51 posts
  • fashionablelectures 28w

    Survive to Thrive

    Take a deep breath,
    Don't give up,
    You feel alone,
    You feel trapped,
    You feel helpless,
    the words echoing in your soul,
    Your personal torture chamber,
    The invisible scars try to heal, forever bleeding
    You smile thru the suffering,
    No one understands but those that survive,
    No one believes it's true till it's too late,
    If someone sees a broken bone,
    they want to fix it,
    If they hear your spirit is broken,
    you're quarantined and forgotten,
    People are mesmerized by the lightning,
    but ignore the warning of thunder.
    thunder is the warning danger is imminent.
    By the time they see it strike you,
    you're already dead
    I know you're alone now,
    but try to remember,
    You are not damaged goods.
    You do not deserve it.
    You're not crazy,
    You're not a loser,
    You're not pathetic,
    Their actions are not justified, it's not your fault.
    You won't always be vilified.
    You deserve saving.
    You deserve reassurance,
    You deserve kindness and a gentle touch.
    You do your best to survive,
    In hopes someday you will thrive.

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 41w


    She's shaped like an angel
    Her shoulders arche high

    Beautiful wings
    Beautiful eyes

    I gaze into her soul
    As she holds me close

    Theirs a thick haze
    Ash on our fingers

    I wanna stay forever
    Wrapped close
    Palms over her wings

    She calls me hers
    And I call her mine

    It's taken so long
    But I feel the love

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 41w


    Your an abuser
    You need help
    I tried to give you help
    You burned me
    If you ever come near me
    It'll be violent
    I didn't suffer in quiet
    Just for you to lie again
    What did you expect
    When you hurt someone so dearly
    I'm done
    Stay off my shit
    I've been forced to watch yours
    Because you can't help but lie
    Do it again and the same will happen
    Be happy with what you have
    Move on
    You caused me so much pain
    I threw up for weeks
    I'll say what I want
    When I'm the survivor

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 41w


    Calling a broken heart a narcissist
    A tricky game

    I always wanted to die
    To blend in
    I hated the crowd
    But I wanted to heal
    So I forced myself out

    I hated myself
    It's what made me hate you
    Always parroting me
    My worst parts

    You've finally done it
    You switched places with me
    I truly believe
    In your head
    I'm you

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 41w

    Not Me

    Your a lier
    Your scum
    You called us lovers
    Perfect fits
    All you did was hurt me

    I begged to help you
    You left me on read
    I begged to save you

    You ran into the woods
    You cut me
    You beat me
    You raped me
    You forced me to do so much
    Put me through so much

    I loved you with every part of my heart
    Wanted to keep you safe
    You broke my heart

    Now you're accusing me
    I want you to die
    I want you to suffer
    Put you through all the shit
    Everything you did to me
    The broken noses
    The cutting
    The burns
    The collar
    The whipping
    The slapping
    The lying
    The cheating
    The abuse
    The neglect
    And the broken heart

  • adunbar 50w

    For ST

    The cold finger tips
    of my past always push
    they push and poke and prod
    me in the small of the back
    their touch is frozen
    bound to soul to death to the memory
    of bottles and mayhem and fear
    and even after 10 years clean
    I push at it like how your tongue
    worries at a sore tooth...
    I push too hard, trust too little
    expect, fetishsize and seduce
    midnight until I recognize my actions to punish myself until I decide
    to just let the 5 year old me suffer, weep and rage and heal.
    I reach for positivity, cling to and adore people who love, smile and inspire me.
    Silje, you push back the darkness with your grin, silliness, laughter and power
    You help, all the time, every day
    So thank you, and that is why I write you. adunbar2021 (For ST)

  • adunbar 50w


    When I think of Louis Riel
    I don't think of the Duck Lake rebellion
    his sham of a trial
    or the Queen's rope used to lynch him.
    I don't think of him finally being declared
    a father of Confederation or founder of Manitoba.
    I think of his statue, south-west of the legislature
    Riel, standing alone facing south on the bank of the Assiniboine river.
    I used to stop and talk to him, keep him company, ask questions without the expectation of answers
    and I still look for answers through his life as it relates to mine and they elude me.
    Go see him, spend some time with him and you will understand part of what it means to be Metis.
    Riel looks pensive, sad and isolated
    away from the eyes of the domes golden boy, out of sight of those who still laugh at him.
    History corrected the record but its writers never forgave him and this too
    is what it means to be Metis.
    I sit with him in winter looking south and wonder was it worth it? Wondering what might have been, if they hadn't destroyed him.
    Sitting with Riel and the memories falling like snowflakes around our shoulders breaks my heart, makes me furious and walking up the frozen river, stopping out of my love for him, I cry until the tears freeze on my cheeks and then I turn for home. .

