Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You can hear the violence in the silence
Even when the rain washes your tears –
  some pain still reigns; man sailing thru

These clouds, and their tears galore; wouldn’t
You know every tomorrow comes too late –
  exorcisms to clear those who’ve ghosted you

The past hangs on an arm’s annexation
Holding the reigns of your mind’s territory –
  we wake as soldiers, ready to fight today

Winning small battles means nothing to war  
A world of peace could exist, en route to God –
   we could go as far, by how long we pray

I could have seen you yesterday,
Recalling a lover’s patch of kisses –
signing that love pact. War over love,
though when is love enough
for all wars to be done?

A world of peace could exist,
but it would mean we all don’t exist.
Geof Spavins Jan 28
Storm hits unannounced,
Unsteady hands brace the gale,
Chaos in the night.
I saw him see me.

“Hello, ma’am? Miss? Hi, can I give you a free sample?”

**** ****

“Uh.”
Cue winning smile.

I had reflexively glanced at the store name, Bee & Co.
Bee is my daughter.
All Bees are my Bee.

“A sample. Sure, thanks.”

“Can I show you another sample? Just in here. I know you’ll love it, I promise you.”

No.

“Sure!”

****! Betrayal. I follow him in.

The space is unnecessarily large and aesthetically devoid of personality. White walls, glass shelves, side lighting. Small clusters of bottles and jars arranged on a table here, a shelf there. It’s giving Everything Must Go; it’s giving White Woman Influencer; It’s giving American ******.

“I’m so excited for you, you’re going to just die.”

I am trapped, and we’re off to the races.

“Have a seat.”

He’s good looking, sort of wolfish, this salesman. Early-to-mid 30s. Well-groomed, brown skin, black hair, gay. Pale and underslept in that giddy way that comes with overcorrection. Coffee? Adderall? *******? It’s that look, that hungry look. His accent is warming spices and hard liquor, and boy is he talking.

Words like

collagen
-medical-
<penetrating>

as he enthusiastically smears a glob of something under my eye,
“This one because it has the darker circle.”

His dark circles pool under his eyes and he intently explains the same thing over and over again.

Anti-aging,
lifting and tightening,
fine line reducing.

It’s a needy pitch,
Too thirsty.

Well what if I like my fine lines, I don’t say.
Crafted,
as riverbeds are,
as canyons;
Emblazoned, each. Earned.
Emblematic of my many lives.

(A door opens at the back; another man steps out. We make eye contact.)

The serum dries like Elmer’s glue on my delicate under eye skin.
It settles in strange places,
Pulls and distorts.
Discolors and cracks.

“I look older,” tapping it with my fingers.

“STOP TOUCHING IT!”

I stop touching it.

The mall is so close. Nothing is stopping me from leaving.

                                           (I don’t even want it).

We can’t afford it.
There. I said it.
                                                        (I don’t leave)
-aghast-
“You can’t afford it?!”
Pearls clutched.
“You, what? Are you serious?”
                                              (Why can’t I leave?)
Uh. Well. I have a family.

Brick.
I wanna smack him as hard as I can
Step.
I wanna be young and beautiful again
Brick.
I wanna burn this ****** to the ground.
Step.
I wanna apologize for being broke, for having bills, for ******* around.
Brick.
I don’t like this. I can get up and leave.
Step.
I absolutely have to make him like me.

But he’s irritated,
“We might as well even you out,”
As he slaps the goop under my other eye,
Still talking,
Talking a lot, a whole lot actually.
Too much.

Okay this is reaching a fever pitch and I was not prepared for the hard sell today.
His voice edges with desperation,
Shame on you for getting in your own way.

(I’m holding onto the tow line
The boat is unmanned
Reality has become unmoored
We are, none of us, truly in control)

“It will last forever, it will give you what you’re missing, it will patch up all your empty holes with collagen and kisses.
You can’t put a price on confidence
But I can tell you honest
I’ll price it half of where it’s at
To help you with the cost.”

