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 Jun 2020 GaryFairy
Ale
Scalp burning with erratic perturbation-
Wisps of hair detached from pale flesh-
Shaking fingers gripping into carved moons on dented skin-
The drug is in the stream, causing perpetual commotion.

And it flutters, flying like a bird
around the space of my flimsy stomach,
then a ferocious lion, jumping and *******
with not shame whatsoever,
not paying attention to the simple fact that I
have been left in awe -an understatement for such epiphany-
by words written by a stranger, strangely intimate,
resonating firmly against my rib cage.

My heart in a hurry to reach its eventual demise,
but the lack of care evident, for your words have
spoken to me in such a distinctive way, that
I don’t need anything anymore to keep breathing, other than
the poet softly whispering words in my ear,
uncovering them, when they were previously stuffed
with relentless loathing, spitted venom from ignorants.

They showed me that it was not mine,
that it never belonged in my system.
They taught me how it feels
to love something again.
And for that, I’m forever grateful.
I’m not sure if this stream of consciousness makes much sense, so please consider the fact that I wrote it with an unnatural amount of caffeine in my system while reading a poem that shattered me. I just wanted to say thank you to the poets that actively choose to share their poetry in this site. If you are reading this please know that your poetry has changed me in ways I thought impossible, definitely for the better. Your words have even saved me from my own self, so I feel like I will always owe you something. Thank you once again for choosing to deviate from the norm and choosing to follow that feared artistic path! You are touching hearts, and will keep doing that as long as you write. Thank you!
 Jun 2020 GaryFairy
Graff1980
I’ve been walking
five or ten
steps out of sync
with all of them;

Just behind
these troubling times
and out of line
I hoped to find
humanity,

observing the disturbing
acts of people hurting
other people,
just to get through to
the good hidden
in plain view.

Light sparklets
spitting from
the light sockets
where poetry
and golden dreams
illuminate
what really makes us great.

But today
hateful claims have cleaved
the heart that longed to be
reprieved from this disease
that greed has infected us with.

My heart longs to be freed
from the sentence we all serve
in our mental penitentiaries,
these imaginary prisons
society has constructed
to keep our good intentions
obstructed.

I’ve been trying to see
all of the human beauty,
handshakes, and hugs,
heartfelt words exchanged because
love and compassion
have become
an instinct
not a well-thought-out reaction.

I don’t think
I can say for sure
if this is truth
or a fiction I use to obscure
how much it hurts
to preach love
and not be heard,
to know the cure
and offer it freely
while people swallow
the very poison
in which they wallow.

So, I might need
a vacation from humanity,
but I wanted to check-in
on all of you
in my poorly written
verses of gentle affections.
 Oct 2019 GaryFairy
Bogdan Dragos
well
there's plenty of cutesy names to
call one's children
but his was 'unlovable trash'
He remembered it from the time he was in the crib
They held him there
for longer than most parents
held their kids in cribs. Though only dad
called him so
because he constantly claimed he wasn't his

unlovable trash

he had the wrong skin tone
was too pale
with curly orange hair
and freckles

but mom always pretended she didn't
hear
the words
unlovable trash
she would act as if they were never uttered

and growing up
he thought
unlovable trash was a good thing
thought it was how you show love to your loved
ones

"Mom, you’re unlovable trash."

she was so happy to hear it
she burst into tears and went into the
kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine
and drank it all by herself. What an
unlovable trash she was

Unfortunately
by the time he could pronounce the lovely
words
father was no longer in his life
but father too
was an unlovable trash
 Oct 2019 GaryFairy
Bogdan Dragos
because it’s nice to be young
because it’s nice to be in your
early to mid twenties
and it’s nice to do the thing
after you’ve done the thing

the thing that comes after you’ve
done the
thing is always
the same
but the thing that leads to the thing is
often different

this night it was white powder
they shared it neatly
between each other
and then climbed into bed

“Christ,” he said. “I still can’t believe you
****** **** for this ****. And
a carload of it. What was it, like
four, five guys?”

“Oh, shut your hole, you pauper-***.
If you had a job like a decent *******
I wouldn’t have to do that ****, you know?”

“****, baby, don’t make this
trip worse than it is.”

“You started it.”

“Whatever, let’s just get to the next thing
already.”

“I haven’t even bathed. You know,
after taking on that carload…”

But it was too late to think.
the first thing kicked in
hard
and it lead to the other
and a brain wasn’t needed for any of them

and the cold wind blew
through the broken
window
and dried their sweat
 Oct 2019 GaryFairy
ThePoet
Sometimes we find
that our inners hide
Unable to break free
from their confines
So we let them grow
and overflow inside
To course through the
veins of all our lines

©
 Oct 2019 GaryFairy
Graff1980
The nightmare,
the place where
she kept me
in deep despair,

I do not go there
anymore.

The sharp shark shadows
that used to follow,
the cold hollow
shallow hallways
where I felt no hope,

do not remain.

I still feel
a tinge
of past pains,

but I do not
have to live
in that same space.

I know where
I come from,
the storm of
a raging mom
who is not capable
of growing,

so I am moving on.

There will be
no healthy
reconciliation,
no fantasy
family
reunion
and forgiving,
no grand
finale
happy ending.

There will
only be me
living.
as i gaze up high

i observe a forever ashen cloudy sky

begrudgingly one boot,
then the other

my genuine thirst for the day is solitude and cover

away, the place where people i push

tormented broken hearted mind of mush

"dear john" is not for me

even though this landscape is not where i want to be

dispatch the clouds

a lunar or solar moment my eyes will never see

set my mind and soul eternally free

basking in longevity under the canopy

the canopy of your shaded tree
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