# The saddest poem you've ever read...



## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

*C#/Dminor in Rape and Cancer*

Dear Obi, One Kano-bi
Dear Angels playing poker on a floating cloud castle stuffing your faces with heaven Frito
Dear Demons that sit on my chest when I have night terrors and wake up in paralysis
I look up your images in Google and it seems you were doing the same to the bourgeoisie - fucking artists,
Dear Churches - like the one a man hung himself outside of but no one said a word - my childhood church
Dear Town Halls where wonderful, beautiful women were burned outside of when they were accused for witchcraft
since time immemorial - the reasons why my mother and sister have suffered so much in this cruel world, 
Dear Senator, or men and women who unleash lions upon gladiators, and Congressmen and women giving fellatio to wooden puppets in an oval shaped ridge on a diamond back limo and then beating your kids with lack of affection,
Dear People of the State, hear me for change and hope,
Dear Wilting flowers and Catacombs
Dear Butterflies and better tries
Dear loveless,

I searched, yes I searched for days, for years to find my wrist
So I could slit it open and die slowly staring at the ceiling
and fade away like a lovely Moonlight Sinatra
Fading out of a Turntabalists play-deck
As my blood fills the tub
and I smile warmly to a cracked tile ceiling like I was conveying love to a cherished family member

Yet...I must admit you sent a surge of life through me that day
when I held the razor and bottle of pills before me
and instead I beat my fist into the ground
until it was bloody red, a heaping mess and shed tears
My fist was bloody and I beat my sadness into the ground
And the blood leaked and I could not write for half a year
But it was grand and I felt release
and I even smashed my face into dry wall
I smashed my face into dry wall...tears ran down me, I was ignored, so I took needles and stabbed myself
Then I cried and finally slept, I found rest, I found joy, I found jubilee....

It's true, we've had a good time you and I
We got laid through some spades
We got laid and ran aimlessly in the Arboretum on magic things in college
Magic things I say, things we should not have taken
Things that we only did once
But will change us forever
We did not know
We were young
our curse was altered
But we became players over night even before we knew it
We went from virgins to the ones who slept with all the girls
We became whores even though we were men
We were told men could not be whores
Could not suffer the same psychological issues as whores
But we could and we did and we became whores, men, whores, men whores...male whores

God dammit I don't want to be a whore anymore!
God dammit!
Shit, I broke it, shit, I broke it, It's broken, my brain is broken...

No one was watching and I rode off a ramp
Landed on my head
couldn't see in color for two months
New personality
Thank you broken head...thank you....I'm better now, better grades, better spades, oh shit...
I'm a whore...I'm not like those Alt Lit kids...I was raped but I'm a man...
I was raped by an older woman...there I said it!
Then I became a whore...now...I'm a whore...I'm still a whore...I can't go back in time...I'm a whore...
I'm...
I'm...
Not a virgin...no...I'm a man..I'm...yes, a man can be a whore
A man can lose it...it's never the same
A man can be raped. 
It will never be the same. My self respect is now a mystery. I cannot find it...I do not look in the mirror.

I cannot see me...it opens up the wound and tears flood...
Raped...by a woman older...raped by a school mate..raped, defeated, defiled, ousted from my own psyche.

And that is why we searched, you and I, for the spot between the median nerve and pulma carpal
To slit our wrists and end it like a cool drink of wine on a summer day in galaxy fields
That is why we chain smoked until we puked even though we didn't drink until after
and then we puked again
When women rejected us we didn't take it out on them
We, you and I, hid behind our kitchen closet and heated a hangar
and carved letters into our skin like tattoos so we would never forget
the women who rejected us
and the women who took us, we made love too, but we never loved them
we just gave them an empty cold hard fuck like they wanted
each thrust
we felt raped further and deeper in our selves
we fucked ourselves
we raped ourselves because we were raped.

