Exclusive Ink

Category: Poetry

  • F.U.N.

    by ISIAH

    The world turns backwards like a hurricane.
    Where religion affects politics,
    the malevolent takes precedent over those who are relevant,
    ignorant like a baby Helen Keller to all the world’s problems.
    Rubik’s cube solution to a 1 + 1 problem,
    Wanderers lost from a straight line that provides them sanction.
    Invisible proofs are ideals by the masses’ beliefs.
    Angry yells because lies hold no truth,
    stuck in a 2 x 4 phone booth,
    phone lines are cut loose,
    no sweet talks to consume weak hearts,
    so no one believes you when you run away,
    and that’s why you breath hard.
    Those panicking breaths are consumed by chemicals that influence the brain,
    disillusioned choice run in and outside the body
    from needle point holes in your arm
    to hallucinogens giving you pictures of Barney.
    What happened to childhood dreams?
    Now it’s minimum-wage manual labor.
    Still stuck in that phone booth with metal bars,
    and the state gave you a quarter,
    but the phone lines are cut loose
    and the repairmen aren’t going to come.
    Yet still, instead of doing what needs to be done,
    we decide to get deceived by what seems to be.

  • HEARTACHE’S QUEST

    by ERIC

    Blared music to shield the agony
    Trying to move mountains telepathically
    Puzzled by the thought of what goes on around a soul
    When the being is unaware of what is happening
    The world and its fallacies
    False notions spoken when asked about the truth of the pursuit of happiness
    A statement that is explained when laughter turns into depression
    When curses are a blessing
    Knowing forward is backwards
    Rapidness is all that is known without resting
    Simply sprinting away from signs of affection
    Cupid’s bow can only shoot a message in a direction that inflicts infection
    That can only be treated with a extended injection of time and rejection
    Being attracted to someone that is attracted to someone else is a course
    In my labyrinth subjected to digression
    Moving on without anyone suspecting is a maze in itself
    In a search for someone forever pleasant
    Remembering the sting as a twisted love story through certain sections
    Reminiscing, skimming through old pictures
    Scribbling out the words I’m fine in ink so it remains in the recollections
    Hoping not to have to make a correction
    To only have to be traumatized by life
    And be on heartache’s quest again

  • GUN

    by BENJI

    Kids are running around today not knowing the definition of a firearm.
    Posting pictures of the weapons, letting others know that their arm is ready to do harm.
    In unfortunate neighborhoods, a familiar sound acts like a 10:30 alarm,
    Letting all be known that the violence being done is ever growing like a farm.
    Maybe it’s the role models they watch and listen to.
    If good modeling was straight, they’d be as straight as a cashew.
    Gucci Mane, Soulja Boy, Lil Wayne to name a few.
    We’d hope that with their mouths something good would pass through…
    Instead we hear,
    “Aye fake n—-, I told you beware of the finga that pulls the trigga.”
    BANG BANG. “Stinga”
    And the process repeats.
    Born. Grow up. Learn the evils that weren’t meant to be learned,
    And do the things that aren’t meant to be done.
    A weapon incorporating a metal tube from which bullets, shells, and other projectiles are propelled by explosive force, learn the definition.
    And before you use it, learn something before you act with intuition.

  • REMORSE

    by ERIC

    Silence can be the loudest action
    Concealing the depression
    With aggression
    Against the thoughts of passion
    Emotions should tangle with apologies
    Of being so bland against the beings that care
    Hovering over the sorrow of what was done even though the apologies soar in thin air
    Morphing into despair
    Shrouding it with anger
    So the world doesn’t know of the sadness that remains constantly there
    Why apologize for the lies of saying it’s okay overloaded from irritation?
    And the endless questionable glares
    In a pool of self loathe gasping for air
    What caused the suffocation?
    Who or what for?
    Was it done by yourself?
    Apologizing for bottling up  the pain that constantly contorts
    In reality opening up the little tea pot short and stout to let steam out from the pores
    The world depicts one’s self being apologetic but inside the thick skull
    Exposure of x-ray that has little remorse

  • VERBAL BULLETS

    by ERIC

    No sky light horizons from the trenches
    Spacious depths equal the minds of the senseless
    Mindless infliction
    Of a vocabulary
    That doesn’t deserve the forceful misuse abusive apprehension
    Picking up the words once read
    And turning them against us
    Slang and slander
    Attack the defenseless
    By using the media to depict vulgar pictures
    A world our past didn’t envision
    Using ain’t, good when it should be well, and making up
    Words for common terms and we remember it
    Teaching our generations bad ways to spell is our predicament
    Hence forth negating the fact some words are case sensitive when read in sentences
    And butchered when said and the environment is listening
    A shot in the dark with verbal bullets leaves no witnesses
    A world where no one is rubbed the wrong way
    Because everyone has been the attacker or the victim
    So the entire society is frictionless