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 9h J
Mark Bell
Love island
Trouty lips
Lovely ladies
With gorgeous
Hips.
An arcade
Of human flesh
Boys and girls
A reality mess,
Im not a fan as
You can guess
It’s just a market
Where you can sell
Your flesh.
This is the pits
Cheap TV
Leave love island
To sink in the sea.
Reality TV
Is not reality
Just making
Rich so called
Talentless
Celebrities
 1d J
Victoria
Experience taught me
to accept *** as enthusiastic and passive
at the same time

Experience taught me
having **** *** is
admitting that I have no control
And I may choose to have no control
but you can't choose for me

Experience taught me
that I am responsible
for my own *******
We use metaphors in poetry.
Something dramatic and attention-catching
to stand in for something ordinary.
Metaphors are poet's best friend.
After all, a poem without descriptive language is just
a really dramatic essay.
So my question is?
How do you know when they stop being metaphors?
Would you even ever know?
If it's dramatic enough,
no one will know.
Eerie concept...
We were born in the forest,
Living in the shadows,
Clinging to our loved ones
In the dark, under the trees.
Life was good then,
We had picked fruit from branches
And swung on them for joy.
And there was no greed
Or jealousy.
Over millions of years,
We lived in harmony,
Until the forest changed;
The garden shriveled and
Faded away as we watched.
Our lives were rearranged.
Some among us ventured out.
Giving in to our sin: curiosity.
We turned the grasslands
into pavement and stone
And we endured pain to walk
Down in the street, surrounded
by canyons of concrete and steel.
The powerful gather now
and hoard what was once shared.
Hors d’oeuvres are served,
Placating the hunger of the omnipotent,
that is never stated;
They will keep taking from us
As long as we allow it.
Even as they wallow in wealth,
They plot to plunder riches
and destroy the world,
scraping the land
and scouring the sea.
But one day, some loner, a rebel
May emerge from the shadows,
Dark-clad, filled with inchoate rage.
He will find like-minded souls
Who use the new machinations
To topple the oligarchs,
Empty their accounts
And give them to the world.
Chaos may follow,
But out of it a new humanity
Might arise.
A memory of what humans used to be, what horrible things they became and the hope that humans might decide to live as they once had, using progress to help each other.
Palestine is so far on the map.
But actually.
Palestine is so close to the heart.
That's all I feel.


January 2025


By Alvian Eleven
 2d J
Muses
I'm always here, where are you?
I'm by the lamp on
the table in the room.
Worried, anxious,
yet happy, but waiting.
Where are you?
I seek you out like
I'm trying to find you in
a game of hide-and-seek.
If I came to you,
would you hide from me?
The sun is soon setting;
nighttime is near.
I know the time to leave
will soon be here.
It's so hard to leave
your magnetic pull.
I hope that soon I'll
sleep and search for you.
You'll be waiting in the
corner of the room.
Morning is coming
It's sooner than I think.
You're the sunrise shining
through the window on me.
I wake up, look around to see—
Where are you?
You're right where you say
you'll always be: in my heart ❤️

Leanne Prince
Dec. 2024
 2d J
Lou
Stardust
 2d J
Lou
When we fall,
We are not raindrops,
We are stardust.
The puddles we make destroy the ground and God does not hear the sound of our bones crashing.
I knocked on your door for hours,
I knew something was wrong.
God was standing in the doorway,
But you,
you were not.
A week ago I watched men in black suits lower your coffin.
Still I’ve been calling for days.
The phone rings and rings.
But no angels have answered.
I try to imagine that you are still here in a galaxy where words like
Weakness,
Pain,
cancer,
Don’t exist.  
I remember your helpless eyes,
Silently screaming,
Reaching into the bone white light.
Above your hospital bed as if you could escape into it.
But that’s not what dying is like.
I knew you’d never get a chance to say goodbye.
That when the worst winds came roaring by angry and cold,
You would just grow old
And die.
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