#free verse Tumblr posts

  • Do you see her where she lays?

    Truly, she is more deserving

    Than us all

    Of mercy and life and light

    Is it not us

    Who instead should die?

    Do you see her where she lays

    Or is your life of more meaning?

    You go about your days blissfully


    And I am filled with quiet burning anger

    She didn’t deserve this

    We owed her better

    And we have failed

    My guilt is buried now

    My rage burning me from

    The inside out

    She was the purest

    Sweetest thing


    And should she live

    She should not be treated

    As inconvenient

    But a cherished treasure

    Acknowledge then,

    That if she’s lost

    We were unworthy of her

    In the beginning

    And He has taken her

    To better things

    We’ll rot and pine

    In our grief

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  • I held her hand a few times

    over the years

    contributed to the love

    where &

    when I could

    did my bit to help her shine

    not to take away her glitter

    be in the mix of those

    of her life

    not one of the bad ones

    who came later

    tho’ now she doesn’t know

    finds it hard to understand

    who I was in her

    her mothers life

    & can’t or won’t talk

    give the time of day

    did I do these things as part of

    or for reward?

    as it feels now

    no good deed

    goes unpunished

    neil benbow

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  • i saw what they did to my sister

    when her symptoms first presented–

    how they pinned her down, how they

    forced drugs down her throat.

    how she wailed and moaned

    like a phantom in the attic.

    so i fashioned for myself a mask

    made of purest ivory and fastened

    it to my face, lest it show a hint

    of madness to the priests and the scholars

    that surrounded me.

    it matched my likeness so well that

    nobody observed the falseness of my smile

    or the sadness behind my eyes.

    even my own family never suspected

    that under my smooth facade lived a

    whirlpool of paranoia and rage and sorrow.

    my disguise worked so well

    i nearly fooled myself.


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  • She is no flower
    No damsel
    No little girl

    She is a general
    Who commands legions
    An army of hundreds
    With just her voice
    And a firm gaze

    She is a weapon
    Made to destroy you
    And you won’t notice
    Because her knife
    Tastes sweet

    She is a hurricane
    Swirling through the land
    Leaving a path of
    Destruction and chaos
    In her wake.

    She was a flower,
    A damsel
    A little girl
    Once she waited
    For her prince
    To save her

    But in the end
    She grew up
    She stopped waiting
    In her forbidden tower
    And she
    Saved herself

    From that tower
    She comes
    With a crown made
    Of the dragon’s bones
    And a cloak
    Of his once-mighty hide

    The fiend
    That haunted her
    That confined her
    To the tower
    Of her mind
    Her enemy no more

    From that tower
    She comes
    With a sword
    Coated by blood
    And armour
    No longer shining

    The girl
    Who stayed haunted
    Who stayed confined
    In the tower
    Of her mind
    Foolish no more

    From that tower
    She comes
    With a vengeance

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  • Simple joys

    Leave an ash mouth taste

    Rotten perfume once sweet

    The memories of a lost childhood

    And memory and time so wasted

    Again I am a child

    Abandoned and confused

    Laughter exchanged for tears

    Then rage

    And surely I am mad with grief

    My mind crumbles along with your life

    Your pain and strife may cease

    But I will linger as a ghost

    Numb and blank eyed



    I have died with you

    Yet carry on

    As you would have me do

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  • The writer is awake in me


    Descriptive perhaps?

    Something real I have divulged only in my safest spaces

    Something I am drowning in

    But I can breathe.


    Like a new babe to water


    I question this


    I come back

    Time and time over

    The waves

    The drowning

    This utter immersion and foundation in water

    The very thing over which I have

    No control

    The only place I’ve ever felt

    Where a close call was

    Not so scary

    Not as scary as bathroom floors

    Not as scary as empty midnight platforms

    Not as scary as outdrinking friends

    Or depressed pill packets and foil flakes

    Spilling guts and pleading for the finish

    I’m drawn to water

    So strange in youth

    The unconscious fear of it

    Aversion to being wet

    Trapped screaming behind locked doors

    Dissociating as water pours

    Breaking that barrier

    Stepping in

    And remembering

    What love feels like

    Soft warm rains on summer nights

    Heavy fall in thunderstorms

    Dancing beneath flashes of

    A peek into the universe.

