Poetry competition CLOSED 12th September 2011 7:12pm
WINNER
goodest
goodest
RUNNERS-UP:
BreakingSpirit212
and Tashaa_is_dead
best underground poet
Poetry Contest Description
put down your best work and be the best underground poet
after a week i will take the four best and have them submit an extra poem and i judge off descriptions and higher voc is good but not necessary and i got to feel as though i'm the one who wrote it.. only submit between 1 to 2 poems per person no wordlimit but hopefully it ain't 5 pages long will you be the underground champ???
“M.F.”
by: Eric L. Boddie
All I ever wanted was you from the moment I grew
Inside the womb because that process takes two
And mama was there as she has always been
But it hurts me in my soul to know I was conceived in sin
I guess that’s why you never laid your hands on my heart
Since with some of my siblings, you’ve been there from the start
Still when I was a child, you received my innocent love
Because mama gave me the teachings of the man up above
And I wanted you in my life, and believe me I tried
But my every advance was swiftly denied
Do you know how that feels in the heart of a child
The cause of many tribulations and trials
Noticeable scars all to the mind and the soul
Neglect is the weapon that turns the heart cold
Producing pure hate because the heart is deprived
But everyone knows the strong will survive
And mama gave me love, the source of my strength
And where were you on my sweet 16th
You didn’t teach me to drive or help me develop my shot
So I strive to be all that you’re not
You didn’t teach me to fight or how to holler at girls
You left it up to a woman to shape a man’s world
But I don’t hate you, even though I once did
Because there’s only 2 emotions in the heart of a kid
But I’m a man now, and that’s no thanks to you
And since I was a child, the anger just grew
I want to fight you, just one real good time
That’s the only way I know to get the stress off my mind
But I can’t do that, mama said it’s in vain
So guess what, I got to live with the pain
And it hurts for 1440 minutes a day
But I know there’s a God, and through Him, you will pay
Because He gave me life, but I came through you
And I was raised by 1, it should have been 2
And mama worked hard to keep food on the table
And taught me that there were better things than fine clothes and cable
But she defended your ass and I never knew why
Since you had the finer things that money could buy
And we were poor, truly poor indeed
Nothing that we want, but everything we need
And I was rich, I know that’s misunderstood
But mama was teaching me the power of good
And I couldn’t help but learn since she talks so loud
Even though I know she isn’t completely proud
Since I haven’t forgiven you, though I pray I 1 day can
But it will take some time, I’m only a man
And you’re a sucker, even though you look like a man
But I had to come through you, it was in His plan
And a mistake is all that He can’t make
And I know that only He can sooth the ache
So I pray for the strength to forgive, to ease the pain that I live
The pain that I live, you caused the pain that I live
Cause all I wanted was you since all I had was a mother
I wish I had a father, instead I got a motherfucker
by: Eric L. Boddie
All I ever wanted was you from the moment I grew
Inside the womb because that process takes two
And mama was there as she has always been
But it hurts me in my soul to know I was conceived in sin
I guess that’s why you never laid your hands on my heart
Since with some of my siblings, you’ve been there from the start
Still when I was a child, you received my innocent love
Because mama gave me the teachings of the man up above
And I wanted you in my life, and believe me I tried
But my every advance was swiftly denied
Do you know how that feels in the heart of a child
The cause of many tribulations and trials
Noticeable scars all to the mind and the soul
Neglect is the weapon that turns the heart cold
Producing pure hate because the heart is deprived
But everyone knows the strong will survive
And mama gave me love, the source of my strength
And where were you on my sweet 16th
You didn’t teach me to drive or help me develop my shot
So I strive to be all that you’re not
You didn’t teach me to fight or how to holler at girls
You left it up to a woman to shape a man’s world
But I don’t hate you, even though I once did
Because there’s only 2 emotions in the heart of a kid
But I’m a man now, and that’s no thanks to you
And since I was a child, the anger just grew
I want to fight you, just one real good time
That’s the only way I know to get the stress off my mind
But I can’t do that, mama said it’s in vain
So guess what, I got to live with the pain
And it hurts for 1440 minutes a day
But I know there’s a God, and through Him, you will pay
Because He gave me life, but I came through you
And I was raised by 1, it should have been 2
And mama worked hard to keep food on the table
And taught me that there were better things than fine clothes and cable
But she defended your ass and I never knew why
Since you had the finer things that money could buy
And we were poor, truly poor indeed
Nothing that we want, but everything we need
And I was rich, I know that’s misunderstood
But mama was teaching me the power of good
And I couldn’t help but learn since she talks so loud
Even though I know she isn’t completely proud
Since I haven’t forgiven you, though I pray I 1 day can
But it will take some time, I’m only a man
And you’re a sucker, even though you look like a man
But I had to come through you, it was in His plan
And a mistake is all that He can’t make
And I know that only He can sooth the ache
So I pray for the strength to forgive, to ease the pain that I live
The pain that I live, you caused the pain that I live
Cause all I wanted was you since all I had was a mother
I wish I had a father, instead I got a motherfucker
"after a week i will take the four best and have them submit an extra poem and i judge off descriptions and higher voc is good but not necessary and i got to feel as though i'm the one who wrote it.. only submit between 1 to 2 poems per person no wordlimit but hopefully it ain't 5 pages long will you be the underground champ"
I take it you will not be judging punctuation.
