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E May 2020
what i bring tomorrow
is never the present version of me
it is the baggage of yesterday and the past of who i am
is what i bring tomorrow.

the past is all i have
to teach me lessons not yet learned
to help me remember whats hidden
to make me better myself for tomorrow.
i have been listening to songs i adored in the past, and it always helps me recover memories i had drowned. Sometimes it is done unconsciously and other times intentional. i am using this quarantine to reflect on my character of then, and now. tomorrow waits, and she always will be.
  Apr 2020 E
Savannah N
a tree so strong
never moving
stand your ground
though confusing
to love through the night
though you can't see
to trust with blind faith
this could never be me
enduring through all
with hope so vast
loving all the while
I give hope to those steadfast
  Apr 2020 E
South by Southwest
There once was a garden where everything died
Even the birds had flown off to hide
The mighty oaks had lost all their branches
As for the flowers , long ago had they all of their chances

Even the sky turned black as it flew by
Then all of the clouds had to cry and cry
The floods could not wash away the pain
Those who lived there died or went insane

Laughter had been banned years ago
The crow's kaw kaw , was never a show
The only sound that was to be heard
was the wail of the missing violin's words

Under moonlight , by shadowy night
The strings cried blood and tears for sight
Even the moon overcome lost one dusty tear
to the life missing after all of these years .

One day the cry of the music stopped
The last string had now finally popped
The violin laid down in the ground
and there was never again another sound

And years had now gone on by
No one living then was left alive
There had been a revolt or so
Flowers once again started to grow

Trees sprouted out and began to bud
You could once again feel life's gentle nudge
The grass carpeted the woodland floors
and happiness returned to all once more

Now all had forgotten about the violin
But sometimes if you listen to the midnight's wind
You can hear it while it goes about tuning
for all it's sins had now long been forgiven
E Apr 2020
I find that poetry isn't confined
to rhythmic patterns but rather to keep us aligned.
I find that poetry is a vast playground
to keep us free to play and write down.
I find that poetry isn't held to the conformity
yet rather displace and be the abnormity.
I find that poetry is a place to unwind
you lay on your bed and lose track of time.
I find that poetry isn't truly as strict as it may seem to be
because when discovered the right words you fly free.
I always get inspired when reading other poems, I just wanted to write a little something.
  Apr 2020 E
misha
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
E Apr 2020
you're a screen.
a glass.
but you fell face first and now you're breaking.
you've always been breaking since early before.
the shards come loose and fall with the dirt.
you're always losing shards.
why are you so cracked.
why can't you be one whole glass, one full screen, maybe with a few scratches but the cracks are too deep and you're falling apart.
stop falling apart.
i don't want you to crack all the way and become destroyed.
you're already cracked enough.
you've been dropped but fixed but dropped one too many times and you need a surgeon to help replace those shards you lost along your journey.

you're very oh so gentle and delicate.
maybe even one more drop can cause you to break completely.

you're such a flower.
so beautiful. but once you start picking at the leaves, it starts to decay. it starts to rot.
you pull off the pedals and mess with the stem, slowly suffering.
pull the flower out from the ground and you're a goner, you don't know how to replant, do you? no, you don't. so you die.

i don't want you to die.
i don't want to lose you.
my flower.
beautiful and powerful but yet so delicate and light.
so easily to be taken to the route of death.

i'm no flower.
i'm just a rock.
not beautiful.
not delicate.
but too rough and scarring.
i hate being a rock.

i break things.
i don't fix much.
i'm a burden.
i'll always be there.
in the corner looking at the flowers, but if i get too close i'll crush you and your beauty, your power.

i've crushed you enough as a rock.

i wish i could change
but i don't get to do anything different it seems like.
just a ******* burden on everything.
publishing old pieces i never showed the world. found these in my icloud notes and one-note.
  Apr 2020 E
james
do you know what it’s like
to feel like you live
in the cage?

do you know what it’s like
to hate what you see
in the mirror?

do you know what it’s like
to flinch when you hear
your voice?

do you know what it’s like
to break down in the bathroom
and cry into sleep?

do you know what it’s like
when you are
in the wrong body?
When your brain doesn’t match your body.
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