This room is for wayward girls.

In a room filled with curly toes
Are hems of little red dresses
With fragrance sitting like the rose
And glasses filled with excesses

In a room filled with curly toes
Are maidens and all my guesses;
Wombs caring less for embryos
And walls against which one presses.

Each day they grow wild and reckless,
Keeping their rules but breaking laws.
They wound up old and stay senseless,
Perverse is a suitable clause.

Each day they grow wild and reckless,
In the same room where wayward was-
To become pale, thin and helpless
We’re cut by teeth within our jaws.

Leonell
===================================
I have lived in so many rooms,
Some have clocks with a blackened sound.
Others bore girls that flew on brooms,
or those ones who knew how to wound.
I have lived in so many rooms,
Those with glass doors had a soft ground.
Some had curtains with false costumes,
their broken walls made a compound.

So this room is for wayward girls;
Those whose period have window lights.
Their saddened smile is eased with pearls
and how they taste is known by knights.
So this room is for wayward girls;
Those whose demons have had good bites.
They think their path is long with whorls,
and so buried their soul with rites.

Ruddapoet Rudolph
================================
Nine of the virgins can’t make ten.
Little minds undefied cannot.
Stain the bed or flow ink from pen.
Cold minds like the winter’s not hot.

Nine of the virgins don’t make ten.
Careful to boil out from the pot
Or make noise. It’s a Lion’s den.
Trying to seize their escape plot.

But the ones whose heads planted horn,
Stare into devil’s eyes and smile.
It was not that, so they were born.
But for… they trudge an extra mile.

But the ones whose heads planted horn,
Watered it with bier, bitter bile
And cannabis. They let it grow In Thorn,
Till it flooded like river.

Tochi
===================================
This place is messed up in and out
With a nice unpleasant sweet smell.
Caressing the air with calm shout,
Smoke in the air with tales to tell.

This place is messed up in and out
With ugly acts leading to hell,
Singing heavenly songs in doubt
Dancing and killing major cell.

Having nice discussion with gin
In the spirit of juniper,
Stretching and squeezing human skin
Hailing the name of Lucifer.

Having nice discussion with gin
On earth living in Jupiter
Screaming “all we do is win win,”
Standing in place of crucifer.

Bangwan.
=================================
There is this room for girls like you
Who are angry but not sorry.
Loving perfumes as the bees do
While knowing the end of their story.

There is this room for girls like you
Who are not after true glory
Which runs vast like the sea, blue.
Your ways, the world sees as blurry.

What is best for you i can’t tell.
I have no right to judge this shame
Nor know the calls that ring your bell.
Maybe this is what keeps you sane.

What is best for you i can’t tell.
Time I pray will take off that mane
That paves paths that may lead to hell
And save you from your crashing plane.

Miidong
=====================================
Self infliction making her bloom.
Phenomenon in contrary,
To sheets laced out bare in a room.
It’s quiet self explanatory.

Self infliction making her bloom.
Truthful in imaginary.
A cactus, a shadow to gloom.
Clouded mind in controversy.

House for girls whose pens are broken.
Short skirts, mini tops, far gone soul.
For women sold for a token.
Little or less, this worn out sole.

House for girls whose pens are broken.
With words buried, deep down a hole.
Slightly wisphered, yet unspoken.
This is for girls without a soul.

Hypermind
===============================
Red covered where pink should have been.
Lip stains marked by rebellion.
They flash teeth just to be seen,
Lashes like mane of a stallion.

Red covered where pink should have been.
They love like war, moan in hushed tones.
Their veins pop up in streaks of green,
Forlorn bodies crushed by their bones.

This room is full of wayward girls,
Their shells are hallowed with regret
In their breath a false promise swirls
Between their chest lies a vile net.

This room is full of wayward girls,
Lost to families, friends and foes
Their heels thread with unsteady twirls
Beneath their skirts, a bag of woes.

Vera

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