I take it you will not be judging punctuation.
jeffmunoz1989 said:after a week i will take the four best and have them submit an extra poem and i judge off descriptions and higher voc is good but not necessary and i got to feel as though i'm the one who wrote it.. only submit between 1 to 2 poems per person no wordlimit but hopefully it ain't 5 pages long will you be the underground champ???
What are you saying? I'm not trying to be rude, but the lack of grammar makes this incredibly difficult to read. I'm totally lost.
What are you saying? I'm not trying to be rude, but the lack of grammar makes this incredibly difficult to read. I'm totally lost.
Just My Life
This is me, the girl you see.
Fighting a pain, I'll never be free.
I try to hide my real feelings,
I feel that life has no more meaning.
I hide my face, and silence my voice,
Being the real me was never a choice,
I do my job, and always pass,
But the pain in my soul kicks my ass.
It takes away the joy of life,
As if it came at me, swinging a knife.
You look as if you'd seen a ghost,
When you look my way, I hurt the most.
I feel as if I don't belong,
I can't love againm you've done me wrong.
I bare the day, so when I leave,
I can be myself, I can be free.
I walk away lonely, knowing that soon,
I'll be to the place I wait for all afternoon.
I hide away quickly in the dark cemetery,
Where I reveal the dark things, and my feelings are buried.
I start with the drugs, I light up the bong,
I smoke the weed, and lose the grip,
Of what I'm hiding from.
I move right along, and chug the bottles of those daiquiris.
Yes this is how I drown the pain of all that tortures me
I move on again, to swallow the bottle of that prescription Meth,
I wait some more to see if this time, I'll be lost in death.
When I realize that my time hasn't come, I sharpen my razor blade.
To slice along my scarred up wrist, yes.
THAT'S the trick of the trade.
When all else fails, I find a rope, and tie it up real tight.
For I get ready so that I can, end my life tonight.
Hours pass, it's 12, and everyone's asleep.
I kick the stool from under my feet, nobody will miss me..
Within a few minutes, I stop fighting, and let my breath run free.
My body goes limp, my eyelids close, as I think of you and me.
You said you cared, that I was yours, but that was only in private.
A whole other story roamed the streets, of what is known as the public.
I felt like a nothing, no one understood who I really was.
I believed I could've given mass amounts of love.
But that was then, and this is now, my mind goes completely black.
My pain is over, my spirit is free, and for that I give my thanks.
So next time you think your two cents is needed, where it doesn't belong.
Remember bitch, it is MY LIFE, and it was all along.
This is me, the girl you see.
Fighting a pain, I'll never be free.
I try to hide my real feelings,
I feel that life has no more meaning.
I hide my face, and silence my voice,
Being the real me was never a choice,
I do my job, and always pass,
But the pain in my soul kicks my ass.
It takes away the joy of life,
As if it came at me, swinging a knife.
You look as if you'd seen a ghost,
When you look my way, I hurt the most.
I feel as if I don't belong,
I can't love againm you've done me wrong.
I bare the day, so when I leave,
I can be myself, I can be free.
I walk away lonely, knowing that soon,
I'll be to the place I wait for all afternoon.
I hide away quickly in the dark cemetery,
Where I reveal the dark things, and my feelings are buried.
I start with the drugs, I light up the bong,
I smoke the weed, and lose the grip,
Of what I'm hiding from.
I move right along, and chug the bottles of those daiquiris.
Yes this is how I drown the pain of all that tortures me
I move on again, to swallow the bottle of that prescription Meth,
I wait some more to see if this time, I'll be lost in death.
When I realize that my time hasn't come, I sharpen my razor blade.
To slice along my scarred up wrist, yes.
THAT'S the trick of the trade.
