is a bullet in a state senator’s head, shooting down vultures before they break my sibling’s skin, crippled tranny faggot (triple threat) with a score to settle, with a gash down the center of its chest spitting fire through pharmacy phone lines, never fucked someone who wasn’t an enemy of the state, never was your little girl, sticking around till the bitter end and triple dog dare you to come bash me yourself you bloody-beaked coward, come watch me be the monster you all say i am,
my gender is whatever makes me hardest to kill.]
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cold--carnage · 1 month
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feste-the-mad · 1 month
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First They Came (updated):
First they came for the African-Americans,
and I spoke out, because Black Lives Matter.
Then they came for the Gays,
and I spoke out, because Love is Love.
Then they came for the Muslims,
and I spoke out, because We Stand Against Islamophobia.
Then they came for the Transgenders,
and I spoke out, because Trans Rights are Human Rights.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I spoke out, because Hate has no Place.
I joined them, because Jews are Zionist oppressors who kill babies.
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fuckingwhateverdude · 2 years
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july 7, 2022
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whiskeysorrows · 6 months
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found this while emptying my drafts
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goth-oat-milk · 6 months
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star-is-a-cat · 7 months
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It’s the worst at night
When there’s nothing to distract me
From the way my body curls on the bed
Wrong
From the way there is no tail to wrap around me
If I close my eyes
I can almost imagine it
But I know
I will still wake up tomorrow
Wrong
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tomboy-brainwasher · 2 months
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You wanted me to shave my hair
And kneel under the sacred feminine
But my wicked heart caused me to err
“Surrender your life or know famine”
That’s not a choice, it’s a ransom
And I can’t learn how to live
Of all the ropes I could climb
None have my name on them
There’s a woman in my reflection
She was summoned with a kiss
A wet pulsation of muscle spun
A lie between my curled lips
“Phantom of an unborn man,
Know obedience and submit”
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talon-dragonbeast · 3 days
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socialising
stand straight, two feet on ground
smile, bare your teeth (not too much)
fangs hidden in plain sight
your claws in fists, don't let them see
(don't let them know)
wings folded behind your back, so tight
always look them in the eye,
and let them look into yours (ignore the pain)
hide your scales under your clothes
and use words that don't belong in your mouth
do they know?
can they see what is hidden?
a beast with stolen skin
a monster in human shape
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cythepoet · 4 months
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I dream of being a poet,
Sharing my thoughts and feelings,
Through beautiful words and phrases,
But it's so tough when the world is crushing me down...
It's almost as though the world wants me to crash and burn...
Motivation is crashing like old buildings collapse,
Hope leaving like the dead leave earth,
Happiness dying like the people at war.
I wanna be a poet, but I'm stuck here in this helpless world with too many people like me.
With hopes and dreams, but no motivation and skills.
With wars that endlessly damage and rampage through cities and towns.
World peace isn't real, dreams are just as fake.
I wanna be a poet, but I have nothing to make up for my wish.
I lack skills and motivation,
I lack pride and dreams,
Perhaps if I was someone else,
I'd be a better poet.
- Cy
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aurevives · 9 months
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— Aure Vives, excerpts from ‘Sólar—’
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gingerlesbian17 · 8 months
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I'm like a neglected dog
I'm desperate to love
But when you approached
The only thing I know is how to bite
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styrostuff · 12 days
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a poem i wrote in 8th grade
How do you escape from the burden of living,
When you don’t know what it’s like to be free?
When your favorite food tastes the same as the microwaved ramen,
Numb on your tongue,
Burning into your flesh,
The movie you’ve watched thirty six times on your TV,
Taunting you,
Tricking you into believing that it would help you feel again.
How do you know that medication can save you,
When the only medication you’ve taken is thirty-six pills in your mouth,
A glass of water in hand,
And your best friend on the phone in the other,
Begging you to stop,
Begging you to spit them out.
How could you make the bare minimum possible,
When it’s so hard to get out of bed?
To climb into the shower,
The razor sitting atop the sink,
Almost teasing you,
Taunting your purity,
Or lack thereof,
For what’s thirty six days,
Thirty six days without carving into your own disgusting flesh?
Thirty six days of doing the bare minimum.
Thirty six fucking days.
How dare you say that progress isn’t linear,
When every bump in the road feels like a car crash?
Every minor inconvenience is a fiery wreck,
Enough to send you spiraling.
How can you turn on the TV,
Hear stories about war vets and failed poets and sob stories about some girl with cancer,
That made it to the X Factor because she had hope,
And still give up after something so little hurt you?
They say to not be jealous,
But how could you not be jealous when there are people,
That walked through hell and came back with scars,
That are healing,
While you slice into your own skin,
As if you are asking for people to pity you?
Scars that you will never let heal,
Scars that fade, but reopen any time your stupid fucking ego is bruised.
Scars are the signs of a won battle,
But what about the people who create their own?
What battle are they winning?
Thirty six days,
As if that’s something to be proud of.
Why should you be proud,
When there are people out there who haven’t hurt themselves in decades,
And don’t need a timer to keep themselves in check?
How could you be proud of me,
When there are people that suffer in silence,
But still find the courage to pull through?
How could you be proud of me,
When all I’ve did was stay pure for two months,
And people are dying and fighting for their lives,
Without receiving praise?
It’s shameful.
Why receive love for not being shameful for thirty six days,
When some people haven’t lived a shameful day in their lives?
a/n: in retrospect i find it really sad that i wrote this before i was even in high school. i still struggle but at the time i had no idea how good my life was gonna get. i had no idea how many people i’d meet that actually love me and support me. this isn’t a cry for help but rather a memento from a time when i needed it.
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briangriffin93 · 1 month
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Alone
Peter has Lois
Joe has Bonnie
Carter has Babs
Stan has Francine
Cleveland has Donna
And I’m all alone on Valentine’s Day
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sommyspeaks · 2 months
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sadness strikes, yet again.
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