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Last time I stood in this spot
I was sixteen, naive, and alone
And although it has only been three years
I am surprised at how much I've grown.

I do not blame you anymore
Nor hold resentment inside
For the things you have done to hurt me
What held me down I cast aside.

Been to many places now
I have seen both the dark and light
Watched the struggle between good and evil
Battles of wrong versus right.

We can wrestle our inner demons
Hoping someday to conquer and win
But we are too weak, I rarely see humans
Pick purity over sweet sin.
That is true strength, doing the right thing when it would be a lot easier to do the wrong one. Oh, and this was written March of 2014 if you are confused about the age mentioned haha.
 Apr 2018 Jo Barber
Jack Torrance
Untethered,
that’s the best way to describe it.
That feeling of floating,
and sinking too.

The world seeming unreal,
like the colors are wrong.
Simulated reality,
where the nights are too long.

Going through the motions,
and not caring at all.
An outsider,
who’s on the outside, of outside.

Catching yourself,
staring off into space,
wondering if someone noticed,
realizing no one’s there to see.

Those days,
you forget to remember,
are somehow worse,
than the days you remember to forget.

That horrifying realization,
when even your brain doesn’t care.
When it simply says “whatever”,
like you’re giving up on you.

These days don’t last,
they never do,
but they are terrifying,
when it’s only you.

You don’t want anyone to worry,
don’t want them to see,
the pain, the fear, the nothing,
that you sometimes become.

If someone could just take that rope,
and tie it down tight.
Bring the colors back,
and chase away the night.

Someone to ask,
if you’re really ok.
Someone you could trust,
to say “no, not today”.

Someone you could look at,
and simply let go and break.
Someone who wanted to give,
instead of just take.

Someone who knew,
and wouldn’t tell you to stand,
but would simply lay with you,
and tether you back to land.

So, “no, not today”,
but maybe tomorrow.
Today I am floating,
and there’s only the sorrow.
 Apr 2018 Jo Barber
Daemon Delano
I look into the eye of the man before me,
And see the soul of a man worth loving.
His irises twinkle as his hand reaches for mine.
As he smiles and makes me tremble,
sadness there is none to find.
I'm happy. I'm blissfully frozen.
Frozen in a moment in time
that seems to go on without end.
I am worthless. I have no dime.
Yet he looks at me,
and gives me all his time.
Is this obsession? Is this madness?
Nay, it is simply my heart
finding a soul worth loving.
And as this frozen moment continues,
I can tell he feels the same.
Should it last or should it fail,
in this moment it does not matter.
I'm in love and happy, and he is to blame.
Frozen in this moment, he is a god.
Frozen in this moment, I lay in awe.
Frozen in this moment, I find peace.
 Apr 2018 Jo Barber
Deon
Hi Mom,
 Apr 2018 Jo Barber
Deon
There's so much you don't know about me
There's so much I don't know about me
But maybe we can know each other a bit better
If you don't mind I'll go first

I think about you quite often
But I'm not sure what to say when you call
I have questions you don't have answers to
And I know they're ones I should find myself

Words haven't always been very effective for me
There are way too many to choose from
I've had every conversation you can imagine
It's all in my head but they're comforting

I try to be better you know?
Better than I was yesterday
Don't worry I try these days
Not to be too ******* myself

There are things I wish for that keep me up
I want them but I'm not doing enough yet
When things get tough I still remind myself that
The journey is the reward not just the destination

I haven't completely figured out who I am
But has anyone?
It means I get to choose and
Create a meaning despite the absurdity of it all

There's a new cookie recipe I made
You would most certainly love it
We should talk sometime Mom
Over fresh cookies and milk
Learn more about each other
Like mother and child should
Trying out new recipes
With hopes they turn out well
Bob
the other day we were in a
bookstore in the mall
and my woman said, "look, there's
Bob!"

"I don't know him," I said.

"we had dinner with him
not too long ago," she said.

"all right," I said, "let's get
out of here."

Bob was a clerk in the store
and his back was to us.

my woman yelled, "hello, Bob!"

Bob turned and smiled, waved.
my woman waved back.
I nodded at Bob, a very
delicate blushing fellow.
(Bob, that is.)

outside my woman asked, "don't you remember him?"

"no."

"he came over with Ella. re- member Ella?"

"no."

my woman remembers everything.

I don't understand it, although
I suppose it's polite
to remember names and faces
I just can't do it
I don't want to carry all those
Bobs and Ellas and Jacks and Marions
and Darlenes around in my mind. eating and
drinking with them is difficult en- ough.
to attempt to recall them at will
is an affront to my well-
being.

that they remember me is
bad enough.
 Apr 2018 Jo Barber
liz
please please me
let your gaze rest on the hills
that curve in flesh, not cypress trees
lavish your love on these dry bones-
woken by your hands,
not commanded by Elijah's God-
fill my cup to rivers overflowing
in milk and honey,
in wealth more precious
than the golden wedding bands-
that don't really mean much
anyways, because
affection can be found deeper
like a wellspring between you & me
than in the cold beds of
man & wife who always
leave room for jesus but
forget that he too had *** sometimes
(he was married, you know!)-
i'm not eve, don't be scared of me
no serpents hide within my heart
and if they did,
is it really that big a deal?
medusa was a badass, you know.
besides, you can learn a lot
from a woman whose love
isn't defined in dinners at 6 pm
and fresh pressed linens before work-
i've got lessons to teach you
but their contents come from
raw, unabridged reality
not the pages of a worn book
translated and re-translated
by old white men throughout the ages
who demonized jesus' wife
because they were afraid of
her love;
are they afraid of my love?
because i listen to women,
because we hold stories deep
and never lose a word to time
because our stories are precious
because they're made of our love
about our love, and yours too
because we don't like leaving room
for your god; he'll be just fine
behind your pearly gates,
while we let you please us
but remember
it's a lie that a happy wife
makes a happy life:
you have to let her make you happy
and stop walking all over her love.
so please, please me
and stop leaving room for jesus
while you push us into the cold.
it's a thought i had, doesn't make a shred of sense. but it's there.
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