When all else fails, I find a rope, and tie it up real tight.
For I get ready so that I can, end my life tonight.
Hours pass, it's 12, and everyone's asleep.
I kick the stool from under my feet, nobody will miss me..
Within a few minutes, I stop fighting, and let my breath run free.
My body goes limp, my eyelids close, as I think of you and me.
You said you cared, that I was yours, but that was only in private.
A whole other story roamed the streets, of what is known as the public.
I felt like a nothing, no one understood who I really was.
I believed I could've given mass amounts of love.
But that was then, and this is now, my mind goes completely black.
My pain is over, my spirit is free, and for that I give my thanks.
So next time you think your two cents is needed, where it doesn't belong.
Remember bitch, it is MY LIFE, and it was all along.
Hurt
When I hurt you
I hurt myself
When your in pain
I'm in hell
If all I can do is hurt you
Then why should I bother
even loving you at all
I know why I care
I know why I love you
Because I can't live
in a world with out you
When I hurt you
I hurt myself
When your in pain
I'm in hell
If all I can do is hurt you
Then why should I bother
even loving you at all
I know why I care
I know why I love you
Because I can't live
in a world with out you
Two
Two souls
on the same road
Been in the same place
inside darknesss and hate
Two hearts
in the dark
Been in the same hell
on the same level
Only known one another briefly
barely speaking
But have been through the same thing
on the same team
Two souls
on the same road
Been in the same place
inside darknesss and hate
Two hearts
in the dark
Been in the same hell
on the same level
Only known one another briefly
barely speaking
But have been through the same thing
on the same team
Secret Pleasure
Alone.
Finally alone.
Door closed and locked,
lights off; privacy.
My fingers slide down,
lower until they reach their destination.
The skin there is warm and wet,
oh so very wet.
Beginning slowly, I caress
the key that unlocks the door
to what I dearly long for.
My finger wanders across
exposed flesh, taking careful
time finding sensitivity.
I stop, where it begins.
Holding there,
the intensity builds; my heart is racing
and my breath is short.
Both hands are immersed in creating
a pleasure so intense my body shudders.
The barricade is breached;
first, a second of breath-catching pain
leaving only pleasure behind.
First, one finger enters,
and then a second joins the first.
In and out; out and in,
they move in rythmical balance
like a perfectly struck piano chord
the pleasure tunes my body
into a world a melodic genius.
Slick walls increase speed
into manic euphoria.
My world turns into that
of unimaginable feats.
My head throws back
and laughter escapes my mouth.
When the sheets are saturated,
and I am out of breath and satisfied,
then, and only then
does life resume.
Alone.
Finally alone.
Door closed and locked,
lights off; privacy.
My fingers slide down,
lower until they reach their destination.
The skin there is warm and wet,
oh so very wet.
Beginning slowly, I caress
the key that unlocks the door
to what I dearly long for.
My finger wanders across
exposed flesh, taking careful
time finding sensitivity.
I stop, where it begins.
Holding there,
the intensity builds; my heart is racing
and my breath is short.
Both hands are immersed in creating
a pleasure so intense my body shudders.
The barricade is breached;
first, a second of breath-catching pain
leaving only pleasure behind.
First, one finger enters,
and then a second joins the first.
In and out; out and in,
they move in rythmical balance
like a perfectly struck piano chord
the pleasure tunes my body
into a world a melodic genius.
Slick walls increase speed
into manic euphoria.
My world turns into that
of unimaginable feats.
My head throws back
and laughter escapes my mouth.
When the sheets are saturated,
and I am out of breath and satisfied,
then, and only then
does life resume.
Gothic Lolita
Inside a chest of ruffles and laces is the soul of a little girl, a little girl that was dressed up like a little doll with rogue on her lips and masacra on her lashes. She was put in a dress and she was made to be perfect, make everyone happy, turn when you're told. Smile to the strangers for they may shower thee with gold. As you grow older remember you're beautful and you show that to everyone, family and friends-- Youth and elders and when they speak to you remember to be nice to them and maybe they'll be nice to you. Words to remember and still haunt me years from those days when I would be dressed up and put on display. Like a little doll, dressed up in lace, painted eyes and mouth on a pretty procelain face. When you're a child it's called precious and sweet, you are looked at and complimented all the time with a smile. But as you grow older they say you're not longer sweet but you're acting kind of wild. Showing off your beauty like you were always told to do, who do you think you are? I think I'm what I was raised to be and that's what I have become, made into this anti-american dream to make everyone proud.
