Long Slitting Poems
Long Slitting Poems. Below are the most popular long Slitting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slitting poems by poem length and keyword.
Let our hands interlock into a
beautiful zipper of prayer and
take pride in being african!
"What is the pride of being
african"
Asks a girl- unknowing of the
roots from which her family
tree grows ..
The lines on the palm of her
hands resemble the veins of
the african leaves she was
born into. Her
Bi-racial hair curled up in locks
of african beauty
Nd yet she asks " what is the
pride of being african?
An african woman whose only
pride is the curve of her hips
and the natural arch of her
back- ignoring the map with
which her mind can make- or
the different shades of brown
her skin radiates into the rich
airs of africa..
In the middle of an undeclared
war
We uncounciously submit to a
mental slavery ..seeking
comfort in the pains of the
past.. Slitting our rists with
resentment and self pity..
Handicappin our minds -
moving forward but still
arriving at the previous
destination!
Such wounded nations!
Why do we scrape the african
tatoo in the arteries of our
hearts by poking the the past
makin way for its venom to
make us bitter...
Perpetually impregnating our
minds
Only to give birth to a
vendetta!
Is that the pride of being
African!
Adding insult to injury
we duck and cover
Hidding from the touch of rain
Shieldin ourselves from the
sun's smile
But then.. Then we embraced
the weather and posed in the
sun as if God was takin a
piicture..
Then children with no toys
believed they could transform
oxygen into gold
Then a mother through trials
nd tribulations could still find a
corner within the circle of her
mud hut
Then the diamonds of Africa
lay in the sparkling eyes of a
new born -raised to the
heavens as an African
declaration
I listen to the invisible wind
chimes made by mother
nature
Singing songs of praise
Painting african countries on
this canvas we call Africa!
I see the poetry that lies
within future Nelson
Mandelas.. Seretse Khamas..
Futures You's and Me's
I inhale the soils and all the
memories imprinted on them
jus as Africa is imprinted on
me -
I rub off hurtful footprints of
hunger
slavery..
All for the pride of being
african
Let our hands interlock like a
beautiful zipper of prayer- nd
take pride in being african
My sad, deplorable glory is a nightmare for another
This knowing is sickening to the bone
The need for anothers' pain is like a virus
Slitting the veins of truth and delirious want of false
Watching the bile flow through
I emptied a full, sorrowful glass for you
Without even a moment’s glance
Your parched lips opened to drink
But like poison the sustainable exhalation surrounded your body
I shrank at the shrieks of your disquietude
Not knowing what to do
Expression died with the loss of flow
I couldn’t flourish in the bleak winters of your loss
I couldn’t grow
All happiness in a flash of susceptibility
Turned to woe
I gave into thinking it was all an unworthy dream
But the answers, the symbolism was never clear
The loss of your very soul is what I fear
I never meant to poison you in what I take as nourishment
And here now you rot
At the expense of these sad, empty tunes
They must mean close to nothing to you
Pain
Pain
Why do I revolve around the pain?
The empty glass of your spirits remains stained
With the insides of all things true
Torn away
Smothered in a ghostly, ghastly gore
I couldn’t see you could not take it
The sorrow I meant to erase to fake it
But instead make it
The reason I live is to sing for you
To disintegrate the swelling blue
But instead I crawled into your only space
Leaving only disgrace
The gore splattering in jewels across your face
I’ll tell you what
All my achievements are naught
They are only fakes
I am nothing without God’s grace
I spurt with illegitimate words and tunes
That you can never face!
As if by the heaven I inspired
I am drunken with your bile
Of pride risen above the mile
What is this sadness—
This anger, this madness?
Show me what to do
Show me what to say
I’ll dispose of all vagaries I dared to feel today
And replace it with pain
Replace it with pain
Discordance from another is my nightmare smothered
And this the majority crave
The need—the desire for acknowledgement
We will take it to the grave
I never wanted heartless fame
A poison in a cup
I never wanted anything
Only to fill you up
I poured the glass and there it came
Just sad, tired air
Nothing left to give you
Not even the sentiment of a stare
The truth is I am scared
The truth is I am scared
I guess, at times we are all. . .