  • adunbar 52w


    Flaw in the wet ware
    half ones and broken zeros
    leave neurons sparking like...
    like hot metal screaming under
    the capture of iron tongs and hammers.
    Endless amperage cycles kill
    everything it touches
    then the loop feeds back upon itself
    static in static out
    until the brain becomes
    a snake that eats itself.
    Can't make heads or tails
    of anything outside the loop
    boil old boards down to soup stock
    come and get it motherfucker
    long-rat shadows served after
    a head's pounded into a dinner bell.

  • adunbar 52w

    Piano Guitars and a Pistol

    I miss Mac Rebennack
    The Night Tripper
    The zuzu or the gris-gris man
    From the heart of the Crescent
    "Daily trippin up and down the bayou"
    after a card game went bad,
    some low rent sleazy gambler
    shot off Mac's finger and Mac?
    He just went from guitar to piano
    like nothing ever happened
    THAT was Dr. John,
    there for whatever you needed man,
    the music or the medicine.
    Walk on gilded splinters
    through streets smelling of mint and jasmine
    heat and impropriety
    all roads lead to the sun and moon and stars
    while somewhere in the back
    monsieur Toussaint is deep in the mix
    and the doctor?
    He just grinned through the smoke
    and spun some Dougie Kershaw
    the hardcore cajun fiddling God.
    R.I.P. Doc.

  • hmadeline 53w

    An open letter to an abuser

    Dear Ass Hole, Liar, Thief, Abuser,

    To The Dick that destroyed the woman I once was,

    How do you feel about yourself? Are you proud? Happy? Do you feel any guilt whatsoever? What goes through your mind, as you lie awake at 2am, unable to sleep? Is it remorse for destroying a happy girl? Or is it about your next lay, or maybe your next high? Do you even give a damn about the damage you leave behind, or are you too caught up in your own pain and you’re blind?

    I used to be so much more carefree, confident, Smiley. Yeah sure I still had some struggles. After all, I’m only human. I had a history of trauma but it was so far behind me. I had healed and learned to cope. I was okay to be alone, I was thriving. I didn’t feel broken. I wasn’t lost.

    I didn’t know what it felt like to have mind games be played on me. I never had someone destroy my sense of reality. Up was up, and down was down. East and west made sense to me, north and south was where they were supposed to be. I had a sense of direction you see? But like a lot of other things you stole that from me.

    Stealing, thief; two words out of a thousand I feel that fit you perfectly. Stealing the life force out of a young girl. A thief of happiness and dreams. Stolen peace, and sanity. No, you didn't just steal materialistic things. The most important items stolen were those of the mind. The material I need in order to survive.

    Destruction of the mind. What a hell I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. The anxiety that was left behind, far worse than when you were mine. Destroying any hope I have of the love I find. Crying in a man's arms of the damage that you left behind.

    If you think this letter was written because I miss you, you are sorely mistaken. This letter was written to tell you that I hate you. Hatred towards you for the hatred I have towards myself. Hatred of all of my aches and pains. Hatred of my confusion and loss of security. Hatred of the exhaustion that has overtaken me. I’m tired.

    I’m tired of my lack of trust in the world around me, or the man I wish so desperately to stay and stand next to me. I don't trust the ones I love not to destroy my life in the very same sense that you tried to take mine.

    The fear I felt that night, a type of fear that I never thought I’d fathom. The feeling of the oxygen leaving my lungs like deflating balloons staring at eyes as glazed as the moon is bright. The pain in my face seething so red and tight. Trapped in a single room house with nowhere to hide. You tortured me day and night

    The battle I faced when you spent all that time committing the crimes yet I was the one justice seeked to find.

    A year of fighting, and another year just trying to survive the aftermath. The vicious cycle of feeling like I’ve healed and the next revisiting the fight. A year of praying to God you don't kill me, and a year praying that I don't have another nightmare tonight.