But because of all of this my life was taken away, the innocence has run dry and I hide myself in shame. "You used to dress up all the time, but then you started doing it less and less?" Because I do not want to remember the red stained dress, I do not wish to recall the mess of the broken doll that I had became. I don't want to remember what it was like to feel disgusted and ashamed. "How old are you?" I asked the man, his age was a number that was probably more than my age will ever be. For I died that night, my soul was locked away with my dresses and my make-up, and my pretty face. I am a Gothic Lolita now, a shell of the dead girl who's life was ended before it could begin. But because there was no body in this murder, and no weapon to be found, the killer got off clean with murdering my soul. And my voice is silent right now for no one will believe me, not with the image I created of myself. A whore like myself seeking attention, there was no way to say that I had been raped by an older man when I asked for it myself they'd say, the way I dressed and acted no one will believe me. I just want attention, I'm just lying for attention.
And now years have passed I do not know how many, could have been a thousand, could have been two or three. When your life was ended at such a young age, and the soul inside of you has perished you know nothing of time and space. All I can say is "Thank you kind Sir" for he made me what I am today, a bundle of broken nerves and a mouth full of words I am still afraid to say. And now that I am old enough to love, I couldn't begin to even if my pretty life depended on it. What is love? I do not even know what that is, I have lived so long in fear of the memories of hands coming down on my fragile frame and holding my down so that they may impale me with whatever item they choose? Let it be the handle of a broom or that of a brush, let it be their flesh or their furtive, unclean hands. Let me wonder what is love? When the only thing you've known is pain? And when I sit across from the man at the kitchen table and try not to look at his face, I wonder if he knows that my life was ended by his hand? That I am just a dead little girl buried in a box of lace and ruffles with no means of escape. Does he know that if I am a Gothic Lolita then that makes him the criminal and that I wish to have him killed by an army of all the little girls he killed, the ones he impaled, the ones he buried deep inside themselves. Like he did to me when I wasn't even legal and now here I am, a dead little girl inside of a shell of an adult woman. And I know that if I told anyone I would be lying, if I told anyone I am just wanting attention, if I told anyone about that murders that this man dost commit, I would be made into the blame.
Because I asked for it, any man would do what he did because of the way I dressed at the time. Any man would have done the same to me, and so I perfectly understand, it's my fault.
I am your sugar. . .
I am your cream. . .
I am your anti-american dream. . .
Did you know that a little girl was murdered at the age of fourteen because of the way she dressed, and no one-- I repeat no one heard her scream. Did you know a little girl's soul was destroyed when she wasn't even legal? Did you know that it was her fault, that she asked for it? I'm sorry-- I perfectly understand-- This is my fault, for you see that little girl was me.
Inside a chest of ruffles and laces is the soul of a little girl, a little girl that was dressed up like a little doll with rogue on her lips and masacra on her lashes. She was put in a dress and she was made to be perfect, make everyone happy, turn when you're told. Smile to the strangers for they may shower thee with gold. As you grow older remember you're beautful and you show that to everyone, family and friends-- Youth and elders and when they speak to you remember to be nice to them and maybe they'll be nice to you. Words to remember and still haunt me years from those days when I would be dressed up and put on display. Like a little doll, dressed up in lace, painted eyes and mouth on a pretty procelain face. When you're a child it's called precious and sweet, you are looked at and complimented all the time with a smile. But as you grow older they say you're not longer sweet but you're acting kind of wild. Showing off your beauty like you were always told to do, who do you think you are? I think I'm what I was raised to be and that's what I have become, made into this anti-american dream to make everyone proud.
But because of all of this my life was taken away, the innocence has run dry and I hide myself in shame. "You used to dress up all the time, but then you started doing it less and less?" Because I do not want to remember the red stained dress, I do not wish to recall the mess of the broken doll that I had became. I don't want to remember what it was like to feel disgusted and ashamed. "How old are you?" I asked the man, his age was a number that was probably more than my age will ever be. For I died that night, my soul was locked away with my dresses and my make-up, and my pretty face. I am a Gothic Lolita now, a shell of the dead girl who's life was ended before it could begin. But because there was no body in this murder, and no weapon to be found, the killer got off clean with murdering my soul. And my voice is silent right now for no one will believe me, not with the image I created of myself. A whore like myself seeking attention, there was no way to say that I had been raped by an older man when I asked for it myself they'd say, the way I dressed and acted no one will believe me. I just want attention, I'm just lying for attention.