Not there
7/13/13
Life as of late has been a path I have not perceived that I would go along again. I thought that I was getting better then I ever have been before but now I see it it the other way around. I’m a sad pitiful excuse for a human being who isn't taking the full opportunity of life. Instead of going out with friends and living the time of my life, I sit inside slitting my wrist and worrying what the person I never talk to thinks of me. I’ve lost so many friendships if that is even what you can call them because I worried about how I acted around them and never realized thats why they liked me in the first place. I would always conform to the people I wish to called friends not know that I was just a pest to them that they were trying to avoid, I was so jaded as to wether someone liked me or not I didn't see the clear evidence that they didn’t. Even then I still try to conform for them as if they approval is as important as god to adam & eve. They promised me things, got my hopes up for months on ends knowing in the back of their head that it would not happen, it was as if I was just their little puppet on strings dancing to whatever tune they wished to play. I’ve been so focused on how my future would be that I never realized how shitty the present is for me. I got to these therapy appointments where they give me pills on pills telling me i’ll get better but always get told im getting worse. I only have myself to blame because I know I dont want to get better I just want for the pain and distress to be over in an instant cause when i work on fixing it the smallest things makes me feel worse then when I started. I’m sorry for being to be a weird, awkward, annoying person for I have not done anything to help your opinion of me to change, I just make it worse and worse. I dont know why I thought I would fit in with you if I cant even fit in with my own judgement of myself. I’ need to disconnect from the world and everyone in it as if a never ending hibernation that I only come out of once I’m accepted. You can think and call me whatever you like as long as you are honest I appreciate to know how I am an outcast to you that way I can hide it as I try to impress you with another pitiful attempt at giving you the friendship you have rejected in the past
-K
The Dreamless
Now that he had freed himself of the past looking forward
to think thoughts not hampered by dreams of childhood and
the embarrassment of teenage years and sexual clumsiness
falling in love with the most unsuitable and undesirable person possible because she made hot waffles with blueberry jam and sometime strawberry; he still thinks of his horror when his mother thought that woman was a suitable bride for
him mainly because she was stupid and malleable.
It was that beginning that in the end made him break with his past and declare families and danger for civilization, a dagger
in the heart of the future, that must be free of sentimentality.
He liked to sit in bars drinking gin&tonic and watching people before walking to his nearby hotel. Yes, he lived at a hotel because it saved him of the domesticity of paying bills
and fretting about the price of potatoes.
He thought of the German/American writer who said he liked his own company, if that was true how did he know, being drunk most of the time, Not like him who enjoyed his leisure
while waiting to write an earth shattering Novel.
Not to forget the sainted EH, who wrote like a simpleton and
won a Nobel Prize. His contempt for him was endless.
Walking to his hotel in the old part of the town, a boisterous
pig on a balcony fell off and nearly hit him.
The owners of the pig, seeing the animal was mortally wounded, quickly killed the pig by slitting its throat, before it died proper, this to avoid eating a self-dead animal.
This was a shock if the pig had fallen on him he might have ended up in hospital, worse, not being able to walk again
Since he had disowned his family, he had to change his plans.
He would marry an old tart, that had lost her attraction, rent her a flat, give her money for nice dresses, visit her once a week and tell neighbors he was a traveling businessman.
When down with the flu, she could take care of him as it was in her best interest to keep him alive.
Happy now that his future was sorted out, he went to bed and
slept, a night void of dreams.
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE – IT MAY BE TRUE
It is a myth that people can be objective in their opinions.
People focus on qualities in others that they themselves have.
A kind person sees only kindness in others,
A mean person sees the meanness in others,
A kind person does not focus on the meanness of others.
This holds true for poetry fans, like me, like you:
Some SOUPER who talks about “the gritty, sharp, philosophical feel that you create”
Or who uses an expression like “ slitting the poetic wrists of a word weaver”
Is indeed such a person, such a poet.
When a speaker assesses another as “an architect of words”
Who can have you “reeling with sumptuous dialogue…applause!”
Then it seems to me that the speaker is in reality such a person.
Some guy can say “this may be brushed with light tones
But the sentiment is friggingly deep...”
