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Literature Text
i.
i was born in the eye of a raging hurricane
in the night where all the rivers
turned the water into tears---
there was pain and there was rain
and muffled whispers to my ears
from that day i recognize
the face and color
of my fears
ii.
let them claim me
let them drain me
till my last droplet of hope
let them crucify me hollow
through a kid's kaleidoscope
let them dress me with their sins
and their outdated type of skins
let them paint me with their colors
and pretend i didn't see
iii.
in the corner of the room
broken bones on broken bed
paint is dripping down the walls—
fading colors under red
i can't breathe and i can't hear
a single thought inside my head
without asking if it's mine if it's yours
or if it's theirs
close my eyes enough to see
a crumbled note on the bookshelf—
mom and dad will always love you
just don't ever be yourself
Literature
The Sins of The Father
I’m the sum of all my fathers
But I won’t carry all their sins
The seed of life is precious
But blown away by gentle winds
Bad that’s happened in the past
Cannot be blamed today
For those who came before us
Have left their mark but gone away
We may inherit family features
And some traits just carry on
But we are all individuals who
Need to know that we belong
Literature
How To Raise A Borderline
Don’t recognize your child’s needs,
or at the very least see them as
secondary to your own.
Ignore your child’s tears;
tell them to buck up.
Better yet,
tell them if they don’t stop crying
you’ll give them something to cry about.
That outta teach ’em.
Weigh them down with adult demands.
Expect them to cook dinner
at nine years old
because you’ll be home late.
Force them to grow up too fast,
or don’t allow them to grow up at all
because in a child’s dependent role
is where you can control them.
Don’t be consistent,
with anything.
Change your values like you change your sex partners
Literature
magnifico axiomatum
my parents spoke languages of the great and grandest:
they were left cryptic symbols I could not pronounce
nor comprehend - I was merely a jester, a kid in a temple
of adamant logic and holy symmetry; what I remember
are delta-phi-sigmas inscribΣd Φn the ωΔlls, forming
a score of astral melodies, a perfect pitch sound.
Euclid stood by the altar, Pythagoras was the priest
at funerals of fallacies buried deep underneath
remnants of uncertain theories; they were plucking
off pages enwrapping the ripe fruit of wisdom
only to break humanity's savage, primordial teeth
on its tough seed. I used to hear my father join
the chantin
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hello, friends.
so i disappeared after that one poem. if i'm being honest, i felt the pressure to write something as good and i couldn't seem to, so i just kind of distanced myself from trying. today, however, i was lying in bed listening to jaden smith's new (fantastic) album and got inspired to write something.
apparently, hurricanes always find their way to creep into my writing.
i hope you like it as much as you liked the first one
this is a poem about three stages of a person's life and parents who don't let their kids choose who they want to be.
birth, childhood, adolescence.
first hell, second hell, third hell.
listen to SYRE by jaden smith
so i disappeared after that one poem. if i'm being honest, i felt the pressure to write something as good and i couldn't seem to, so i just kind of distanced myself from trying. today, however, i was lying in bed listening to jaden smith's new (fantastic) album and got inspired to write something.
apparently, hurricanes always find their way to creep into my writing.
i hope you like it as much as you liked the first one
this is a poem about three stages of a person's life and parents who don't let their kids choose who they want to be.
birth, childhood, adolescence.
first hell, second hell, third hell.
listen to SYRE by jaden smith
© 2018 - 2024 mbonfire
Comments30
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Very powerful piece!