But we turned, we stopped smoking, we started running.
I told you I would stay by your side and you said you would hug me at night even if 
I didn't want to have sex
you said you wouldn't care, it wouldn't effect you
"I don't care," you said

I wanted it to be true..I huddled in you and spooned you and felt safe deep inside of you
You sheltered me and nurtured me
You were my plutonian heroe
the one who came from outer space
and landed on my lap and told me it was okay to be a man whore
that we were changing and turning a new leaf
soon the drugs shed like my skin
I was alive again
running miles, listening to music, looking at trees, picking roses
PICKING MY NOSE AGAIN
feeling the warm boogers cool as they came off my skin
vital
alive
warm
blood flowing
no longer fearing a sudden rupture in my skin from my self hatred
you nurtured me, kissed me on the lips, even though we were both men
even though we were both boys, and we were both straight, we kissed
and you put your tongue in my throat and I loved it because I knew you wouldn't rape me

And then we discovered someone we loved would soon die
maybe
maybe she wouldn't die?
maybe she would die?
maybe the disease would take her
maybe it would kill her
Christ we're alive now
but she might not be
Christ we're out of the tunnel
christ
christ
christ she's sick
they put staples in her neck
it looks like her head fell off and they sewed it back on
what sort of disease does this
lord
Christ
take me
my wrists
their opening again
no! NO! NO!
those are tears...from my eyes
Lord, christ, help...no...don't let her stay
let her be, take us..sooner us then her take us!!

You and I huddled in the corner contemplating this
She just wanted to get married
her friends got married before her and ostracized her because she was so beautiful
then she got sick
she lost weight and looked like a skinny model
now she'll marry
she's dating
she's about to get married
praise be to Yeshua...or whatever
on my knees...if she gets married and lives SELA SELA SELA!
AMEN! I promise I won't lay in the tub

You hold me again as I lie in fetal position. I am a big strong man lying in fetal position.
I was once a rippling teenager, with muscular thy's, and I smiled and waved at the blue sky and said SELA SELA SELA
I love to draw! I would scream to the sky as I spun in a circle - mom and dad's boy

I Was raped.
I was raped.
I was raped.
She was 13
I was 9
She took me by the hand
BANG BANG
We walked to the closet
BANG BANG
Her brother shut the door and locked it
BANG BANG
She shoved her lips into my mouth
BANG BANG
she grabbed me and raped me
BANG BANG
my baby raped me down.


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## Chesire Tower (Jan 19, 2013)

Thank you for that; it was truly haunting.


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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Chesire Tower said:


> Thank you for that; it was truly haunting.



I appreciate that you read it - heartfelt thnks. It was hard to type. My hands were shaking and I was crying the entire time...I don't really care if it's corny - usually a concern when I write cheap material...It just is...when I go back and read it I can mourn.


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## Chesire Tower (Jan 19, 2013)

OberonHuxley said:


> I appreciate that you read it - heartfelt thnks. It was hard to type. My hands were shaking and I was crying the entire time...I don't really care if it's corny - usually a concern when I write cheap material...It just is...when I go back and read it I can mourn.


It took a lot guts to write what you did; I'm not sure if I could do that. No, I haven't been though that but I suck at talking about my feelings.


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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Chesire Tower said:


> It took a lot guts to write what you did; I'm not sure if I could do that. No, I haven't been though that but I suck at talking about my feelings.



I figured it might be useful. I've been having some problems sleeping and my memories were blocked...it was really weird how these issues started to surface when I just wrote the words. It was like every time I wrote the R word I was drilling deeper and deeper into my psyche. I was afraid because I felt like maybe I was making it up but then I realized, wait a minute, this happened to me and there were emotional affects.

I never thought of emotion as an affect before. As a boy I was quite logical. I didn't think that the reason why I didn't want to be touched or was deathly afraid of getting near a girl was because I was catatonic from the experience. Instead I developed a fixation on my mother and repressed much of my eros thereby going deep into my psyche and dreaming an anima.

In other words it made me 10 years older in one regard and 10 years younger in another. 

Most important from all of this now though is that I understand and can have compassion for other people who have gone through this. I think it might be hard for someone who hasn't experienced this to understand how it affects you and ripples through your life...how you want to stop hating yourself but you can't because you blocked the memory that caused the pain and you had no choice about it...it was your autonomous system that did it..

