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Sometimes I tend to be a catalyst,
Carrying things to light,
Rooting them deep where they belong.

Nothing bad,
It's what I do,
I'm proud to ferry,
The things they carry.
  Jun 11 Carlo C Gomez
S E Pope
My bedroom has always been my sanctuary
Four walls that protected me from the world
I loathed anytime I had to venture out
Into the treacherous terrain of judgment and guilt

As soon as I shut the door behind me
I heard the echoes of yelling in the distance
Every moment spent away from my solitude
I was bombarded with chemical imbalance

Being by myself was always the most safe
In my solitary bubble of poems and angry songs
When my door would swing open with unnecessary rage
And I was in trouble again for choosing to be alone

In my room there was everything I needed
Books, movies, and video games to keep me occupied
I performed endless concerts with a hairbrush in the mirror
And always had a journal to hold what I kept inside

My mother always said she had two only children
Before I was a teenager I was done being raised
She was usually angry and distracted with my sibling
I was abandoned and then ridiculed for the person I became

So I covered my walls in posters and old T-shirts
And watched the same movies over and over
I can recite Lord of the Rings and American Beauty in full
But I can't recall a pleasant memory from behind those windows

I had unlimited access to the internet
Meeting boys off Myspace at 16 years old
My parents had no idea because they were typically absent
And only paid attention when my own judgment was flawed

I finally stayed put in my peaceful bedroom
Writing and listening to anyone else's direction
And warding off their constant attacks on my character
It was I who reaped the blame of my family's dysfunction

I spent so much time alone back then
My mind became a story book of turmoil
I often think back to my beautifully decorated bedroom
And realize I was being punished because I was normal

Now that I'm older and I have a home of my own
My bedroom is still a refuge when it's needed
But I finally have the space to flourish and expand
And enjoy solitude in my living room with poetry and music
  Jun 11 Carlo C Gomez
Mike Adam
Waste not a single word
Though syllables scream for release,
Consonants flap to fly and
Vowels seep through cracks

Waste not to want
For nothing to
Finish your perfect
Death poem
  Jun 11 Carlo C Gomez
ymmiJ
they die
you don't
that's pain
Let's boil this down
burn the pan
a show of hands
the total ban.

Truths will be
as they often are
few and far
and further still
where the will of man
lies on the
shifting tide of sands.

They call if gentrification
but it's more like
desertification
giving us no notification
of those things
that are likely to change.
think i heard a night jar

up the valley here.

it was a quiet night except

for that.

we have the window open now.
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