And some gal may offer “bewitched am I with this exquisite expo on a bloom”,
And in both cases they are the true poet; and moreover,
If someone is kind enough to like a piece of verse and to say so,
It is an act of highly personal significance for the poet who writes,
For poets almost always write from the heart about their inner world,
Entered only by invitation to special people. The poem is the invitation:
Written so that only those who understand will respond.
Poetry is a foreign language to most people,
To whom reading it is like playing Beethoven* with mittens on,
Or drinking French wine* with a coca-cola chaser:
The true inner effect is completely absent.
Write to other poets often, for when we tell another of our admiration,
It reveals our own self in plain words.
……………………………………………………
NOTES
*Beethoven = deaf old guy who wrote tunes.
He and I have much in common, except I don’t write tunes.
*French wine = the finest in the world – as claimed by the French.
Break the silence, come out of your shell
Don’t hide your fears and pain, when the world out there is waiting on you to tell
How he abused and beat you purple and blue
In-laws finding a reason to always blame you
How you looked on when your children endured the pain
How he used your teenage daughters for his sexual gain
You turned a blind eye to his affair upon affair
Unemployed and three children to take care
Too scared to leave him, where would you go?
The silence you keep inside of you will forever grow
Pain is not like dreams that come and go
If you don’t break the silence, no one will know
The scar on your left cheek, when he threw you with a glass
The forehead with a porcelain vase
For the sake of your children you had to be strong
Always taking the blame when he is in the wrong
You have a thousand reasons to run away
Yet you don’t have the courage and prefer to stay
Too scared of not making ends meet?
Afraid you’ll end up in a shelter or begging on the street?
Thoughts of killing him runs through your head
Suffocating him while he lays drunk on the bed
Or dousing him with petrol and setting him alight
When he is about to pick up another brutal fight
Slitting his throat with a razor sharp knife
Begging for your mercy to save his life
All these thoughts running through your head
But you still prefer to stay instead
Then again, you have a house but not a loving home
Loneliness and sadness overtakes you when you are all alone
Will you stay or will you go?
A decision only you will know
Will you endure the suffering ‘til he breathes his last breath?
Finding solace only when you lay down his wreath?
Or do you leave this life behind?
To a bright new future you will find
So break the silence, come out of your shell
Help is a call away, just waiting on you to tell
Written by: Farah Diba Pastor
Love gave me a reason to:
commit suicide
Slitting every warm sensation from my heart
Leaving my wound open so you can see inside…
Look…
Can you see the PAIN on my face…
No…
you wont find it there…
Instead the pain runs through these VEINS
My Brain fails to cooperate because my heart's going insane
Breaths become harder to sustain
And I… can't….in…hale
Love didn't make it easy to
LISTEN…..
Can you hear the beating in my chest?
No….
Because there is none…
My heart stopped
When it was dropped
I placed it in your hand
Trusting the flaws of a man
Sometimes you need to take a moment and SIT to UNDERSTAND
I wish SADNESS could allow you to TOUCH ME….
So you can feel the softness of my love,
But your kind of abrasiveness caused it to die
A kind of case like this that caused you to lie
Because of Love:
DEATH KEEPS DYING in the grave that my heart continues to dig you
Always being resurrected from the depths of a soul that lived you
A rebellious memory
Failing to forget you
I hate that YOUR GHOST HAUNTS ME
So why do I fail to quit you?
Married to Love and not you
I felt like your wife without a ring
Was a caged bird and for years my wings were clipped
so I couldn't fly and it was impossible to sing
I have nothing left to do besides erase you from my past
And replace you just as fast
And turn colder than the ice that's sitting in my glass
I wish I could get you out of my system
But my memories keep me as a victim
Yes I AM without you
And the same is true that you ARE without me
Should have valued the love that you would lose
When you put a price on the present you made me choose
Because of YOU my soul has a tattoo,
That kind of looks like cupid's bruise
Yet I manage to prevail
Living a life with your absence
Freed from the shackles of entrapment
Form:
During the Second World War, people were panicking everywhere in the world. And of all continents, Asia was one of the most devastated in the history of wars.
So many people in Asia were victims of slavery. Most of them are women. They were victims of molestation and rape. The worst of all, slitting them in their necks or being stabbed so deep between their breasts after being disrespected.