But I'm grateful for it and pray for my loved one to get better too.....even more important than what happened to me is what happened to her...she had cancer of the throat....the two intertwined in this poem and became very highly therapeutic...she isn't my lover but she is my loved one...my hawk who watched over me...a family member.


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## Chesire Tower (Jan 19, 2013)

OberonHuxley said:


> * *
> 
> 
> 
> ...


You might want to consider getting therapy to help you deal with this PTSD but of course, talking and writing about it helps as well. A lot of women who wind up as prostitutes have been victims of either incest or some type of sexual assault as children. I mention this due to your use of the word, "whore" when referring to yourself. Compulsive sexual behaviour is a frequent outcome of being violated in such a way at an extremely young age.

ETA:I also relate to the other part; my beloved father died from thyroid cancer; so you have my sympathies for that as well.


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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Chesire Tower said:


> You might want to consider getting therapy to help you deal with this PTSD but of course, talking and writing about it helps as well. A lot of women who wind up as prostitutes have been victims of either incest or some type of sexual assault as children. I mention this due to your use of the word, "whore" when referring to yourself. Compulsive sexual behaviour is a frequent outcome of being violated in such a way at an extremely young age.
> 
> ETA:I also relate to the other part; my beloved father died from thyroid cancer; so you have my sympathies for that as well.



Thank you...I will..

I have related the two. It's true...now I understand why I become compulsively sexual with people who want me to and feel bad if I don't....I will certainly consider this when I can. For now I just want to ride the wave of this blissful moment...it's blissful because it feels like something inside of me was discovered that I didn't know...something was restored.


Particularly, I recall the moments when the older girl put her lips on mine and we froze their it felt like my brain was going to explode and that I had done something horribly horribly wrong. I didn't speak for months and felt sick every night and felt like I was despicable...but I didn't even realize it then...strange...so strange...these things called feelings...it's like something new every day.


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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Chesire Tower said:


> You might want to consider getting therapy to help you deal with this PTSD but of course, talking and writing about it helps as well. A lot of women who wind up as prostitutes have been victims of either incest or some type of sexual assault as children. I mention this due to your use of the word, "whore" when referring to yourself. Compulsive sexual behaviour is a frequent outcome of being violated in such a way at an extremely young age.
> 
> ETA:I also relate to the other part; my beloved father died from thyroid cancer; so you have my sympathies for that as well.



And I am really deeply sorry about your father's passing. You have mine too....I lost my grandfather and grandmother to cancer when I was young and they raised me since my parents were in another country so it was like I lost my first dad and first mom too. I know how you feel. They had me from 1-5 and then were gone by the time I was 14. I lived with them the entire time even when my parents were here so they were always there and then suddenly gone...I have a story about my grandmother when she passed away...I might tell it to you sometime but it's sad.


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## Chesire Tower (Jan 19, 2013)

OberonHuxley said:


> * *
> 
> 
> 
> ...


Thank you for that; it's always heart breaking when those we love pass away - especially to such a horrible disease like cancer.


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## Loaf (Mar 27, 2014)




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## Amaryllis (Mar 14, 2014)




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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Amaryllis said:


>


This is a darn sad poem  But I'm glad I read it...lovers always play these games.


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## Sonyx (Mar 7, 2014)

This was an amazing experience to read, it was so real and raw I really felt the emotions you put into it.
Thank you for sharing this.


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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Sonyx said:


> This was an amazing experience to read, it was so real and raw I really felt the emotions you put into it.
> Thank you for sharing this.


Thank you kindly.


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## ForestPaix (Aug 30, 2014)

Saddest poem I ever read was written by my mother...
She's good at writing..gosh. I can't show it to you, because well, it's private. Maybe one day she'll publish if I can convince her.


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## Purrfessor (Jul 30, 2013)

OberonHuxley said:


> I figured it might be useful. I've been having some problems sleeping and my memories were blocked...it was really weird how these issues started to surface when I just wrote the words. It was like every time I wrote the R word I was drilling deeper and deeper into my psyche. I was afraid because I felt like maybe I was making it up but then I realized, wait a minute, this happened to me and there were emotional affects.
> 
> I never thought of emotion as an affect before. As a boy I was quite logical. I didn't think that the reason why I didn't want to be touched or was deathly afraid of getting near a girl was because I was catatonic from the experience. Instead I developed a fixation on my mother and repressed much of my eros thereby going deep into my psyche and dreaming an anima.
> 
> ...


