sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
I Will Hack Through You. Content Warning.
I wish I could hack you to pieces with a dull knife. Or be satisfied with how easily a sharp one slices through you. I want your blood on a garage floor I will never clean. I want your parents and friends on my side. I want them to know what you did to me, and what you took away. I want them to witness the blank stare my lovers know too well because you put it here. I want to rip your arms off myself, and I want you alive for it. I want your screams to ring painfully through my skull. I want my tears and your blood to mix a disgusting palette on my cheek. I want to swing at your groin with an axe, ungracefully and enthusiastically. I want to forget your face. I want to pop out your eyes with my thumbs. I want to burn all copies of your dissertation. I want to be the virus that eats it on internet servers. I want to bite off your fingers like baby carrots. I want to tear your ears off. I want to leave your mutilated body deserted.
By Ariana GonBonabout 19 hours ago in Poets
Uncertain Weather
October has uncertain weather. A monochrome sky, I think. Air that turns the AM radio to static. Rain, probably, since the roads of October are always slippery in my memory. A darkness perfect for masks. Mine was Casper the friendly ghost, plastic and white. There’s no screech from tires. No thud of impact. But there’s a bump in the road, then one under the mask from my forehead meeting the dashboard. Maybe there was fog There must have been fog. Suddenly my mom is dropping me at school with children dressed as Superman, Wonder Woman, Bozo the Clown. I slip off my mask when the teacher passes out snacks: pumpkin-shaped cookies, blood-red punch. She has known me for almost two months. She must know I get hurt at home. She doesn’t ask. Years later, my brother tells me he was the bump in the road, that our mother pushed him from the car. October has many twisting roads. Some go through rain. Some through static. Some lead to my brother. All circle back to our mother, to the scene of a possible crime. I keep my mask on and continue through October.
By Tina D. Lopeza day ago in Poets
I AM JANE DOE
I AM JANE DOE Content Warning: This poem contains references to child sexual abuse, sexual assault, grooming, pregnancy resulting from abuse, reproductive coercion, suicidal thoughts and attempts, psychiatric hospitalization, family abandonment, victim-blaming, and the failure of adults and authorities to protect a child. Some descriptions may be difficult or triggering for survivors.
By Lilithea Adasiaa day ago in Poets
My Pain. Content Warning.
I felt your rain upon my face as it trinkled down my throat. I danced in rain all about your place; squished it between my toes, accepting the cleansing restoration, return of all lost hope, peeling back the layered sands as the lands still flood below. lifting worship, I praise your name, cause your strength is how I cope. A gift to all of God's creation, let Jesus steer your boat. He calms the seas. He brings you rain. He will keep you afloat. He has the keys to break all the chains; to Him I shall devote. He loved us then, as He loves us now; restores all whom are broke. He is our peace. Oh! Hear how He cries. . please. Don't get trapped within the smoke. Everly patient, graciously waiting, Jesus Christ come quickly you alone are our only hope!
By Dina Evans a day ago in Poets