    Something so much bigger

    Clenched eyes beneath the surface

    Never adjusted

    I was never meant to see

    This one space

    For me

    To lose direction


    Where skin meets water

    The barrier breached

    Where I could Be.


    The biggest challenge

    Surest escape

    Strongest call

    The love I drown in

    The waves lapping

    That gentle cradle

    And those furious crashes

    Stormy seas

    To me

    Seem peaceful

    And I would take either any day

    Raging skies

    Whips cracking

    Shrapnel on tin roofs


    Rubber boots in deep puddles

    Bright yellow rain macs

    And small giggles

    Young enough and free

    To taste the raindrops

    Succumbing to downpours

    In hysterics with kind faces

    Remembering what life is


    Beyond and before this

    To be wet

    A natural state

    The first we encounter.


    I suppose

    I will always come back

    to Water.

    #water. #writing#poetry#free verse #the coffee table book #spilled ink#poem #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #free verse poem #long poem#life#love
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  • Scratched parchment drifts on the waves
    Of our constant undoing;

    Blotched ink, indecipherable.

    Drawn in are the voices,
    Howling winds
    Claiming none other than

    After the tempest we race
    A kindred memory of rain
    Captured in the two
    Softly shimmering globules
    Trickling down the windows
    Of our eyes,

    Absentmindedly listening
    To the distant whispering:

    And she was
    Six letters
    Painted in… what, glass?
    For she could never be depicted in color
    Let alone, brass.
    Much too dull
    Much too bland,
    She was confined to
    Six letters
    Of a language she knew little of
    In fact.

    The slivers chime,
    Attesting the pensive dismantling
    Into shards and pulverized prisms,
    Equally beautiful; equally glorious.

    Light of fire,
    How dismal.

    The crackling in the cast-iron hearth
    Sounds like a whimper
    In the goodbyes of this
    Pitifiable sizzling.

    What lives in life, rooted
    Cries out to the uncaptured, and so

    He searched for the butterfly
    Because his breath felt confined
    Whenever he would look at his fingers
    That were never long enough to grasp
    Life’s warming fire;
    Woe is he,
    Simmering to ashes
    Of the Quercus tree.

    Green, orange, then gray;
    Burnt leaves,

    Brittle in the sighs of elongated exhales.

    The tempest is long gone
    We only grasp at the
    Shredded straws
    It left in its

    28-11-2020, a collaborative piece between @isawpikachu, and @definegodliness.

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  • she was blonde & beautiful

    & all she saw in me was an escape

    which seemed fair enough

    as I was escaping in her too

    she’d stay over when I had to work

    practising her tattooing

    on the single guys living in the block

    as those with shack jobs knew their women

    would never let her get near them

    & I had no worries they’d steal her away

    none of them could offer better escape

    than the offer I had going for now

    but they’d complain long & bitter

    your girlfriends tattoo did not take

    showing me pained legs arms scarred red

    hey it was free you had her company

    what has that got to do with me?

    they’d say I didn’t understand

    but they knew

    neil benbow

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  • Red

    Red always reminded me of blood dripping from my wrist at my lowest lowest point.


    Orange is my favorite color, it’s something of freshness that always reminded me of summer and clementines.


    Sun and warmth like someone hugging you when you need it most.