I gotta get out of here.

“Uh.” Winning smile.

He gives me his card
                                                     (I don’t want it)
- His name “BEN” and an email address printed on receipt paper -

And with him is a torn box.
Something and something about something.

(What is reality anyway but a deeply subjective personal construct, tenuous at best, unknown and unknowable but for the rare fleeting glimpse between the gaps in the seams of the fabric of the universe?)

75% off. Because of the box.

The mirror is still on the table.

“Look look, it works, you look great”

                                                     (I don’t want it)

****.

****.

The mirror lies to me in a thousand languages as the glue shifts beneath my skin.

If you listen closely, I say, you can hear me shatter into a million pieces.

clink. clink. clink.

Ben and I skip hand in hand through the middle of the empty room to the checkout counter,
pirouette, arabesque, plie,
celebrating the space.
celebrating my face.

I am exhausted.

Ben’s hands are shaking at the counter. The WiFi isn’t working on the credit card machine. His hands. Are shaking.

“Uh.” Winning smile. “I’m really excited to start using this. Thanks for your help.”

He visibly relaxes. Has he breathed even once since I’ve been here? More employees arrive, they smile toward us. All men. All men.

I can tell Ben likes me now. He’s pleased, thank god. My whole being recoils at the thought of disappointing him, and I uncoil intentionally.

(Don’t think too hard about it.
You can’t put a price on confidence.)

I hope we never see each other again.

“How old are you?” He actually asks me.
A lady never tells.
“I’m 40.”
I’m 39 but getting the feel for it.
Forty. 40. I’m forty. I’m four hundred and forty.

I am ageless as time and vast as consciousness.

He feigns surprise.
I tell him he looks young.
He calls me cute and gives me a hug.
I turn to dust and blow away.

“Can I show you something? I think you’ll appreciate it.”

You don’t know me.

Winning smile.

“What’s that?”

He takes off his sweatshirt - “don’t worry” - and rolls up his sleeve.

A tattoo. Just above the crook of his elbow. He beams triumphantly.

                   TRUST THE PROCESS
This is a story about an interaction I had yesterday when I let myself be bullied into buying eye cream. All events happened exactly as portrayed.
Traveler Jan 17
I steer clear of chaos,
I see ‘em everywhere,
it’s quite naturally normal
these drivers unaware…

The anticipation warns
the arrival of a pending storm.
The karmic wheel repeats..
Chaos is life’s biggest thief…

Something
must have gone astray..
Somehow
their bitter made them gray..

Their vibration is very low
the dark side of the matrix
has snagged their souls..

Do yourself a favor
don’t let them pull you in.
Steer clear of the chaos
and all the special drama
chaos lends..
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Melting, dissonance, encroaching, Vaporous, unknowing, Slipping through time, now approaching, A melody of words, flowing.
In the haze of twilight's breath, Moments blend, dissolve, and fade, Unseen whispers, silent death, In the shadows, light is made.
Vapor trails of thoughts unspoken, Echoes of a distant chime, Fragments of a dream, unbroken, Dancing on the edge of time.
Understanding without knowing, In the | stillness, truth is found, A symphony of life, bestowing, Harmony in chaos bound.
Just one of my daydreams
In the dance of body and mind, intertwined, Distort the body, the mind’s path unwinds. Disrupt the mind, the body’s rhythm breaks, A cycle of chaos, each part it takes.
Western medicine, with its potent pills, Prescribes for the body, yet the mind it fills. Natural processes, disrupted and torn, A dependence on pharmaceuticals is born.
The body’s whispers, now muffled and weak, The mind’s clarity, a distant peak. In this cycle, we seek to find, A balance of body, a harmony of mind.
Holistic paths, a gentle embrace, To heal the body, the mind’s grace.
DJQuill Jan 13
Sometimes my mind feels like an ocean
A tremendous motion,
That can sink nations