    You, The reason I feel scared at night, faced alone with new battles to fight. You, a memory so distant, yet so profound. The person I blamed when I lost my Sweet that night. Because the battles I have to fight are far more than anyone can right.

    One day, you won't haunt me at night. And I can finally have something right in my life. One day you’ll be forgotten and I can love soundly and bright. And I’ll trust him and I won’t be the one alone at night.

    With hatred and nothing kind,
    The girl that's left to fight.

  • lyramarilex 53w

    Never told anyone about what happened to me apart from exes, and I wish I never gave some of them that part of me. This is the first place I’ve mentioned it because it feels kind of anonymous.
    #abusesurvivor #fight #survive #speakout #poetry #poem #newpoetry #write #foryou #fyp

    Read More

    My body remembers

    You touched me when I knew no better

    You hurt me when I was still learning to find my way

    I’ve blocked out most of it and for that I thank my mind,

    But my body remembers from time to time

    When I least expect it, from a lovers touch to even a stranger passing by

    My body remembers your touch I forgot, and I live in silence from what choose to hide

  • adunbar 54w

    Spieler in a Straw Boater

    Second hand candy striped jacket
    look close enough to see the bullet holes
    torn through the fabric that left the last owner both ventilated and vacant.
    The new spieler slipped right into it
    and hasn't fixed it yet
    he's got this higher calling
    when he dons the white straw boater hat
    raps a gavel on the rostrum
    always begins his routine like that.

    "Hey you! Yeah you, you young stud!
    Whyn't you and your lady walk down these stairs
    and worship at the Church of the Underground!!?
    It won't cost ya a cent but we got bookies in the back if you wanna place a bet
    on slippin through the eye of a needle
    play the over/under on angels and pins!
    There's no bible son, no cross, no Okie preacher fresh from a tent outside
    Lawrence fucking Kansas!
    This is the Church of the Underground all we want is your attention...hey,
    can you worship in the minor chords?
    The reason why I ask you that is,
    see, we gotta a guitarista who only grants salvation in runs of E (eternal) Flat
    Boy, you won't hear shuffle in C on our aural rosary
    and the call and response is to whoever you let it be.
    Church of the Underground, son, turning blood into Mogen David wine just a buck 99 and for the sacred price of that
    you can watch the holy roller go-go dancers in sequined thongs till closing time where you've cum and gone!
    with a heaping side of fun
    mixed with the syncopated rhythm of the revelation, that's some power in your pocket and...
    You're not gonna get a better deal that boy, so step up and step in, the only thing you got to lose is feeling shame bout your sins!

  • adunbar 54w

    Dry Drunk

    Whenever I start thinking to myself:
    "Hey, it'd be great to get back to drinking"
    and brothers, sister, friends, poets, writers and lovers,
    you have no idea how bad I want to go back to a life without fear of consequences
    the freedom of total disengagement from sanity
    the eager abrogation of morality
    and the comfort of the predictability of
    taverns, pubs, bars, and road house dives
    i remember my blood in an alley
    In Josephine County.
    I look at my knuckles broken so many times they look like walnuts and they hurt
    but lately, even that hasn't been enough
    to hold the thirst back.
    Worried, sick, scared to death
    I listened to JT by Steve Earle and to Townes after that
    those albums brought me back.
    I know it is late and past due,
    but Christ, Mr. Earle, I hurt for you
    and I thank and love you.


  • adunbar 54w

    Own It

    Almost everyone is choosing
    to dance around the issues
    of yesterday January 6th 2021
    Almost everyone is choosing
    to use language of obfuscation
    that is fit in parentheses
    that dissemble, distracts
    and refuses parrhesia: plain speech, unintimidated speech, frank speech


    1) It is obvious to the ignorant now that police treat white terrorists different from BLM peaceful protestors. This is systemic racism.

    2) If black people had stormed the Capitol building yesterday, they would have been gunned down without mercy and without question. This is systemic racism.

    3) No matter what MAGA terrorists do, there will be media, police and politicians willing to lay the blame on Antifa and BLM. This is systemic racism.

    4) The MAGA terrorists will not face a reckoning for sedition, terrorism, or tried as traitors. This is systemic racism.

    5) The media, blue ribbon commissions, sociologists, psychologists, think tanks and politicians will attempt to understand the motives of the MAGA terrorists, not for condemnation but to excuse their behaviour. This is systemic racism.

