Author Topic: How About Poetry???  (Read 646159 times)

egonSchiele Offline 00

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Antw:How About Poetry???
« Reply #3570 on: June 09, 2021, 13:06:07 »
***
The sky is like water
The water reflects the sky
With its clouds forming
So many shapes
I can see so many
Worlds
In their shading

Yesterday, she said
Your mother felt hurt
By you not being
How she imagined

She punished
You for feeling
Anything she did not
Want you to be feeling
Right this moment


No crying
And no anger

Where do you go
When every route is barred?

You fly up into the sky
If only in your imagination
You drown in the beauty
Of a passing moment
You're scared of people
Learning
You're there
And not there

Yesterday, I told her
That my mother always wanted
To escape into dreams
That someone else created
She could not make her own

Maybe they were too scary

And she said
So you've become an ideal fit
Brought up
To produce what you could feed
Her imagination with


But even this
She would question
To make you doubt
What was real

I rock my little sky animal
It fits so well in my hand
My fingertips are etched
In its form
My dreams are spread
In its flowers
It looks so tender
So fragile
So small

And I feel less lonely
And I cry
I have always wanted to make someone
Happy and calm

I have always wanted to make someone
Smile
« Last Edit: June 09, 2021, 13:14:19 by egonSchiele »
When things go bad -- do something good.

egonSchiele Offline 00

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Antw:How About Poetry???
« Reply #3571 on: June 13, 2021, 11:15:48 »
When it’s dark

“Everyone wants to be admired
Why do you shy away from that
Why do you always hide”

I also self-sabotage

I am anxious
I don’t want to be seen
If someone sees me
They can want me to disappear
Suddenly

If I say I need help
And I look frozen
They might want to hurt me
To unfreeze, because I look
Cold and distant
And I’m just so afraid
I can barely breathe

Can someone please
Negotiate a deal with this society
And me?

Can I please
Stop feeling so much guilt
For not being pleasing
For wanting peace
And clarity
To feel alive
And be myself?

I feel expected
To be brave
So others can neglect
Wondering
Why I act as I do
I feel expected to change
What I cannot overcome
I feel expected to fly
When my feathers have been torn
Out

Is it so hard to comprehend
You can’t make your scars bloom
Unless in your imagination
I maybe can’t fly anymore but
I maybe can swim and run

And maybe my wings can carry me
But I wouldn’t shroud them with darkness
Even for that
Pain can make you into a monster
I will fight for the light inside

And maybe my feathers will grow
And maybe never
Does it truly lie squarely with me?
Has it ever been so?
It wasn’t how I wanted to be
I never plucked a feather from my wings
When things go bad -- do something good.

egonSchiele Offline 00

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Antw:How About Poetry???
« Reply #3572 on: June 13, 2021, 12:12:33 »
***
Yesterday
A tiny insect
Landed onto my hand

"Little fellow,
I can't keep you here
It would bring you harm "

I tried shaking it off
I gently blew at its wings
But all it led to was
Seeing its body
Beneath the wings

"Maybe it will do this outside?",
Someone suggested

I brought it outside
I blew at its wings
Nothing helped
It kept walking on me
Unperturbed

And so I made my hand a bridge
To the stone wall
And once it understood where it goes
It took off
When things go bad -- do something good.

egonSchiele Offline 00

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Antw:How About Poetry???
« Reply #3573 on: June 13, 2021, 12:51:10 »
And it most probably is too dark, but... I've been thinking about this for so long and never dared to publish these anywhere, save speak of it outside a very narrow circle of the most trusted people. It might as well also be the last thing I ever publish anywhere, and one person I admire a lot said that when you feel like you're naked in a crowd of people, then maybe you start getting it right in your art. I don't think it can be called art, but... if only here, I somehow wish it to be spoken. It's scary to speak of them, as it feels like something that can make others want to hurt you, if they're spoken. As if challenging some of these ideas, even in words, even in a poem, can get you in trouble. These are months old...

