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 1977° 
preston
the forming of substance 03
Stephan W
(fallen, from grace)
~

"I have just come back from a party
where I was the life and soul.
Witticisms flowed from my lips.
Everyone laughed and admired meβ€”
but, I left,
yes.. that dash should be as long as the radii
of the earth's orbit β€”β€”β€”
and wanted to shoot myself."

~Soren Kierkegaard
~ ~

It is not enough...

It is never enough--
we need too much

But, here on earth
we have to make it work
so we call good-enough, "good enough"
and with gratitude, we
learn to take in what it's available to us.
But the truth behind it all remains--
the fact that we need so much;

Where is one that is complete..
and if so, complete--

compared to what?

There is a perfection- cloud-hidden
within everything that is human
The spirit within the body that carries it--
b r e a t h e sΒ Β out perfection's truth,
though- we may only experience it
in the moments between awake and asleep-

the human psyche is bent on survival--

and in a broken world, the thought of an
inherent perfection brings on too much--
our own condemnation even.
In our minds we fall too short of even the
concept of it.

Or do we?


The gravitational pull towards Muse
borderlines on that of addiction;
its stirrings touch what is primal in us--
once-inexpressible words, suddenly find expression;

And a Beethoven finds musical notes
that lead to a symphonic masterpiece.

"Words from Heaven" is not saying too much
concerning the poet, or lyricist.
"Music from Heaven" is easier to say,
when concerning a Mozart or Beethoven.
Or a Tchaikovsky.

Perfect reaching into the imperfect?

How about 'imperfect'- feeling, and then
expressing pieces of its own long-forgotten
perfection--
things experienced within the sphere-
made tangible again through the flesh,
simply in a moment of remembering..
and also that of a temporary forgetting--
of limitation.

The beauty of despair is in the heartbreak
of finding out that what is right in front of us
is never truly enough

or worse yet--
possibly even harmful to our own true needs.

What we need most is all and everything
that helps us remember--

That we came from perfection,
and were loved there first,
and now, within the imperfect-
are unable to be denied by the perfect that is
forever inherent in us--

It is completely unable to deny that
which is of its own.

If we were to never despair over what is in
front of us, we might never be compelled
to find the strength to remember-
flashes of the primal--
that of our own history, of perfection.

And if there ever were ever an evil,
or a Darkness-
it would be hell-bent on keeping us
from finding that very thing.


Sometimes.. just sometimes,Β Β death
looks just like love.


"If I find in myself desires which
nothing in this world can satisfy,
the only logical explanation is
that I was made for another world."
~CS Lewis
xox

08/27/17
 374° 
Rachel
I ate the cake,
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β the lemonade
Cool and sweet
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β but left the pain
In the back of my throat
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β like an aftertaste
 275° 
Annie
I FEEL LIKE I AM DROWNING
IN THE DISGUSTING, ****** MUSH OF MY BRAIN
HELP
HELP
HELP
I'M SCREAMING
but people laugh it off like it's a funny joke
i laugh too
because life is a joke

MY BRAIN IS BLENDED
MY LIMBS ARE DISMEMBERED
MY TORSO IS IS GUTTED
AND I'M LAUGHING
i've had too many mental breakdowns recently
 216° 
RΓ©ne Curtis
Dawns consumes Twilight,
to  a  wishers  dream .
She's  his  first  rays,
he's  her  moonbeam,
her  dark  lullaby
his  sweet  morning  song.
She  breaths  in  him  life, his  love  makes  her  strong.
In  that  moment,
as  they  lay  sΒ­ide  by  side, their  world  is  at  peace dawn  and  twilight  collide.

