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I see young old skin
Fearing to feel
Paint wearing thin
Truth in a ring-pull

Deliberate distraction does what it must to retract us from us
But none of this has stuck

The privileged pretend, the poor attend
And stringed ones will strive for their view of amends

So shoot off their judge wig as fast as they send it
Use humour to poke, laugh like a blanket

Lie between the meadow and the edge
And wink at clowns with the mask of death...
Stuff is in our blood, a stain on us
Slugging around, these sad star sore guts
Stuff is a stuffy word that’s embarrassing to utter when someone asks you, “What are you doing today... this Summer?”
...
Stuff is what saves us - but stuff bumps and slumps around waiting for its bus
Dress-stressing in its own looks/love - knowing and not -
A stopped migraine, stuff is euphoria sensed through architecture, a sunk shot.
You learn to be the butcher... Sleep with soul hooks...
Dance in the kitchen. Stoop in the shower.
Stake it out, stronger, wiser, these flow-wilters - over-studiers...
Old young bears, hard and soft stuffed in neat beds, hawk hearts bated...
For when we grab us, hug us, twist us, throw us
up-out. Reinstate us...
thepuppeteer Aug 15
Utterly consuming, weaving around my body like a snake. Spiraling and spiraling until there's nothing left of me. You need to leave. You need to get away. Get away. Get away. It makes my stomach drop. "Why is this happening to me?" I ask, to whom I do not know... "I was never like this before. I could challenge the world if I wanted to. So... answer me... why? Why is this happening to me?" And yet... no matter how many times I asked, the thing would not answer. I wondered if I was dying, perhaps that was the reason why all I could feel within my body was an all-consuming feeling of dread and fear. At this point, I was begging the thing for an answer to no avail. I was hopeless, I wanted to do what I could do before. I wanted to explore, to look beyond the world, beyond the stars. But this ****** fear stopped me from doing any of that. The thing patted my head and asked me a question, "Do you think your fear is unreasonable? That it is there for no reason?" It smiled briefly before saying, "You should be grateful, for I may save your life one day."
This was originally supposed to be a poem, but I ended up turning it into a short story instead! I might make a part two, but I'm not 100% sure yet! I wonder if anyone can figure out what the fear being talked about here is... :)
CE Uptain Jul 29
Whoops, time to fill the pages I missed
I’ll use the one about when we first kissed
Our love was young, impulsive, good anytime
I am always yours, will you always be mine
Here we are, much later than before
I am still here; I only want you more
This came in after I skipped some pages.
Matt Jul 2
They call it a temple of knowledge and thought,
A place where young minds are carefully taught.
But what is the lesson? What is the rule?
That learning doesn’t happen at my school.

The classroom’s a stage, the script is rehearsed,
Yet passion is absent—just boredom dispersed.
The teacher recites, but they barely engage,
Tenure protects them, and they never must change.

I ask, Why do I need to memorize this?
They smirk and respond, Because it’s on the quiz.
Centuries of knowledge forced into my head,
But not a **** skill for the life I will tread.

They pile on homework, assignments unceasing,
Stealing my time; my patience decreasing.
It teaches me nothing but how to endure,
A childhood lost—stolen, for sure

They claim to be guides, but barely take part,
More focused on grading than igniting a spark.
If I miss one step, if I fail one test,
I’m labeled as lazy, as less than the best.

Straight A’s mean success, so I play their game,
But knowledge? Oh, no—that's not why I came.
I memorize, cram, then let it all go,
The second the test ends? ****...

I don’t know.

They call us the future, yet chain us to past,
Force us through molds, though none of us last.
We learn to obey, to raise our hand high,
To follow directions— but to never ask why?

For school isn’t built for learners like me,
It’s made for compliance, for mindless decree.
I’m forced to sit here and play through my role
Because learning simply doesn’t happen at my school.
Our schools have failed us as a society. I don't even know how to apply for colleges because my school never taught me. This has been a war we've had to wage and we need change desperately.
A companion poem to:
When Love Grows Old [1]




a differing perspective,
liking the eye opening
view this occluded,
cloudy closed Saturday,
a morning gray, early days,
it comes with opportunities
aplenty & new word combinations
in a new world awaiting a Magellan
I spy discoverer, and
we
two
have more than 150 years
existence tween us and that
makes me grin, because I anointed
her to a new position yesterday:
Chief Technology Officer

the very expensive machine
that supplies us with energizing
fresh plasma, clean blood invigorating, without which
we could nary drag our antiquated
bodies to the next day,
got on the phone, dialed an
800 number,
stuck het hand deep into it's gizzard innards, and released the
machina from it looping flashing
display of displaying its non-cooperation and its message that
It was unwell, abd she operated,
and made out coffee machine well
again



snd gave us this Sabbath, a reason to be thankful having righted this
left footed poet to a younger
poet boy~man
again, a gain!
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