My thoughts on the other hand
Speak like a small pond
A peaceful collected body
A city of harmony and greenery

Sometimes my actions are unpredictable
Movements to achieve a checkmate,
Yet let me lose the game as well

My legs are earthquakes
A stick that can‘t bear the weight of the ceiling

Meanwhile my hands are waves
Creating words that speak more than books

I‘m chaos and order
A song that makes you cry with joy and frustrate you at the same time
Is this ok for you?
When abruptly, suddenly, and unexpectedly the day
Became the darkest night, countrymen and friends
We didn't know if we should run while saying hello
Farewell or goodbye. The earth was shaking until infinity
Incessantly like afternoon trains coming from countless
Directions. The hour was vital. We were searching for the gleam
Of a hope in order to escape from the supernatural snarl
Where thousands of lives have been lost. Material goods
Are not important, we see ourselves leaving as we
Came. We must recognize that money is futile and peace
Is the most precious thing that we need. The past
This is where stealthy, fleeting and volatile happiness resides
It's like the end of a world. Oh! Every being is useful.

The fault or the rift opened its big mouth to engulf babies
Adults, dogs, cats, houses, buildings and entire roads
That was the apocalypse, which was the end for thousands of citizens
That disappeared like smoke in the bewitched clouds
The trains were invisible but people had risen their hands
In the air, climbing vehicles without doors and tires. Heavy feet
Weighed ten times more than an elephant. We were going to
Unknown destinations. The dumbfounded and deafening cries were
Ubiquitous. Mother Earth was shaking. She shook like she was
About to sink into the sea where the ebb and flow landed
At the skirt of the curtain, where smoke and cloudiness met
Happy are those who have been saved and who live in peace
The earthquake is an infernal avatar that brings sorrow and regret
Haiti, our country has lost lovely people, dear little children
Due to the selfishness of avaricious rulers who are drowning in hypocrisy
We keep saying aloud: poor Haiti, impoverished country. Yet we don't stop crying
While wondering when the tears will cease dropping, melting away and exuding.

Copyright © January 10, 2021, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
In their chaos,
I found the pulse of my soul.
Destiny wasn't theirs to give—
it was mine all along.
This poem delves into the journey of finding one's purpose amid life's turbulence. It speaks to the awakening of inner power and the realization that destiny has always been within, waiting to be embraced.
Allybally Jan 7
Nothing cannot exist
When there is a lump of nothing, a void of nothing, something always comes to fill it
Nothing  cannot remain, nothing cannot thrive, nothing is not forever
Perhaps nothing can exist, but only for a short time


I feel empty, numb, void of emotion, but nothing cannot exist
Nothing greets existence
The void welcomes anything and everything to fill it
So what fills it?


I feel nothing, I dont care, but suddenly, the world comes crashing in
I am sobbing and the world is crumbling
Everything is so meaningful and impactful, but all in the wrong ways, and I will never recover


Then I am angry, more livid than anyone ever has been
Why me? Who would do this? I dont deserve to feel this way.
I want to set the world ablaze, me along with it

Then nothing,
Everything is fine, I shouldn't care and I dont
Everything is fine, I am void of care or emotion, the world is what it is

I am hollow, and although nothing cannot exist, hollow follows me
The floating, empty, hollow of my stomach, stays
Even when im sobbing
Even when im angry
and especially when “i dont care”

Being numb is “easy”
It protects me from the world and myself
But is it really?
Because nothing, cannot exist

When I feel, it is with unknown strength and uncontrollable power
Overwhelming
insatiable


People say that numbness is empty, aimless, void
They feel nothing and nothing hurts
But I've never understood that

My numbness comes in crashing waves
And it never lasts long
It invites pandemonium and nurtures chaos

But can I stop it?  No
Can I personally invite emotion back? No
Can I convince numbness to leave? Never

I am at the mercy of numbness
As much as I wish I could feel true nothing
Nothing cannot exist
Next page