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She looked more alive
dangling from the edge
than she ever had resting
in the lap of luxury.
Were we ever meant to live the ordinary life?
please, i beg you, take care of yourself. when your stomach rumbles, eat. when your eyelids droop, sleep. and when your voice quivers, find a comfortable spot and cry, cry your little heart out. but when you're done, dry your eyes, occupy yourself, and know in your heart that you are better than that. do not be sad, be angry. become a roaring fire and burn the memory of all those who have wronged you.
do not let the leaky faucets **** you. do not drown in a bucket of tears. light it on fire. pour it out. throw it. scream "*******" to sadness because you are so much better than it.
let it out, let it out, let it out, then be done.

because yes love, right now your sadness feels quite heavy but the truth is that it is just a paperweight. learn to turn the page.
 Feb 2015 A Kallakuri
Aisha Ella
I am a man with a broken leg;
Its hard to walk
I can never run again.

He is a man with a broken heart;
His soul is gone,
His life is torn apart.

So who is truly crippled?
The  man with the broken leg,
Or the man with a broken heart?
Love is a dangerous thing. The person who seems perfect could be dying inside, we never really know who is truly broken.
 Feb 2015 A Kallakuri
SG Holter
To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.
tonight i can't write poetry,
a star is just a star.
Here I am standing all awake
Hailing storm inside my head
Lying ahead in front of me
League of lifeless bone and flesh
War, deception, chaos and greed
Kingdom of life is built on them
Once I saw closely at life
The death seemed peaceful to me...


It's a cold cold world out there
Under the glazing sun inside
Dreams turning into nightmares
Ashes started coming alive
Fighting, kicking and screaming
Every breath of waking minutes
When I saw the sleeping corpses
The death seemed peaceful to me...


We grow and grow like a tree
Magic bean high up in the sky
Up we go as we seek
Learning from A to Zee
Time passes with the ride
Mind rushes along the side
More and more I realize
Why death seemed peaceful to me...
He's not my best friend
He's not my brother
He is not a stranger
He's been troubled
He's passed on
He is important.

You're not my best friend
You're not my friend
You are unbelievable
You obviously don't understand
You objectify
You complain
You ignore.

I believe in everyone
I question everything
I don't understand
I can't grasp how anyone could be like you
I now choose not to feel pain when
I can differentiate between pettiness and the real thing.

He is okay,
You are not, and
I will be.
Rest in Peace, Rob. 2/5/94-3/27/14
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