Β©RΓ©ne Curtis
Short brevity that rhymes personifying Dawn and Dusk
 192° 
Aseph
i've dreamt enough romance
to know that I want it
and I've lived enough days
to know I can't feel it
short thing before I sleep
 181° 
Rhys Hebbs
As I gazed upon the face of my enemy
I saw warped reflections of all that I used to be.
I pondered upon my fate within the Great Yonder
Feeling absurd to declare;
Whether the ****** or the Buddha emerged
as I fought with the demons submerged
 178° 
chang cosido
πšπš˜πš—πš 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πš”πš—πš˜πš ?
πš’πšŸπšŽ πšπš›πšŠπšŒπšŽπš πš–πšŠπš™πšœ
πš˜πš— πš’πš˜πšžπš› πšœπš”πš’πš—
𝚜𝚘 πš–πš’ πšπš’πš—πšπšŽπš›πšπš’πš™πšœ πš”πš—πš˜πš 
πš πš‘ich πš™πšŠπš›πšπšœ 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πš‘πšžπš›πš
πšŠπš—πš πš πš‘ich πš™πšŠπš›πšπšœ πšπš˜πš—'𝚝.
πš’πšŸπšŽ πš–πšŽπš–πš˜πš›πš’πš£πšŽπš
πšŠπš•πš• πšπš‘πšŽ πš›πš’πšŸπšŽπš›πšœ
πš’πš— πš’πš˜πšžπš› πšŸπšŽπš’πš—πšœ
πšŠπš—πš πš’ πš”πš—πš˜πš 
πš πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ πš’πš πšŠπš•πš• πšŽπš—πšπšœ.
πš’πšŸπšŽ πšπš›πšŠπšŒπšŽπš πš–πšŠπš™πšœ
πš˜πš— πš’πš˜πšžπš› πšœπš”πš’πš—
𝚜𝚘 πš πš‘πšŽπš— πš–πš’ πšπš’πš—πšπšŽπš›πšœ
πšŠπš›πšŽ πš—πš˜ πš•πš˜πš—πšπšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ
𝚝𝚘 πšπš›πšŠπšŒπšŽ πš’πš,
πš’πš πš πš’πš•πš• πš”πš—πš˜πš  πš‘πš˜πš 
𝚝𝚘 πšŠπšŒπš‘πšŽ πšπš˜πš› πš–πšŽ.
 142° 
WILLIAM WORTHLESS
have you seen the flowers breaking through the dawn
rising from there beds as they begin to yawn.

standing up so proudly to face another day
showing of there splendour  making life so gay

giving off a scent growing wild and free
growing there so proudly for all of us to see.
 131° 
R
I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.
 130° 
Kerli Tulva
Are we the blossoms of a flower?
Blooming but yet retreating
into our protected element.

Going through growth
do we need a plan
or do we just blossom
and find happiness
in the moments of life's
endless incessant swing.

Changing as the seasons
fly effortlessly yet diversely
by our perception of life.
 129° 
Rafael Melendez
Each day I don't see you,
Is another day closer to the day I do.
 101° 
Traveler
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
Β Β Not a single!
ExclamationΒ mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!
 68° 
Naveen Malhotra
A follower
Not always a fan
Lion follows
The zebra
Zebra's death knell
A follower
Not always a fan
Cat follows the mice
Mice's enemy
A follower
Not always a fan
Termites follow the books
Books' destroyer
A follower
Not always a fan
Water followsΒ Β theΒ Β *****
*****'s eroder
A follower
Not always a fan
Fire follows the woods
Woods' destroyer
A follower
Not always a fan
Ego follows your head
Head turns blind
Learn it
The simple way
Your follower
Not always a fan
 65° 
Daa Rajab
It might be said:

That is why they do not like me;
I do not speak much,
And when I do, my voice protrudes
Beyond their desire.
I do not speak of myself,
But if I were to do so, they
Would assume I relish the epiphany of egotism.
...
 60° 
grumpy thumb
If I could
I'd take your smile
put it away until times weren't kind
I'd add it to the wink you left behind
That would carry me through most anything.