The story of the loaf of bread started not in China or anywhere else in the North, but in the Far East -- the place called "Pearl Of The Orient." Pearl of the East, as it is sometimes called, is situated north of Borneo and south of Japan, east by the Pacific ocean and west by the China sea. The map itself shows a shape of a human form.
Many people who have lived in the Pearl country had a hard time during the Second War. One loaf of bread is equivalent to one family's meal of six, or even ten. The scarcity of bread during those times is not caused by the insufficiency of flour or yeast. Salt, as an ingredient, is not supposed to be the problem too. Only that salt was used for other purposes.
One loaf of bread is the prize of winning the lives of one whole family in hunger and danger. In different ordeals that almost all captured families were going through back then, if you don't have a loaf of bread then you have to earn it. Otherwise, every single member of the family dies. Many times a loaf of bread is placed on top of the head of the man of the family for shooting. And sometimes a loaf of bread is used for marinating human flesh. If you don't know the exact number of slices in the loaf of bread that you are holding, your life is in danger too.
The loaf of bread is the story of a country's downfall for defending its land from invaders. The loaf of bread is not just food, but life for a loaf of freedom and justice.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go . . . "
ee Cummings
I carry your essence with me
In the fire of hope that has been lit
In the very depths of my heart
I carry your eyes in the radiance of mine own,
At least,
They are there on those days that mine are not puffy,
Red and sore, after having cried the night away,
Lamenting at your silence and your coldness!
I carry your kindness with me
Even if it feels like a sword slitting through my body
As I wonder if you do feel for me,
At least, even, a tiny little bit!
I carry your breath in me
I live because you do
I shall perish the day you shall cease to be
I am already dying,
A little bit at a time,
As you steadily and firmly keep
Putting me back into my place,
Reminding me
That maybe,
The fire of hope that burns in my heart
Is nothing else but a fragment
Of my own imagination
And that dreams, in real life,
Never do come true!
Still, amidst all of this blurry haze of hurt
I carry you in my heart
Hiding my tear stricken eyes behind glamorous smiles
And perfect make up
Going on my way
With the broken pieces of my heart
Stuck to each other
Lighting up the world with enough zeal in my gaze
As to make the rest of humanity
Want to follow me!
But I am living solely for you
I shall cease to be
The day you would snatch your heart off my grip
And tell me
Go on your way,
As our roads differ!
I shall cease to be
Drowned in the flood of my tears
Buried in the tomb of my own pain
Burnt in the pyre of my own madness
Remembered as the one living for that impossible love
As it had been willed by the skies!
Written on 3 November 2019
Writing Challenge, November- Some Kind of Love
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
Can you hear their cries? Each minute another
will die. Graveyards are filling up; all the
victims of suicide.
Once a man was loved; betrayed by his girlfriend.
She promised to never leave him; another promise
broken again.
He no longer takes the pain so he makes his move
today. With a gun in hand he shoots...he just took
his life away.
This story here is true, a broken man who just
gave up. I wished it all but fiction, so sad it's
not made up.
Instead of fighting the pain, he chose another
route. Instead of fighting the pain, he chose
the easy way out.
They're jumping off the bridge. They're slitting
their own wrist. They're shooting themselves
dead. Now what is wrong with this?
They hang, burn, shoot, stab and injure
themselves too. They believe that voice
that says, "Give it up, you are through."
I know just how it feels. You just want to
give up. Your heart wants you to fight, but
your flesh just says, "Enough!"
Life can be so hard. You often cry in bed.
Instead of facing the day, you'd rather give
up instead.
Death stares at you often. You feel the fear
inside. Instead of standing up to it you often
run and hide.
A loved one has left you? In your dreams it
do haunt. Look up, there is a sea and you'll
catch any fish you want!
Begin to read the Scriptures; they'll renew your
life. There are power in the words, so pull it
close and hold on tight.
So I know you can do it, if only you believe.
Just take back your life. Your soul you shall
redeem.
Can you hear their cries? Each minute another will
die. Graveyards are filling up. Don't be a victim
of suicide.
For them I sigh
For them I cry
In their graves they do lie.
Said it once
Say it again
Don't be a victim of suicide.
Form: