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 Feb 2023 Ben M
Natalie N Johnson
Yes, I'm staying 'active'.
No, I'm not motivated
to do the things I
used to enjoy,
but I'm still doing them
because look at me,
I continue to operate
through the dysfunction.

The question is whether
this means I'm not so bad,
or my desire to not look
like the world's laziest slob
is the only thing getting
me out of bed.

Gotta get that Vit. D,
take mental health walks
and see the people I love,
all while smiling through
what feels like
the thickest fog and looking
through leaden eyelids.
All I want to do
is go back to
a dreamless sleep.
Wake me up
when I'm a person who
functions by desire
and not by design.
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴘɪᴛʏ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀғʟʏ
ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴏɴʟʏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴜs sᴛᴀʏ ғᴏʀ ᴀᴡʜɪʟᴇ
ғʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴇᴛ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ
ʜᴏᴘᴇғᴜʟ ʏᴇᴛ ᴍᴏᴜʀɴғᴜʟ
ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ
ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀ ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴ
ғᴏʀ ᴏᴜʀ ғᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ?

©ɪɢᴍs 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸
 Apr 2022 Ben M
Wise Makafui Afun
If you're right, write
Even if you're wrong, write
If you're free, write
Even if you're  busy, find time to write

Write cos it's your right
Write cos you need no rite to write
Write cos you have the ability to write
And that's enough to begin to write

Write when it's boring
Write when it's interesting
Write when it's indescribable
So in any situation, just write

Write the past
Write the future
Write the real
Write your imagination

What you write will remind you
What you write may inspire you

So I write...
Just write
Wrote this for a poet friend who waits for the right moment to write a piece though having a lot of beautiful ideas but a little number of pieces.
I say, just write any idea that comes to mind as far as it hurts no one or is criminal. At times, by that moment you call the "right time" comes, you may even forget what you wish to write about.
 Apr 2022 Ben M
Crow
Vesper
 Apr 2022 Ben M
Crow
meet me by the sunset tree
meet me at the lonely sea

meet me now and meet me then
meet me soon and yet again

meet me while the music plays
meet me through the brightest days

meet me with a broken rose
meet me where the water flows

meet me neath a weeping moon
meet me past a tarnished noon

meet me on my lowest tide
meet me even if I lied

meet me when the tale is told
meet me as the wind grows cold

meet me in the sullen chill
meet me if you love me still
 Apr 2022 Ben M
silentwoods
Winter springs
into summer,
Quick
as the setting sun.
Summer falls
into winter
Slowly,
and then all at once.
 Apr 2022 Ben M
Natasha
I met you in September
When the leaves were just tempted to change
I met you in September
When the earth felt like autumn in the rain
I met you in September
3 months shy of my birthday
I met you in September
apart from headache or drama
I met you in September
listening to Frank, Kendrick and Lana.

I met you in September
and so I say it clear
I only met you in September
because it's my favourite month of the year.
I met someone, but not in September. It was actually in July 2 years ago.
 Mar 2022 Ben M
Mona
Disfigured
 Mar 2022 Ben M
Mona
I'm a square trying to fit inside a circle
All my sides are bruised,
My story is now a rip off,
Cause my original one didn't fit the mold's strangle.

I remember when I was just a small circle,
Falling through vessels,
Gushed at by my inner circle,
When I adapted with the world I grew right angles.

Back to square one, I iced all my bruises,
When one almost healed,
I Found my old self,
today's leftovers, and me in a love triangle.
 Mar 2022 Ben M
Empire
I’ve always hated
That I wasn’t perfect
I writhed in agony
Hating myself for what I am
Human

My family wasn’t perfect
My friends weren’t perfect
I wasn’t perfect
Nothing was perfect

But constantly I was confronted
With this image
This abstract concept
Of what I was supposed to be
And it was always
A model of perfection
The perfect life
The perfect lie
And I believed it

They always had good intentions
To give me my “best life”
But no one lives like that
We have so many flaws
Our best life cannot be
A perfect life
But no one told me

They made it look
Like they all could do it
But all I was seeing
Were masks and games
To hide their imperfection
So I learned to hide mine
Behind smiles and niceties

But all the while
I was dying
From the
Lies of perfection
The poet
of the night
closed her
eyes, and
dreamed of
little stars
as details
in the small
moment of
beauty she
beheld, as a
painting
once hidden,
now coming
alive before
her eyes, as
wondrous
as when
she had
first
met the
pages
of a book,
and held
them
more
dearest
than the
petals of
a flower
held close
to her
heart,
forever in
bloom.
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