At first your love was fake then it became real. You fight in pain, not love. You may think it is love but the whole time you were fighting. Until you weren't. Then you loved. Now you love.


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## OberonHuxley (Jun 2, 2013)

Stelliferous said:


> At first your love was fake then it became real. You fight in pain, not love. You may think it is love but the whole time you were fighting. Until you weren't. Then you loved. Now you love.


Brilliantly said Stelliferous. I never realized how amazing your signature is. I was reading it about ten minutes ago...I love INfP'S. You represent them well.


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## 66393 (Oct 17, 2013)

ForestPaix said:


> Saddest poem I ever read was written by my mother...
> She's good at writing..gosh. I can't show it to you, because well, it's private. Maybe one day she'll publish if I can convince her.


Out of curiosity, what is her MBTI type?


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## ForestPaix (Aug 30, 2014)

kev said:


> out of curiosity, what is her mbti type?


infj


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## Tezcatlipoca (Jun 6, 2014)

After you were bitten by a wolf and transformed

into a monster who feeds on other human beings



each full moon and who, therefore, in disgust



wants to die, you think The desire to die is not

feeling suicidal. It abjures mere action. You have



wanted to die since the moment you were born.



Crazy narratives—that lend what is merely

in you, and therefore soon-to-be-repeated,



the fleeting illusion of logic and cause.



You think Those alive there, in the glowing rectangle,

lead our true lives! They have not, as we have been



forced to here, cut off their arms and legs.



There, you dance as well as Fred Astaire,

though here, inexplicably, you cannot.



Sewer. Still black water



above whose mirror

you bend your face. Font.


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## Mange (Jan 9, 2011)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

w.h. auden


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## Allonsy (Mar 30, 2017)

When the low heavy sky weighs like a lid
Upon the spirit aching for the light
And all the wide horizon’s line is hid
By a black day sadder than any night;

When the changed earth is but a dungeon dank
Where batlike Hope goes blindly fluttering
And, striking wall and roof and mouldered plank,
Bruises his tender head and timid wing;

When like grim prison bars stretch down the thin,
Straight, rigid pillars of the endless rain,
And the dumb throngs of infamous spiders spin
Their meshes in the caverns of the brain,

Suddenly, bells leap forth into the air,
Hurling a hideous uproar to the sky
As ’twere a band of homeless spirits who fare
Through the strange heavens, wailing stubbornly.

And hearses, without drum or instrument,
File slowly through my soul; crushed, sorrowful,
Weeps Hope, and Grief, fierce and omnipotent,
Plants his black banner on my drooping skull.


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## Penny (Mar 24, 2016)

here i sit brokenhearted
had to shit but only farted


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## JaketheDog (Apr 4, 2017)

Wisława Szymborska - "The Cat in an empty flat"

The cat in empty flat
To die – you can’t do this to him.
What he would do 
In an empty flat.
Climb the walls. 
Rub against the furniture.
Supposedly nothing has changed here,
and yet it’s converted.
Supposedly not displaced,
and yet it’s moved away. 
And in the evening the lamp is not lit.

You can hear footsteps on the stairs,
but not those. 
The hand that puts fish on the plate
is not the one that once did. 


Something does not begin here 
at its usual time. 
Something does not happen here
how it should. 
Someone was here, continuously,
and then suddenly disappeared
persistently not coming back. 

Every wardrobe was looked.
Shelves were run through. 
It was also checked under the carpet.
And even breaking the ban
the papers were scattered. 
What else could be done. 
Just sleep and wait. 


Let him return, 
let him show up. 
Then he will find,
that you can’t do this to cat. 
It will be going in his way,
as if did not want to, 
very slowly, 
on paws being resentful. 
Without any screeches of joy at the beginning.


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