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.
The Key Between Stranger Realms - Day Twelve
On this hellish morning, I’m carrying forty pounds of water on my shoulder for money. Something is strange about this neighborhood. None of the house numbers are in order, and there are no doors, and I don’t know where I’m going. So I sit in the dry basin and crack open a bottle. There’s a tree in the distance. A little kid chases flies around it. When he notices me across the way, he screams, “Wake up!”
By Sam Eliza Greenabout a year ago in Poets
Wrath
I am here where I'm supposed to be. I am ready now. For the wickedness to leave my pulse. For my arteries to stitch themselves back alive again. Decaying flesh can revive and reanimate. Necrotic bones can re-assimilate. Resuscitation is not just for coma death. Rediscovery is my favorite hobby. I aim for resurrection while you asphyxiate in dormant sleep. I have erupted beyond your corrupted fatalism. Rotting lungs grasp for solid breaths. Putrid blood gave birth to will power and tenacity. My persistence was always better than your flimsy arrogance. You used me to raise your progeny while you kept me timid and desperate. As if I couldn't do any better than you. Like there was no living beyond these barren trenches you kept me trapped in. There was nothing original, nothing tangible in your projected facade. You mimicked every emotion to pretend to feel. Your soul had fled but it was never really there. Abusers never care about the harm they leave in their wake. They weaponize incompetence in order to feed their massive egos. They sacrifice you in order to continue their perpetual cycle of dominance. Victims are always plentiful because we turn a blind eye to insipid narcissism. I am haunted by the truth because it is all I have. You refuse to acknowledge any mishandling of my naive heart. You couldn't break it because it was never yours to keep. I didn't adore you as much as you required me to. I didn't worship your footsteps nor did I devote myself to an altar of disbelief. You are not the saint you wanted to be. You're not the survivor I turned out to be. I face an unknown future unapologetic. I received no apologies from you. You will never admit any wrongdoing because you make no mistakes. You planned on me driving headfirst into disaster but I survived the collision. Whiplash and cataract vision could not alter what was meant to be. You didn't permit me to live but I annihilated that merciful part of myself. I continue to defy parameters you set up for me. I tried to penetrate your darkness for 15 years but you were made up of shadows. You were the virus that infected and invaded every aspect of my well-being. I was fearful of what a life without your malevolence would be like. I grew accustomed to your intolerable ignorance. I couldn't prove your injustice but I guess that doesn't matter anymore. The world may never be rid of your presence but my life will no longer serve your glorious purpose. Your damnation will be your downfall. Mayhem will abandon me and follow you instead. May you forever incur my infernal wrath. I am incapable and unwilling to process this any further. I don't have to wait for what's to come. I am prepared for the desirable Here. I'm already Now.
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
