Benjamin Crosby Benjamin Crosby
Recommendations: 12

An amazing introductory stanza. So emotionally descriptive, so bold, so raw and so sad. It's like a window to the heart, and you take the reader by face, turn their head and compel them to look through it. The imagery is remarkable.

Benjamin Crosby Benjamin Crosby
Recommendations: 12

'I'll give you last year mother dearest if you can give me back the first ten' is like an emotional punctuation mark. I've read this poem seven or eight times and with each reading the tone changes from one to the next. But that line stands out more than the others for me.

Cindy Beitinger Cindy Beitinger
Recommendations: 37

manipulation and control expressed brilliantly here.

Cindy Beitinger Cindy Beitinger
Recommendations: 37

A masterful look into the psyche of the victim.

Benjamin Crosby Benjamin Crosby
Recommendations: 12

It's incredibly difficult to write something in such an honest manner, and to have the reader identify. The father's wish in the well metaphor coupled with the final five lines - beautifully done. And so heartfelt.

Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Thank you Ben :) I always appreciate your candid feedback!

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Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Generation: Blasphemy/Rape/Sickness


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This poem features some explicit content and is only recommended for adults.



Mother, father
the toothless breathless faces
lungs empty of life
eyes eaten out like cherries
with the pips spat away to rot,
the yin and yang of a child’s
blossoming psychosis.
The saliva, the blood
of the innards of a temple
golden shining
an exploding sun.
Kicked like a football
by roads you made,
towns you drowned
with your own tears
burning friends with the salty
undertones of words repressed
sex oppressed
the guilt and shame
of never having put a name
to any boy’s fleeting faces. 2 comments


I’m onto something here.
The knife in the butter,
the cream shot for the cake
adding up
doing the math
of past + present = FEAR
I’ll give you last year
mother dearest
if you can give me back
the first ten.
Something amiss
something tricked
some old tale
of pain forgotten
and happiness rotten
in wet grass, wet bird’s feet
plucking out my soul.
A garden shaped
by my own desire
in a time
when crossing the line
is anyone’s standard
of rebellion. 1 comment



I recognise guilt
through some unfortunate mistake
made not by me
but by older minds,
some terrible secret
some clue
as to who
might have taken a child.
Me, the child
and you, the
I’ve given you everything
the
I’ve tried my best
the
you’ll know what it’s like one day
the forever after
in the core of the issue. 2 comments


The sex
seen and heard
valued
only by its shock factor.
Eyes should be in darkness
but were spread open
for the light.
The cunt
desperate for reprieve
savoured by someone
whose name
and face
and taste
escapes me.
Sigh.
I carry away my baggage
on my broken back
cutting my own slack
for the sake of alienation
I suppose
that’s how it is for all of us.
Walking the same path
treading the same holy ground
of mommies and daddies dead
that used to be warm
and welcoming.
Praise
for the smallest intake
of air and words and play
unlike my most recent yesterday
when all I did was think.


Think that something
was missing in me
that I didn’t necessarily need
but figured I’d like to meet again.
Like a child given up
and longed for
after the naiveté wore off,
the morphine to your wound
punched and flicked
over and over and over
as you lay, somewhere,
resting your conscience.


Mother
do me a favour
and father,
send me a wish
so no matter
how lopsided the world seems
through shattered glass eyes
you can drop me in the well
the right way up
for a change.
Tell me why I’m guilty
Tell me why I’m scared
Tell me why I can’t let you in
Tell me why I can’t let them in
Tell me why I’m sick 4 comments


and I’ll tell you
both of you together
after over ten years
why you’re to blame.


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