Filthy
The Pain
If I do not change I only have myself to blame For I am who I am Because of the pain Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historian3 months ago in Poets
The Tragic Love Story of Qays and Layla
The Tragic Love Story of Qays and Layla True story Long ago, in the deserts of Arabia, in the tribe of Banu ‘Amir, two children were born: Qays ibn al-Mulawwah** and his cousin Layla al-‘Amiriyyah**. From the moment they could walk, they played together among the tents of their tribe, chasing each other across the sands, sharing laughter, and forming a bond that grew stronger with every passing year.
By America today 3 months ago in Poets
My Voice. Content Warning.
Feels like I’m stuck in this inferno of what I thought was love. It will never be, abuse is not love it always ends in catastrophe. Coming from a long line of people, a parent who is evil and a group of individuals who wishes to deceive you. You get stuck pained in different strokes, hoping to never commit the worst praying and prying your hands away from the dirt. Listening to the sounds of trouble lurk, as you lay still hoping that you know your worth. Self love only exists from the makeup people wear to hide the pain behind the shadows that kept love hidden, long enough before we met at the time of goodbye. Love shouldn’t make you cry, in love you shouldn’t live a lie, and that’s all I’ve seen, pain overloaded through a man’s fist, yells and screams, plastered walls drug induced ranged, mixed with alcohol. I see you, a person filled with the definitive definition of what he thinks are his own failures, hoping to find a woman weak enough to wail her, just to impale her. Gratitude comes from the grace of my discernment, you have left me cold as the pavement showed me no mercy. Withered away underneath the concrete, the rose still blossoms but no one gets to see what’s bury beneath. I hate that I met you, pain became a staking change where my opportunities didn’t fail you, although, you will never love. My mother will be the judge that gave you the gavel to hurt my heart, you broke me in places because I didn’t know my heart. I gave endlessly to beings who considered me a problem while I suffered through survival. I shadow pain like I’m trying to learn the impossible, how can I forgive when y’all refuse to let me let go. I want to heal and this is what you know. You promise that the end was near only to find out love has gave birth to everything I had begin to fear. The mirrored light is only a reflection of a soul you tried to bury and leave the corpse hidden behind a wooded area hoping that I was Jesus’s bride and not carried. Using the Bible for more than a conscious effort, and teaching the word to my beneficiaries. I hate this sorrow and I’m not sorry for not loving you anymore!
By Charelle Landers4 months ago in Poets
“Short Nothing. Let’s see what the algorithm worships today.”
I created this for my bird. We are living in an authoritarian society in America now. Sweetie is my muse for writing and music. I bond well with birds. We both love Syfy and glitches in the matrix when they happen. Floating in a busted bubble I breathe in, breathe out slowly. I do not get many views. I studied AI on my own with Copilot assistance. I like the tools it provides for photography, videos, & music. I write my own stuff. I began music & voice training at an incredibly early age. THAT IS BORING AND NOT INTELLECTUAL ENOUGH! I laugh out loud, I cry out, I sigh, relief from the grinding news of death, destruction, & chaos. I am 76 and still rockin!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
