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  Nov 2021 Adelaide London
Sam Lawrence
Forgive me, but I don't
want to explore my feelings,
backpack through insecurity
or interrail across buried pain.
There is no pride to be found
in travelling to those places
or even in a triumphant return.
Instead, I'll make my feelings
comfortable by giving them
a seat inside a steady room,
beside a window with a view
Sticks and stones broke my bones
But Sad is the only thing that really hurt me.

Spell it for me
Say it for me
Define it for me
Use it in a sentence
- Sad is patient and impossibly slow.

Sad, sad is a smile. One that turns up at the pink corner but doesn't turn up in the eyes.

Sad is a scar on your left shoulder blade. Zig zagging it's way toward your bumpy all-too-visible spine.

Sad is the boy you think you love kissing your person with his fast open palms.

Sad is the few hours later when he is gone but his rough, soft hands somehow still linger everywhere unseeable and still passionately untouched.  

Sad is static sound.
The crinkling of black and grey and white fuzzies.

Sad is not knowing if you really want to scream or cry.

Sad is rough knees and calloused hands.
Sad is no more easy air. It is the crawling for molecules.

Sad is cold and dark, but only on some days, because Sad likes to play these tricks where you wake up happy and you exist on that day happy and you fall asleep happy, and you think that you might just finally be getting happy.
But then your alarm clock goes and instead of the 'Beep Beep' it should be shouting, it's really Sad screaming in your ear that there's nothing to get up for.
And you know that Sad is back.

Sad needed a rest from all of the sad it's caused, so it took a vacation in the lost happy places of your mind, drank a margarita, and smirked at your ignorance.

Sad is the day after the happy existence when Sad feels as if it needs a confidence boost.
So Sad tells you to break skin.
Beautiful, smooth, ivory skin that you don't really think you should be breaking, but you've lived so long with Sad being right that Sad must be right.
So you break it.

You break it in the most awful, vertical line.
It follows the trail of your blue veins and opens wide with red.
And stupidly, poetically, you expect purple.
But Sad tells you that it's blood.
So don't kid yourself
Because ******, blood is red.

Sad is this moment.
The moment that you've realized that maybe, after all this time, Sad has been in charge for too long.
The very same moment that is probably too late to save whatever Sad left behind.

Spell it for me
Say it for me
Define it for me
Use it in a sentence
- Sad is patient, impossibly slow, and victorious
Early morning poem since I'm up and definitely not sad.
  Oct 2019 Adelaide London
Her words will light a fire
underneath deniers, eye-to-
eye, take on the liars, I, too
have too long uttered silence
while our children quietly
despised us, we, even me
who knew, choked it down
the unclean smoke unspoken
yes, how dare we leave this life
behind for generations to bare
our crimes, and yet they rise
above to breathe fresh air
the clean O2 of burning desire
searing, shouting utter truth
to wake the world, to sing
and single out, to recognize
a lie when it is a lie, FIERCE
like fire, beautifully reactionary
aflame, to inflame, now is here
your time, rebel, my rebel child
fight for your very life, your future
children, species, for all mankind.
FIERCE, like Greta.
The People cry out
  Who will save us?
We are buried alive with deception

Dwelling like beasts in spoils of luxury
Creeping around like blighted scarabs
    growing ever stronger with rancid mouthfuls of cheat.

King of neither world
Hurler of hopes
Admonisher of dreams
Do not silence our awakening

You must save us!

I am Ha-ha
  am I to be loved by you?

It is I alone who can strike
a single chord

[though strumming with puny hands I too have limits]

Like so many drops of sweat
trickling down your spine, I caress.

In my kingdom fear reigns
   each of you
a harnesser of the means

know that I have not come to fulfill but to destroy

******, killing, stealing
Mankind will be churned underground to be reborn with burning flesh

consummate death
thy liberty is dead!

So decrees  Ha-ha

The People whimper
  do we even deserve you?
Adelaide London Mar 2018
i am more lonely than you think i am
and i am not happy

and this poem
has no poetic flow
or rhythm

its just the heavy weight
of empty words

punctuationless sentences
to be barely coherent

i am lonely
and i am sad
you aren't him
no one will ever be.
if i'm being honest,
he isn't even him anymore.

the first boy I ever loved
I loved when we were 8
playing on the playground
the first heartbreak I had
I had when I was 10
two years went too fast

he grew into someone I no longer recognized
all harsh words
and scrutiny

I'm not me anymore
No longer can I look in the mirror
and say I see the 9 year old in love
with a boy who would still make
her hurt today.

you aren't him
which I am thankful for
I don't think my heart,
even 10 years later,
could handle another him

the way you make me feel
reminds of him
all sarcasm
and witt

but now the bite marks
that I'm trying to convince
myself are Love Bites
are still sore.

and yes,
I know I'm looking for validation
in the wrong places.
but so far it's all I can get

your hands  rough on my skin
your words rough on my ears

I'm beginning to think
the two of you

are more alike
thank I thought.
  Jan 2018 Adelaide London
I can hear you crying through the walls,
the muffled, choking of your feelings.
you're falling apart before my very soul,
and all I can do is knock on your door.
I just want to be your friend again.
Open up to me, Kinac.

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