surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Mask
We all wear these different faces we call mask. We wear a different one for each and every task. How easy it is to go on throughout the day playing a different role. But when we do this we lose track of our ultimate goal. Going through this world covering our tears. Not wanting to admit we have fears. The menace that has plagued us throughout the years knows not how strong we are. Everything seems so close yet it’s so far. Living life like every day is Mardi Gras. But then again who is without flaw. Guarantee most of us have contemplated suicide. Go ahead says the jester you’ll only die. When alive there’s so much to gain. But then again there’s so much pain. Crazy looking at the man in the mirror looking at this person you know my reflection. Crazy it’s my only form of protection. They say don’t point fingers and don’t pass judgment. I look at this world and shed a tear because what’s become of it. I thought these things only existed in these history books I read. But yet still today we constantly bleed. Letting go of the past is probably the hardest thing to do. But you have to let go in order to be the real you. So remove the mask and start learning. Throw it in the fire and watch it start burning. Born again from the ashes I once was, new breath of life and fresh air. Wear this mask again; I don’t even dare. As for my reflection I removed the horns and dealt with my demons, let go of the past. I want to live a life and build a memory that will last! As for the future and what it holds. It’s bright and filled with journeys of joy, love, and adversity is what I been told. But I don’t worry about it. It’s life and I want to live and love it!!
By Derrick Martinez5 years ago in Poets
Falling Faceted (2/3)
Pretext for the human experience includes a plethora of inhibited magick, rendering vast average to capacitors on This circuit; vessels to whom control is unbeknownst. Lust knows control all too well. Her limits are only all that takes form here, leveraging souls betwixt familiar consorts; These regulations require she bear the lightest consequences.
By Caleb Simpson5 years ago in Poets
Daddy’s broken girl
She’s hurting so bad from it all two parents but not a single one is worthy of the title. No idol, all she has is herself. She doesn’t get no love. Only if you’d listen to her talk you’d know she needs a hug. The way she lives is just fucked up her momma and her pops get drugged up they pull the bottles out before even checking on her. That alcohol turns me into her biggest fears . As soon as she saw the drinks tears rolled down her cheek. Her pops reeks of it. He’s no solid dude her mother chose wrong. You see her pops is a demon straight from hell . Once he gets alone with her. He forces her into it all and pushes against the wall you can smell the alcohol the lords are watching all the time but she’s never once received her prayer that her pain would end or at least take her “dad” out of the world. That poor girl has a “dad” who stripped her of her innocents at only the age of 13. She could never tell her mom but you can see it in her eyes the bags the sleepless nights shown all over her face. She’s insecure about who she is because the one man who was supposed to protect her showed her that a man could be so cruel right before saying “yes babygirl daddy loves you” she could never live life normally every man who touches her makes her bleed eternally. She’ll be abused for eternity. She’s shy and often scared to speak. Countless nights she’s sleeped deprived you can see it in her eyes. She gets anxiety when men yell she’s tough but yet so frail. This world is so cold you shouldn’t have to be so tough when you’re 13 years old.
By Kairell Jones5 years ago in Poets
February is a Curse
I dreamt of anger last night. Of my father and neglect. Of an overwhelming dysfunction. Of an unexpected death. My angel did not grip my shoulder and the sun burned my skin. I was gifted the gift of Gods. Speaking in riddles to hide my truth. I plead to my angel as my feet carry me to the shore. Use your light to outshine the shadow within my rib cage. The moon shelters the sun above me. My dreams play on a loop. I want to scream. Bodies lie flat against artificial grass. I want to run. Flags wrap around poles in stagnancy. This world is not mine. The angels do not call to me today. My father does not love me today. Death does not consume me today. Riddles upon riddles and they do not satisfy the ache atop my tongue. I pray for my teeth to shatter. For my bones to deliquesce. For my legs to be torn to pieces if only to feel the tear. Today is not mine. Today is etched in stone to exile my body. I dreamt of anger last night and it cursed my bloodshot eyes.
By Olivia Dodge5 years ago in Poets