***
These words ring in my mind
Ever since being read
"I'm fourteen and I want
To be a sex slave"

And they said it doesn't affect
Anyone in a bad way
And I'm doing my best not to
But I understand

What her mind says is
Can I please feel good?
Feel like I'm good
And deserve feeling good?
Aren't you good when others are pleased
With you?
You can be bad-bad but still
Be needed and good
If you please how they think you should,
Wouldn't you be good
And feel good?

If I surrender all my rights of personhood
Wouldn't I feel good?


I let my blood boil
Even if I know I might lose
Consciousness
I let my blood seethe and boil
Because I know what's said
About it all

It's a free choice!

Let's call it kinky sex
Let's say it's empowering
And so suddenly
The culture of rape
Stops being damaging

We desire what we desire
Just don't fight with it
It's your natural urge
It's what you want
Let us all be positive!
Let's enjoy ourselves!

It's our freedom and choice!


Sneaking cold lies of the cursed

Or simply delusions?

These words ring in my mind
Ever since being read
"I'm fourteen and I want
To be a sex slave"

***
I am standing
In this warm spot
Among the crying wind
With my tears falling

I keep recalling
All the faces of children
Mutilated by an illness
That we still can't always cure

I keep dancing
In my mind with the lost and deprived
With the victims of painful childhoods
With the nodding along
To the tune of lost hope
With the ones
Believing they're worthless

With the ones raped because others dared
Making up a lie that everyone desires
This to be done to them
And that they should lie in the bed that was made
For them all before they knew what a bed is for

I am standing
In this warm spot
Among the crying wind
With my tears falling

The wind is howling
Like a lonely wolf
These lies are burning
Holes in my peaceful mood

And I know how a human mind avoids the truth
That the more we are scared
The less our mind is of use

And I don't know what to do
I beg God for mercy
Not for oblivion
I let it stream through me
I beg God for mercy
So we all know how to live
Differently

So we all learn how to treat
God's gifts
Tenderly

Girls

I see a girl walking in front of me
With her wooden dagger
She’s trying to break the heavy
Chains
Fixing small metal statues
Together

She steps gaily
Exercising her make-believe power
Fantasizing of strength

I wonder
What happens to girls
So they want to be enchained
And hurt
When they grow a little older

I wonder
Is it truly a free choice
If someone gives up their bodies
For usage
So they can eat
Or feed
Their families

And when you can’t eat
Otherwise
You’ll never speak
Of what’s not wanted to be heard

Especially if they can make you hurt
For spoiling
Their fantasies

Don’t you dare to disappoint me


I wonder
Does beauty really empower
If you need to go against the time
To row against the wind of change
To preserve it

I still see a girl walking in front of me
With her wooden dagger
She’s trying to break the heavy
Chains
Fixing small metal statues
Together

And I whisper in my heart
Lord, let her wield her sword
Let her stay protected
Let her grow strong
Unaffected

So she maybe will break chains
Attempting to steal her sense of self
Her true human power
So maybe she’ll even want to
Break the chains of others
And help them find their strength
« Last Edit: June 13, 2021, 12:57:41 by egonSchiele »
When things go bad -- do something good.

egonSchiele Offline 00

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Antw:How About Poetry???
« Reply #3574 on: June 15, 2021, 10:29:48 »
Watcher

I’m a watcher

I was born observant
So they made me into
Their watcher

Every child wants to be liked
So I listened
And I learned

How to be a watcher

How to make them smile
I cannot deny
Every child
Takes the blame for their parents’
Actions

I’m a watcher
And I long for freedom
From all that they made
Me see

All the adult people
Who were surrounding me

Narcissus


The point of this story
I believe
Is not in the thirst for glory
It might not have been
This, it can seem
The opposite

It’s the thirst for being reflected
As someone
Ideal

Idealised
Praised
Desired

The more people do that
The better
You feel

The more you get the less genuinely
Sure of yourself you will be
Yet

This is the price you pay
For this play:
You stay nailed to your reflection
You feel scared
If you go away your beauty will fade
If they stop praising
You would die

You make them say
What they used to say
You make them alleviate
Your pain
Enslaving them
You become their slave
Playing with them
You become their pawn

The fate of narcissus
Is to bloom in fear of withering
And to be witnessing
One’s own slow and full decay
With each detail
Magnified unbearably
In comparison
To the previous praise
When things go bad -- do something good.