If
If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
  And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
in that moment
when life has died
before death comes
to collect
the soul slowly
passes through
the meat grinder
but what we have
is nothing
to show for it
on the other end
except working hard
a majority of our lives,
we folded laundry neatly,
we brought the garbage
cans down to the front
and we retrieved our
newspapers at the
end of the driveway.
placing these certificates
of unremarkable attainment
in mimeographed frames
of our voluptuous normality
that have fallen behind the
couches of mediocrity
where no one has even
noticed its been missing.
we’ve been robbed
of our livelihood but
we never had a chance
in the first place.
Glory Jul 30
Where is his crown now?
Buried under dirt and ground?
Smoothed out and barely round?
Does it resemble a noose now?
People are still bowing down,
    To a society-beaten, lover-cheatin, weed-reekin, funny class clown.
  Needs it. Craves it.
But it's a toxic pound.
It chokes him and kills him.
But feed him a different sound.
And he'll spit out every evil word, every misinterpreted rap, every unanswered text and every. single. unseen. devoted. act.
Until all he is. Is a sad little rat.
Hoping, praying and maybe even soul-searching.
Look at him now.
Torched, stoned and every other word that means he's down.
He's lying on the ground.
All his jokes spilling out.
And so I ask again.
Where is his crown now?
  Jul 28 Glory
BJ Donovan
We ran out of pencils
which didn't bother us much
'till we discovered that
we ran out of words and letters.
We had colored crayons and
imaginations and drew what
mattered. We created a world
without hate and envy and
wars to destroy enemies
who were our friends.
Glory Jul 28
They say we are just lightning flashes in a moonlit sky.
But I feel like a small glow from a firefly
Just flickering....
....flicker....
...flick...
Glory Jul 28
Resting between my ribcage
under my heart
tucked inside
this is me
I am small and sad
and like an asthmatic
I struggle to inhale
every morning
I am not moulded
until noon Before then
I float around with
clay over my eyes and
face
Not ready
to see the
outside air

Screams and tears
I am more
human
than soul and
slowly
Im decaying
Glory Jul 28
I wonder what you would say
If you saw me this way;

Red nails, eyes flicking

You don't see me
You think I am something else
But these trembling bones
and shivering heart
This is me

Your eyes were just closed
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