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  • They say time heals wounds

    And maybe that’s true

    But I haven’t stopped loving

    Every shade of blue because of you

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  • To the one who gets to love her next

    I hope you open her car doors

    Always tell her you are proud of her

    I hope you appreciate the way her brown eyes get wide when she’s excited

    Let her pet any dog she want to

    I hope you never tell her no when she brings home another animal

    Please hold her close when she has break downs in the middle of the night

    Let her take control of the music in your car

    Don’t forget to sing a long with her

    I hope you learn her food orders like the back of your hand

    I hope you wipe the sleepys out of her eyes

    and always ask how her day was

    I hope you encourage her of her dreams and don’t let her tell you she’s not good enough

    Cause she perfect

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  • If nothing else, I hope that you realize that I was the girl you realized you would never contain, the one you couldn’t control, the one that would cliff dive in the summer, and the one whom would skinny dip during November in Michigan,

    The one you couldn’t tie down, because she could escape any knot, any duct tape contraption, just incase. The one you couldn’t photograph, because I struggled to stand still, the girl that you couldn’t hold down, because I would be on top,

    That girl you coule never drown, because she could swim in violent waves. The girl you couldn’t save, because she always saved herself,

    The girl who dances in the rain, not because no ones watching, but because she never gave a fuck if you were.

    The girl that you could never hurt, because she had hurt herself harder. The girl who loved harder than all the things you threw at her, the girl you write about.

    At the very least.

    I hope Im better.

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  • For Mother

    We had some good times, mother;

    You were always so filled

    With life and light.

    Had we more time

    As I hope we might

    I would fill those hours

    With days spent with you.

    There’s nothing

    I wouldn’t do

    For you to know

    You’re not alone.

    What else could I say, mother?

    For you to know how dear you are

    To me?

    Would you want to hear

    I’d give my last breath

    If it meant you were happy and free?

    I know you wouldn’t ask.

    We had some good times, mother.

    I hope there are more to last.

    But please, at least know

    I love you.

    And wherever or how far you go,

    That will never pass.

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  • One thing I still

    remember is how much we needed


    You said you wanted to

    work this out, smoke,

    but made it clear we wouldn’t.

    Promises have a bitter taste

    in the end

    and I’m still waiting.

    Anger was your go-to,

    other than that; vines,

    you had green hair with no

    emotion in your eyes.

    I remember almost begging

    for attention by the river -

    I really liked your sunsets.


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  • Scarlet eyes

    As I laid in my bed, my mind tired and weary from trying to craft a novel, my eyes grew heavier by the second. Taking a final look around my room from my bed, I started to drift off into a deep slumber.

    “I will try again…when the inspiration hits me,” I murmured in my final moments of wakefulness.

    “Aaahhh,” sighed a raspy voice, cloaked in the shadows of the room

    “Aaaahh,” sighed the raspy voice again louder and more agitated. I started to stur from my all but brief sleep and my eyes scanned the moon with slight confusion setting in, only to see nothing but the slender sliver of the pale moonlight gently shining through the curtins.

    “I’m just hearing things,” I thought as I started to lay back down onto my pillow. However, as my eyes grew heavy once again, in the darkness I heard the raspy sigh, much more ghastly. My eyes shot open and an immense force held me down, my body was unable to move. “Wha…what is this?! Why can’t I move?” I thought as my eyes feverishly scanned my room.

    “Why? Why did you leave us?” Echoed the voice. My heart pounded in my chest, like a war drum, as I kept looking for the source of the voice. In the darkest corner of my room, a pair of crimson eyes glared at me. Our eyes met and locked with one another, and a cold sweat began to form on my brow.

    “You left us. We prayed for you to return, but you left us to rot in that world. Why? Why did you not return to us? We cried for you, screamed for you to save to save us, but you left us!” Wheezed the voice. I tried to speak, but I could I not, my voice could not leave my lips. The eyes were blazing with hatred as they started to float upward and a large hand started to crawl out of the darkness.