And now years have passed I do not know how many, could have been a thousand, could have been two or three. When your life was ended at such a young age, and the soul inside of you has perished you know nothing of time and space. All I can say is "Thank you kind Sir" for he made me what I am today, a bundle of broken nerves and a mouth full of words I am still afraid to say. And now that I am old enough to love, I couldn't begin to even if my pretty life depended on it. What is love? I do not even know what that is, I have lived so long in fear of the memories of hands coming down on my fragile frame and holding my down so that they may impale me with whatever item they choose? Let it be the handle of a broom or that of a brush, let it be their flesh or their furtive, unclean hands. Let me wonder what is love? When the only thing you've known is pain? And when I sit across from the man at the kitchen table and try not to look at his face, I wonder if he knows that my life was ended by his hand? That I am just a dead little girl buried in a box of lace and ruffles with no means of escape. Does he know that if I am a Gothic Lolita then that makes him the criminal and that I wish to have him killed by an army of all the little girls he killed, the ones he impaled, the ones he buried deep inside themselves. Like he did to me when I wasn't even legal and now here I am, a dead little girl inside of a shell of an adult woman. And I know that if I told anyone I would be lying, if I told anyone I am just wanting attention, if I told anyone about that murders that this man dost commit, I would be made into the blame.
Because I asked for it, any man would do what he did because of the way I dressed at the time. Any man would have done the same to me, and so I perfectly understand, it's my fault.
I am your sugar. . .
I am your cream. . .
I am your anti-american dream. . .
Did you know that a little girl was murdered at the age of fourteen because of the way she dressed, and no one-- I repeat no one heard her scream. Did you know a little girl's soul was destroyed when she wasn't even legal? Did you know that it was her fault, that she asked for it? I'm sorry-- I perfectly understand-- This is my fault, for you see that little girl was me.
Anonymous
Nicky
Killing me slowly -
Burning my money,
Addiction affliction.
Dark crusted lungs.
Yellow skin; stained teeth.
Excusing my sin -
Saying you calm me.
But when you not there-
Fuck, I’m a neurotic!
You perade as a friend,
Extension to my arm.
Your bed is my pocket.
Your debris my litter.
You smell so bad -
I can’t tollerate my own odour.
You warn me with your sign
Skull and bones on your side.
Still, when I awake -
You are my first break!
Nicky my lover, my friend.
You are hardly a reliable trend.
Addiction affliction.
Burning my money.
Killing me slowly.
(c) AliP - Deep Underground Poetry - August 2011
Link to submitted version http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/26930/
Killing me slowly -
Burning my money,
Addiction affliction.
Dark crusted lungs.
Yellow skin; stained teeth.
Excusing my sin -
Saying you calm me.
But when you not there-
Fuck, I’m a neurotic!
You perade as a friend,
Extension to my arm.
Your bed is my pocket.
Your debris my litter.
You smell so bad -
I can’t tollerate my own odour.
You warn me with your sign
Skull and bones on your side.
Still, when I awake -
You are my first break!
Nicky my lover, my friend.
You are hardly a reliable trend.
Addiction affliction.
Burning my money.
Killing me slowly.
(c) AliP - Deep Underground Poetry - August 2011
Link to submitted version http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/26930/
Anonymous
This is one of the nicest tributes to a mother I have read in a long time.....Well written, flowed smoothly....an HONEST poem!
Anonymous
GARDEN OF DEVOTION
Broken mouths are the surreptitious pathways
of the dead;
abrupt
unclean hands and unchaste syllables
d
r
o
p
like Hiroshima,
like Edleweiss
like calm...
death cannot be washed away.
Graveside, the rhythm of grief is predetermined
the loss palpable,
the hum incorrigible.
This
is the dance of the living -
to scourge the dead and bleat blessings
ad naseum...to assault God and bystanders
as if the spirit should be disinterred
and a pardon granted.
The living know a hint of dirt,
a taste in the backs of dry throats,
the final kiss...
the dead remember no more
their pity cannot be bought or sold.
Broken mouths are the surreptitious pathways
of the dead;
abrupt
unclean hands and unchaste syllables
d
r
o
p
like Hiroshima,
like Edleweiss
like calm...
death cannot be washed away.
Graveside, the rhythm of grief is predetermined
the loss palpable,
the hum incorrigible.
This
is the dance of the living -
to scourge the dead and bleat blessings
ad naseum...to assault God and bystanders
as if the spirit should be disinterred
and a pardon granted.
The living know a hint of dirt,
a taste in the backs of dry throats,
the final kiss...
the dead remember no more
their pity cannot be bought or sold.