    Basically, at the end of the day, there will be no reckoning, no justice, no serious consequential condemnation because the terrorists were white.

    That is the definition of privilege and that is systemically racist.

    adunbar2021 (Own it)

  • adunbar 54w

    Panic Attack

    Ya. Don't fuck with me okay?
    Don't ask what you can do
    don't tell me it'll pass
    or just breathe deeply or meditate
    or ask if I'm sure it's not in my head.

    of course it's in my fucking head
    what you don't know is this:
    It starts with a crawling hollow feeling
    my eyes start clacking dryly as
    sweat pops out on my forehead
    an ice cream scoop pulled through my viscera
    and bowel cramps, bent over on the toilet
    with the vicious bloody shits
    pressure building in my head
    gonna die gonna die gonna die gonna die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die i'm gonna die
    pulse check ×100. 50 bpm= What The Fuck?! Check again x 100 same information
    Fuck tea, weed, booze, brown bags and dbt.
    fumble and drop and spill clonazepam all over the floor, sudden impulse to take them all...
    but one, just one, fifteen minutes later I feel hollowed out, a dug out canoe.
    Strung out like a junkie coming down
    alone, isolated, used up and exhausted

    Do not tell me any of this is somehow fake news and not happening.
    I hate you but would never wish this on you.

  • adunbar 55w

    Down The Dirt Road Blues

    12854-A Paramount Records
    Charlie Patton walkin with
    The Dirt Road Blues
    listen to him and goddamn you if you don't
    listen to the man wrestle with himself
    driving, determined, Socratic chords
    music borrowed from the Delta
    but born from the Choctaw drum circles
    his voice filled with sage smoke and swamp
    choppin, chippin, carryin, the blues
    to The Nation, to a world unknown
    a world where he couldn't stay
    never really went through The Nation
    but The Nation went through him.

  • adunbar 55w

    Sometime After

    Red eyed wanderer
    thumbing through the highways
    of the local Super-Valu
    "What can I get for a buck and a half?"
    He asks the silent stack of oranges
    human mop handle thin
    filthy dreads soaking up pools of insanity
    smelling like cheap soap with a hint of mildew
    passing ships and all that
    under the power of allusion and metaphor
    his sail full of cautionary tales
    man, i'm too tired to stop on the yellow
    when did i grab these Oreos?


  • adunbar 55w

    Crooked Suture Polka

    Blind drunk rage campaign on
    oyster shells with razor blades
    where cheap shoes shuffle through
    the crooked suture polka.
    Can't go to the ER they call the cops
    and the free clinics closed
    but the brother of a friend of a friend of a cousin is a veterinarian
    and for three pics of Ben Franks face
    and after chopping up a line of percocet, with hands as steady as maracas
    he'll conduct the crooked suture polka.
    Maybe, in a couple of days, in the stench of green cheese rot, and D.T. sweat,
    throw the flop house blanket off
    and piss broken glass, red and pink,
    into a spattered stinking toilet bucket
    while howling through the chorus of the crooked suture polka


  • adunbar 55w

    Odell Bientot's Menagerie

    Heat lightning popped like firefly's out in the swamp. Clouds went west as the wind pushed east, rattling the hand painted sign of Odell Bientot's Menagerie. The Menagerie was built after Odell won four steel shipping containers and a Lockheed Martin packing crate in a stud poker game, he beat a full house with his Mississippi Flush at Jack Pardee's billiard and bouree parlour just outside the Quarter. That's the story anyway, and Odell stuck to it despite State Police dropping in from time to time asking ugly questions about strong arm and grand theft robberies. Odell'd just sit there and blink.

    The Menagerie was haphazard and eternally dusky. Welded, screwed and cobbled together. The Cypress trees kept the rain off the roof and the boot scaper at the door had never been used. An industrial generator was hid out the back, using bar tabs and secrets to keep it filled with diesal gas. The juke box was glory. A neon and pomegranite lava lamp. It played on red quarters, plug nickles and requests in Cajun French. Blind Uncle Gaspard, Iry LeJeune, and Amede Ardoin just to name a few. The Menagerie catered to poachers, drifters, derrick workers, rough necks, trappers, trades and brawlers who still spoke Cajun French. He served bottled beer and bust head whiskey from a still somewhere in the swamp. Odell loved people who never bothered to fish the main channels.

  • adunbar 56w