    “Oh god! What the hell are you!!” I tried to scream out, but my voice could not ring out. Slowly it’s face was revealed in the moonlight, a pale canine skull as the eyes continued to burn brightly. My heart pounded harder in my chest as I saw it crawling from the darkness towards me I closed my eyes, hoping, wishing that it was a dream. As I opened my eyes, the ghastly specter was gone, no longer in the moonlight, however I was still unable to move. Looking around the room, I couldn’t find the creature, but my sense of unease did not fade. Suddenly, the shadowy hand reaches from the foot of the bed and the creature started to crawl onto the bed, its eyes and pale face inching closer and closer towards me. A surge of energy shot through my body as I broke free of the bed and fell onto the floor with a hard thud. Reaching for a light switch, I turned on the lights and looked around for the creature with the lights shining brightly through the house.

    “Holy shit! That…that…oh god,” I panted in relief. The nightmare was over as I sat in my chair until the morning sun shined gently onto the house. Hours later, as the images of last night kept replaying in my mind, I tried to shake it off by returning to my computer and working on my novel. Within seconds of my eyes scanning across the screen, a soft chuckle escaped my lips as my eyes widen. “Son of a bitch,” I chuckled.

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  • Shrapnel in The Wound

    “To cut you out, to extract you from my mind, from my soul, would be to slay the spirit. Sword in hand, I would willingly slaughter those three graces: charm, beauty, grace… the memory of all that you are, and watch those dark crimson shades weave in the deep, lightless cracks of molten rock that are my mind presently. But to do so is to snuff out the candle lit with my last match. You give me no peace. Perhaps you take baleful pleasure in afflicting me. You have me between and betwixt your fingers. The arch of your eyebrows, your coy smiles, your words double entendres, your throaty intonations, the way you cock your head to one side, the subtle curve of your lips. You keep lapping against my conscious like a tide hugs the shore, leaving when the moon beckons you back again. Everything about you is seduction, temptation. You’re tormenting me like a restless, malicious spirit I can’t be rid of. You shall be an ever-present reminder of my cowardice, of my original nature long-lost and yet too, a beast discovered that’s forever concealed in me; one that hungers, thirsts, craves. God forgive me; thou shalt smite me down if I have been anything but human. Is it not human to seek warmth from the cold? To yearn for company? An open ear and heart? A kind word? Is it such a sin to want? To dream? Pray, my dreams have been the only thing to keep death from passing my threshold; still I have felt the frigid frost of its breath against my ear, warningly. But why should I fear this trespasser any longer?

    Perhaps, it is I who has trespassed on this barren patch of time that is the Reaper’s. My life is damned, since my earliest memories, since my first movements. The first words I heard were offenses, slurs. My first experience of touch, thrashings. My recollections are haunted by the echoes of smashing irons, glass splintering into fragments reflecting different sides of this shattered life…cries, screams. Like vines about my feet, tripping me over, my past endeavors to sabotage me at every turn. I can’t be rid of it, no matter what holy water I’ve been baptized in, no hands in prayer, no words in tongues. Grace won’t find me. Grace? What does it mean, O’ God? Since the day we split the womb, we were born to decay. From lust and passion and pain we arrive, from pain we depart. Perhaps my former self was mistaken. Perhaps there is nothing more than this. Perhaps it will always be this way. I look at the populous around me. They moan of unfairness, that it is a crime to live life behind masks, to be unseen. Now they shall live as I have done my whole life, invisible to the masses. But nothing has changed, not even for them. I dare say we’ve all worn masks, since the day our innocence heaved its final sigh of discontentment and left these dying vessels bestowed onto us. Forgive me if I wanted to sense the sensation of water on my parched lips in the desert and having risked the piercing of the cactus’s thorns to achieve it. Let me suffer slowly with these inflictions, but do not dare deprive me of its wetness, nor its nutrients. Let me have it but once. Let it not be a mirage. Let me experience happiness in one moment passing or permanent and say I have lived. But if it be passing, take pity. Let me pass from this world to the next thereafter.”


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  • november scene
    lianna schreiber, november 27th, 2020

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  • [single board enclosure] smaller
    peal to heavier poundings;
            merrow stitch.

    Seeds chastise the daisies—
    return what will—

            soft air on the ear,
    [this gift]

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  • image

    If you like my work, support me on ko-fi.com/ilexater

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