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14/11/15 Nov. 21st, 2015 @ 04:27 pm
her hands resting
on my chest
she keeps
pinching my skin
tight between her fingers
regripping as needed
after several tries
she finally says
deep inhale…
…and let it out

sharp pain invades
almost immediately replaced
by pressure
harsh pressure
forcing fresh pierced skin
into bone
pause a second
then the jewellery goes in
and the pressure returns
crushing my sternum
with metal
that's now imbedded
under my skin

horniness pervading
as the rush of
pain and endorphins peaks
knowing my blood rests
on her hands
i yearn to lick it off
her gloved fingertips
but i restrain myself

i let her clean me off
as if i'm not
quivering inside

pieces of the heart Nov. 18th, 2015 @ 09:30 pm
love showed me the big picture
and now that i know what i am
looking for, the puzzle
is practically solving itself

Friday Nov. 17th, 2015 @ 10:10 am
There are two loaves of bread in my fridge
and one on the top of my microwave. Not much else.
After I dropped you off, I wept over a sandwich made of warm wheat, salsa and potato chips.

I almost visited my father in jail once.
Halfway to the facility, my mother changed her mind
and made me wait in the car.
When I was 21, I fought for someone I loved, and
listen, okay. You don’t know the pin-needling, unsteady grind of being sliced up like an onion
by the man you would die for.

The fight for him almost killed me.
I dropped down to bone and vodka.
I let a different man fuck me every weekend.
I must have tasted so rotten.
I don’t know if I ever found my way out of those woods,
if the onions ever sautéed themselves
and made their way onto someone’s plate.
Can you imagine the flavor?
Decayed pussy and skin-onion sauté?
What the hell are you eating? “Just what’s already eaten you.”

We buy ice cream for your last meal.
Sometimes, I worry that your daughter won’t like me.
I worry that your cell won’t have a window, and we won’t be able to see the same moon.
Your $12 a day ankle tether makes you limp like you’re going through hell.
& who’s the cunt that sent you there?

You’ll get used to that weight, though.
& you’ll get used to me pulling you under
with the empty beer bottles hidden under my bed, my sleeves of need tight at your throat.
You’ll start seeing more of my makeup running down my face
then you will see settled on my eyelashes, and I’m not
pretty when I cry.
I’ll get used to long drives to bad parts of town, your drug-testing schedule,
the public transportation drop-off times.

Later today, I will bathe an 87-year-old woman
who can’t remember her late husbands name.

XYZ Nov. 12th, 2015 @ 11:04 pm
Feeling so hopelessly okay,
I get the pink letters in the mail daily,
Oh, what do they say?
I got a good education,
It pays nothing.
They said we were the generation ready to sell out,
And I’m ready, but who’s buying?
The time has passed but I lived like my time is now,
Because the corners are full and you’ve got to standout.

Who is it that made us hopeless?
I blame participation trophies,
But they stare back and seem happy.
I blame my parent's love,
As much as it carried me through.
I blame there not being enough,
Maybe not enough for me
but there’s plenty for you.

So I ask how you’re doing,
They trained me to fake empathy,
But I really feel bad for you,
In a way I cannot say.
Because that’s not a way you’ll pay.
You’ve got kids,
And they’re doing okay in their private school,
I’ve got to live,
So let's be friends, if just for this call.

I think the end is soon,
It is full of razorblades,
You’ve got to make the cut.
But at the interview,
You couldn’t tell what they were saying,
So you just made it up.

Maybe the idiots are breeding,
But what make you think you’re not a byproduct?
Always thought you were better,
But Chinese from the dumpster
Always tastes a little more sweet
When you can find chopsticks,
In the recycling.

The Devil Nov. 11th, 2015 @ 12:08 pm
it has me.
I don't even know
what's real anymore.
The Devil,
he's real.
He can be beautiful
and appealing.
I've seen him.
He knows my name.
He tells me
he understands.
I believe him
He's all I have.
He tells me
he was God's favorite
but God cast him out.
He's shown me
the Unclean Thing,
the Plague of Nations,
the Beast
created by God-
The Devil
has told methat there are few.
Few of us are
We are those
cast down from Heaven,
into this world.
We're here to understand
the uncleanliness
of man with no soul.
The Devil knows us
each by name.
We're the few,
the needed,
the one's who's minds,
are completely
fucked up and
twisted into strands of
We're here to see
the world the way
it was meant to be.
God has no use for
our seeing, understanding
But, the Devil,
he needs us.
The way we need God

Dakota Jo Tolley
Thank you so much for reading. I love to write poetry. I just barely started sharing them. This one was one of my very first. Sorry for the language...
Please follow ~

Unmarked Skin Nov. 11th, 2015 @ 10:49 am
I held the razor tightly.
Tears escaped their holding
from behind my eyelids
and rushed down my cheeks.
Before I know it,
my hand raises itself
and unconsiously
drags itself across my
clean, unmarked skin.
Blood slowly, softly
begins to oze from
the deep, red, sraight lines.
A breath of relief,
freedom, release,
slips past my lips.
Suddenly, there's more.
Five, Seven, Twelve lines
are visible and bleeding
on my once
Unmarked Skin

New Member - New Poem! Nov. 1st, 2015 @ 10:30 pm
Hi all! So I just joined LJ, and one of the first things I did was look for good places to post my work... I love it here! I thought I'd kick off my introduction by posting a poem I wrote a while back - I'm a self-proclaimed feminist and humanist, so pretty much everything I write tends to have shades of that. BTW, I'm from India and you can call me Shyams!

Enjoy and please, let me know what you think. :)

The Musings of a Woman

There exists in this world a void,
Where nothing and everything are an abyss.
'Tis this void that fills my mind,
Even as I breathe in and out - something is amiss.

Is it the way my worth is measured?
For I can cook and clean until fingers fall off and my arms burn,
But I can also read and write and create,
Still, 'tis only dead flowers that I must arrange within my life's urn.

Is it the way my body is?
For I am not beautiful - I am fat and ugly
But my eyes shine and my voice is that of a lark's
Still, 'tis only the kids that find my cute and cuddly.

Is it that I speak my mind?
For I am human and I have opinions,
But spit on me and try to crush me they do,
Still, 'tis not to stop me from exerting control over my own dominion.

'Tis not your 'protection' I want,
'Tis not your 'love' I need,
'Tis not even your 'attention' or your warmth -
I can pick up my own damn handkerchief
And look! I have two hands that can open my own door!

'Tis but simple respect that I demand,
Not too hard to comprehend - 'tis not E=MC squared!
Alas, oh world! You would accept Einstein's theories,
But ignore the calls of a thousand woman impaired.

mania Nov. 1st, 2015 @ 12:21 am
(This is an excerpt of a long poem I wrote a few years ago. I'm pretty new at this and never read my stuff to anyone. More poems and the rest of this one on my lj.)

I see the sense in senselessness
Meaning in the meaningless
The reason he's clung onto this
with clenched, white-knuckled shaking fists

Thoughtful, thoughtless darkness
Holds untold unspoken bliss
Only psychosis knows this

Oct. 31st, 2015 @ 11:56 pm
Will she let go
What he holds close?
All those could-have-beens?

Pause this scene
Don't say a word
It's almost beautiful

Poem : Unexpected Glance (From the Ray of Life Collection) Nov. 1st, 2015 @ 10:12 am
Unexpected Glance

I knew not what love meant,
Or what my heart drew upon a glance,
Yet there it began to rush out,
As he came in to the coffee shop,
The neatly combed hair..............

(Read more here)
Comments are so much loved on my lj
Current Mood: artisticartistic
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