If I could
I'd preserve your kiss
Keep it safe until times of loneliness
Reminds me distance keeps you from me
I'd open the lid and let the touch
Carry me to you
 55° 
potery thought
Tum
Tum jante ** mujhe jeena nahi aata tumhare bina
door rehna nahi aata tumhara bina ,
jeena ke lia umar bhar tera sath chahta hoon
mujhe akela rehna nahi aata
** jyea agr meri toh zindagi se kuch or mujhe lena nahi chahta ..
tum jante ** mujhe jeena nahi aata tumhare bina .
 53° 
Kadija
The love I have for you seems almost unconditional. The only condition is my very existence. To not love you, is to not exist.
 44° 
Bethany M P
The sand shifts beneath your feet,
Your heart relaxes to a quiet beat,
The waters seem to breathe day and night,
Close your eyes take it in do not fight,
The wind satisfies your soul,
Just relax now you've played your role,
Touch the sand now scoop it up,
Hold it in your hands and form a cup,
Now let it seep through towards the sandy ground,
Your soul was lost but now its found,
The weather you desire will come your way,
Just stand closer to the bay,
Soon life will be eternal for you and me,
Look beyond the ocean and tell me what you see.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β -open heart poetry
 42° 
maybe marc
despuΓ©s de disociarme en tu frente
distorsionarlo todo lentamente,
no creo que sea diferente,
juntamos nuestros cuerpos en la maΓ±a
pero me pasΓ© la noche entera
queriΓ©ndote mΓ‘s cerca.
y luego de que te fueras
yo quedΓ© como siempre
sintiendo tu cariΓ±o ausente
yesque quiero que mi cuerpo para ti sea
un desafΓ­o.
pero que me revientes.
que me olvide del trastorno
del no estar realmente,
que nos llevemos juntos
al presente,
pero no quiero acarrearte.

y si me desvistes lentamente
si me aclaras la mente
aΓΊn asΓ­ vuelvo a rechinarme los dientes
a sentirme perdida en todo esto que va bien.
( : )

no puedo parar
He
Broke my wings
So I couldn’t

Fly

So I stole his soul
So he couldn’t

Die
 40° 
Lee Carter
Hypocrisy is its own critique.
The shadow of an argument that casts shade upon itself.
 37° 
Battery
I sit alone up here,
alone with all my fear.
I have no place to go
heavy winds decide to blow.
I can't face them,
the shadows of my mind
I won't face them,
I would rather hide.

I sit alone in a white room,
alone with misery.
we'd no longer be alone
if you give us your company.
this room is bland
like my thoughts
decorations nonexistent,
like my smile.

I guess I'll be here,
For a while.
 36° 
Meca
Time for bed,
Rest your head,
I'llΒ Β protect you dear,
from the nightmares you bare,

Close your eyes,
Count to three,
You'll be safe with me,
I promise you my dear,
A sweet lullaby for a furry buddy or to your precious little flowers β™₯️
.
Feeling that my parenting days will be over as they start to get older
 34° 
Marie-Lyne
27
Dreams
do come true
even if
we don't expect it
 31° 
keila skie
I know
You care about me
10 more people do
Yet I can't get rid
Of this feeling
Of doom

I know
I have you
10 more people too
Yet I can't find a person
To talk to
late at night
 29° 
misha
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
 29° 
Pepper Dove
When hopes and dreams
Are soon to come
I rise to face
The morning sun
Just when you think you will soon fall asleep, the sun decides to come out.
 29° 
ShadowSpy
The beauty of
a broken heart
That doesnt need
to be healed
 26° 
Abby
Not everything needs a poem
Sometimes
it’s already

good enough.
A friend of mine told me
I write when I’m sad
She said it is as if I am in pain
And I said when I write it rains
When I put the pen on paper the clouds get dark
And when I stop
The birds of the sky sings
Coming out to play as the sun is out
 25° 
Erin Riley
You asked why
it’s so hard
for me
to speak up
for myself.

I looked
into your eyes,
took a breath
that swallowed
you whole.

Inside is a girl
asking questions
and looking
for answers
her smile
would never
talk about.
 25° 
Rupert Pip
Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.
Get to know me like I do you; inside and out.
 25° 
REY
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
β€œI’m tired,”
β€œI’m a failure,”
β€œI’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
 23° 
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
β€œWe’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
 21° 
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
 20° 
Ashley Jerome
Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck
by Alice Thyne, but i can relate so much
 20° 
Megan H
Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?
I'm sorry I haven't written a while! Love you all
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