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 Sep 2017 Jungdok
Seema
Inner Guilt
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
Seema
A point of guilt
In my heart sealed
Insanity gets built
No way to be healed

Yes, my life is reckless
Ugly thoughts linger
I feel so hopeless
Cutting off a finger

There is no pain
No cry, not a single tear
Nothing to gain
Ending this life, without fear

It's not a dare
To harm myself more
Life just ain't fair
My mind is at war

Standing on the edge
Just one leap
To face with death
My birth was cheap

Poison darts pierce my skin
Injecting daily addictives
All I've done is sin
No light no directives

End of life in a second
But a small hand begged
To stay till the end
A child of neglect, nagged

My reflection pulled me over
To face my inner child's cry
I looked at myself, closer
Why everything seemed a lie?

More thoughts purged in my head
Death was not my exit yet
When shows of life is led
I shall fight, until my goals are met...


©sim
Just a write.
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
skyler
you
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
skyler
you
i want you
in every way there is to want a person

from lazy rainy days
sitting around in underwear
wrapped up in the covers
enveloped in each other

to lustful late nights
high happy and in love
too absorbed with each other
to focus on anything else

i want you
and i see so much in you
that counting all your perfections
would be like counting the stars
there's too many to keep track of
and they just seem endless

i am utterly in love
with every inch of your being
every corner of your mind
and everything in between

i might not know what i believe
or where i'm going
or what i'm doing
but i do hope
you'll hold my hand
and wander blindly with me
because as long as i'm with you
i don't need a destination
you are the journey

i am simply enamored with your entity
captivated by your character
fascinated
infatuated
amorous
in love
you asked me to write you a poem, i hope you like it
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
helena alexis
she's the type of girl
to give you your
favorite flowers
then stomp on
them before
handing them
to you
once again a poem ab a fake friend
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
Nat Lipstadt
~~~

~for Leandra from Alabama~  

hope is less a point,
more a sash,
a honorable stripe, a path,
a tightrope designed for slipping,
a struggling, indeterminate journey
requiring a self-granted passport


<|>

long ago, time ago,
when the plate of despair,
was passed round and round
my table unceasingly,
served always piping hot,
my unordered,
but can't be refused,
'main course'
~
yes, I took it,
some say,
thrived on despair,
as despair
symbiotically
thrived on me
~
my unfair share
some say,
was given more
than deserved,
so what,
you took it and cried out
so what
~
so for
forty years wandered in
an unemotional desert of distress,
from which escape
to hope
was deemed,
inhumanly impossible
~
now in my descending, trajectory finale,
years post the wastage, the waste of ages
that sustained, that pain,
sent away, postage prepaid,
no return address
~
once more,
I accidentally taste
the cries of
les enfants terrible,
here @ HP,
the babies speaking so easy of

the utter aching of the young

for it is in plain view,
in almost every other poem here stored
~

I thought:

no mas, no more,
I ne'er, can't,
stop, nay, even slight stop, stoop,
to read and bear
these slights, these desperations so loud,
that remind me too well
of my days of unwellness
~
but one, ******,
renders me, strips me asunder,
drags me down under,
compulsed to respond,
so I tender now
to whomever can read
through mine eyes,
hard bought wisdom of seven plus decades
~
before you can believe in hope,
and its prophecies,
know this:

hope is less a point,
more a sash,
a honorable stripe, a path,
a tightrope designed for slipping,
a struggling, indeterminate journey
requiring a self-granted passport
~
but with the understanding that this
hopeful trip is
itinerary, devoid,
for final destination,
in advance, already well known,

for from the very beginning,
the self-same place you began,
a circuitous, lapping course of
expectorating unexpected high speed crashes,
for the ****** of self voyaging
upon the sea war-waters of
self-examination
is both
infinite and finite,
this traveling travail,
this trip is the work
forever in process
~
Hope
is your only cargo that time cannot decay, spoil,
even under twenty fathoms of brine,
cannot be refused,
must be transported
~
you gotta believe in
yourself,
you just gotta,
accept that the mere breathe of thought,
confirms the unique, unbelievable spark
the worth of you,
that source code unique,
born and then borne within,
to find your purpose,
only recognizable by you,
its place holder
~
dig as deep as necessary,
but no quitting, till you are smoking
hot, bonfired, cause that's how you can knowingly
know you've grasped that you are,
hopefully
just that much closer to being a
mission accomplished
~
hear you say,
so easy to say
so hard to do,
in brief,
there is no relief
~
let's walk together,
amidst woods and shaded country lanes,
grasp arms in the certain serenity,
of my poet's nook,
sit beside me,
young ones
~
leave your castle, cross the dry moat
so assiduously you built,
dug out from daily anguish, crapped-on dirt piles
~
come listen with me to
Bach's Air Sarabande,
you know it, though you think not,
journey upon the music
to the places so so patient waiting within,
where soaring, is the only option,
calm reflection, the only language
~
come let us reason together,
help you to deduce,
process the conclusion inevitable,
your very aching implies
your residual
crushed but uncrushable belief,
in relief,
in the inevitability of
hope
for you are worthy
~


July 11 ~ 22, 2015
posted at last, on
Sept.20, 2017
Reach out here, anywhere,  let's walk and talk together.  Been sitting in my  files and... today, it came and asked,
Please, release me!
~
https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiElOWWzrTWAhUi6oMKHdA_BK0QtwIIKDAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D-ZEgYptdjCU&usg=AFQjCNH48BJ71Z-dtF9Zi4MlkyL55QfM8w
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
Hanna Jordan
The truth is,
my heart still flutters with
just the sight of you.
The truth is,
every time the words "I love you"
threaten to escape my lips
the lump in my throat grows to
the size of a softball that I can't swallow.
The truth is,
I get a tingly feeling throughout my
whole body every time you surprise me
with the littlest things that I love dearly.
The truth is,
watching your chest rise and fall
with every breath you take
as your legs are intertwined
with mine makes everything worth it.
The truth is,
the sound of your raspy morning voice
whispering "good morning" to me
still gives me chills.
The truth is,
I guess I'm sort of in love with you
but since I could never say any of this
out loud,
this poem is for you.
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
Kelly
Broken Steps
 Sep 2017 Jungdok
Kelly
I can see how much
you've changed.

My whole life
you've made your house
a home
and always
invited me inside, but

you're beaten down now,
worn out and overused.

You need help
from top to bottom,
chips and cracks
lining every part of you.

Your railing is wobbly,
swaying from side to side
until one of us
can steady you.

We can't help you anymore,
we don't know what to do.

We're leading you
into someone else's hands
so they can fix you,
so they can help you.

You need to make someone else's
house into a home.
Sorry for the hiatus, I've been unbelievably busy as of late
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