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  • rubybluethebeatpoet 1w

    Sunday

    “Which day is it?”
    This day of days?
    Like it matters.
    I sometimes try to make all the days the same
    in my head,
    I plan them out then I get bored.
    How boring
    to make all
    the days the same,
    they could never
    be the same
    and they could never happen again.
    This day is
    not like the others.
    This day with me
    as me now in it,
    will never come again.
    Thank God for that.
    ©rubybluethebeatpoet

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 1w

    as the night demands nothing of you,
    and the promise of tomorrow
    is fresh and new,
    for the mind to start cooking up
    more things to do.

    I laugh as I slink off slowly to bed,
    these things to do
    can get done
    when I’m dead.

    ©rubybluethebeatpoet

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 1w

    Human Doing

    Things to do
    things to do,
    never-ending things to do.
    Chores and bores
    and dreams of whores,
    who never worry about things to do.
    They’re just used and abused.
    Funny how this mind wanders
    when there’s so many
    things to do.
    So I sit and I sit
    while the hours go by,
    I watch the birds
    and the trees,
    I sit and I sigh.
    I wait until
    the day turns to night,

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 1w

    Why I Smoke

    I smoke because I like it,
    I smoke I don’t fight it,
    I smoke I’m a writer,
    and that’s what we do.

    I smoke because they hate it,
    I smoke just to fake it,
    I smoke to show I have no worries about what others think of what I do.

    I smoke now I’m a rebel,
    I smoke cos I’m the Devil,
    I smoke with a coffee,
    then relax and have a poo.

    I smoke to bury secrets,
    I smoke as anger creeps out,
    I suck a cigarette
    so the grief in my lungs
    has something to hold on to.
    ©rubybluethebeatpoet

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 1w

    Break My Heart

    My heart is made of love
    but I covered her well,
    frozen in a breeze block
    from Danté’s hell.
    My heart is made of love,
    try cracking her shell,
    the shell is diamond ice;
    stones take time to melt.
    I dare you to break my heart,
    hammer and chip away,
    you’ll only break the glass,
    that keeps my love at bay.
    Choose your weapon,
    tongue, sword or pen,
    keep breaking my heart please...
    until she opens.
    ©rubybluethebeatpoet

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 1w

    Fat Cries

    I feel like crying all day today and I don’t even really care why.
    I feel like crying
    but I make breakfast instead,
    I want no talking or laughing;
    just cry.
    My gut feels hollow,
    tears drown as I swallow
    each mouthful of dark sweetened oats.
    I feel like crying
    and I know that I’m lying when I say
    I can just let myself cry.
    When my tears start to well,
    I turn food into hell
    and my face stays terribly dry.
    God damn it I’m human,
    I say to the oven,
    as the chips burn near the pie.
    I’m pretty sure
    that’s how I get fat,
    I eat
    when I really need to cry.

    ©rubybluethebeatpoet

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 7w

    Then I found out
    there is no “they.”

    Shit.

    I hate myself,
    I’m not nice,
    I rape myself.
    Fucked with gold lining...

    Power.

    No one took my power away,
    I buried it because I thought They...


    ©rubybluethebeatpoet

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 7w

    I don’t feel right,
    can’t even write,
    They tell me I’m beautiful
    with smiling eyes,
    They tell me they love me,
    my heart starts to freeze,
    I wanna kick their stupid faces in
    til they can’t fucking breathe.

    They raped me,
    took all my power away,
    Is it still rape if I say it’s ok,
    to rape me?
    My programming made me that way.

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 7w

    “They”

    They say I’m nice,
    I’m not nice,
    I hate nice,
    hate them,
    hate their controlling eyes,
    power hungry,
    I’m food supply.

    They connect to my centre,
    my battery life,
    suck me dry
    hold me down so I can’t fly,
    forgotten how,
    stuck in a loop,
    brainwashed and boring,
    worse than that,
    I feel death coming.

  • rubybluethebeatpoet 19w

    Past is now present, presently in past,
    emotional mechanics sail by quantum raft,
    back to a girl who didn’t know how to laugh
    or cry, shaking senseless in confines of dark.

    Dive straight through the trauma, closed little heart,
    hold her and show her advanced counterpart,
    excavate memories, collect fractured parts,
    fuse them with love, a lost time travelling art.

    Philautia miracles blind bright like the moon,
    travel as high waves of Omega attuned,
    discover soft comfort, rock on Rumi’s pontoon,
    essence etched of my soul,
    “the light enters through the wound.”

    ©rubyvisaria