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I’m writing this for me as much as I’m writing it for you.

Honey, this poem might be a hit or just loads of *******.

They say it’s best to have loved and lost, than never loved at all. But is that true?
With that said, do you remember your now dead bestie? Of course you do.
Do you remember when you came to school all blue?
Remember when I thought you would make me say adieu?
Thinking it was time for goodbye.
Oh boy didn’t you make me cry.

You keep saying that I don’t get it.
you are so stubborn that of convincing you of the opposite I quit.

Don’t ask me to explain.
All I know is that with every experience you gain, with every pain you go through you seem to drain.
All I know is that people think that your  cries of help are a brat’s way to complain.

You say that you are not special.
And with your own depression you wrestle .
Yet you believe that you are the only one going through this existential crisis.

I don’t want to sound superficial or artificial the thing is everyone is special, thus being special is the ordinary, the initial, the unofficial official.
It’s just a matter of who will find their potential before they become celestial.

....
This is all I feel like writing FOR NOW.
Btw I’m writing this for/about a friend.
I’m obviously gonna come back for a part 2.
Anyways, I’m pretty positive that this is my most honest and fast work (wrote this in like 20mins)
I am a 16RAM program of a telegram whose programmer programmed to deprogram all pogrom to the last gram by the use of an epigram.

In simpler terms, I am a poet.
The full poem is on my page make sure to check it out, it's under the name: "A Toxic Love".
Here is an explication for those who haven't understood: I am the program of a telegram (I write the message ) My programmer (who is god) has programmed me (A debate of determinism and free will) to fight all pogrom (meaning an organized massacre of a particular ethnic group, but here it just stands for HATE)by the use of an epigram which means a short poem ;)

As for why I said a "16RAM" and not 8 or 32 or more or less...Is because I believe that I am mediocre, there are those who OH GOD write waaaay better than me...and those who were not meant for poetry. Anyways thank you for reading :)
But like any other love story, our love did not last.
While earth took us in her arms in the past,
whilst earth lovingly caressed humans otherwise.
In the present, it has harassed us as if we were Pennywise.
The touch of life used to give me butterflies.
But for now, all I hear is earth's cries.
The full poem is on my page make sure to check it out :)
The earth has loved us so purely,
although earth is 22 500 times older than man she has welcomed him so demurely.
And yet, man polluted destructed and poisoned. Oh isn't man such a disgrace?
How can he look earth in the face?
the full poem is on my page, make sure to check it out :)
How can simple nonoffensive words hurt so much?
How can the plain question: "who am I?" make my stomach clutch?
Why does the disability to answer make me feel like a bird in a hutch?
I try to look for answers, but I end up too weak straying from my goal looking for a crutch.

Speaking of going astray, here goes my mind once again.
Even I don't know the depths of my thoughts, not the tenth of my brain.
After all, I am just a demo, a soul in a chain.
What if: "What am I?" is saner?
That I can say. I am a human that yet did not drain.
A believer of the old saying "no pain no gain."
Oh no! I am more than that! I am a grain.
And I hold within me the power of a reign.
All I need is to grow, all I need is rain.

Rain... rain ladies and gentlemen is nature's beloved soundtrack.
It is the pitter-patter that makes my heart crack.
Sky, why are you so black?
What is it that you feel you lack?
I promise I won't stand back.
Dear horizon ease your anxiety attack,
for you are more loved than FLACK.

I am a 16RAM program of a telegram whose programmer programmed to deprogram all pogrom to the last gram by the use of an epigram.

In simpler terms, I am a poet.
I love the world when I'm high and when I'm at my lowest.
I believe that I am a poet because poetry is the highest expression of love.
I am a lover of this earth and the heavens above.
Love isn't just a myth,
it does exist.
I could go on like this, naming all that I love with a never-ending list.

I have learned to adore the darkest of times,
I have learned to be fascinated by all lives.
Earth why are you falling apart? Why are you so angry? Why are you committing all of these crimes?
Ease your typhoons your tornadoes pandemics tsunamis and volcanoes. Dear planet no need for more hives.

I can't promise you that we will behave,
for mankind is foolish,
him who once lived in a cave.
I understand your wish for the extinction of all humans.

But like any other love story, our love did not last.
While earth took us in her arms in the past,
whilst earth lovingly caressed humans otherwise.
In the present, it has harassed us as if we were Pennywise.
The touch of life used to give me butterflies.
But for now, all I hear is earth's cries.

The earth has loved us so purely,
although earth is 22 500 times older than man she has welcomed him so demurely.
And yet, man polluted destructed and poisoned. Oh isn't man such a disgrace?
How can he look earth in the face?
I have started this poem in my signature way, discussing random topics that have crossed my brain during this confinement.
In the end though, I have turned the subject into discussing the environmental crisis.
Vendredi 18, tu es venue à l'école avec une attitude différente.
Tu es en train de te perdre et d'oublier ton aptitude affriolante.
Tu es tombé d'une altitude qui était autrefois inspirante.
Tu l'as fait quasiment indifférente,
que tu nous as convaincu que ce n'est qu'une exception intermittente,
que ce n'est qu'une soudaine changement d'humeur déprimante.

Friday 18th, you came to school with a different attitude.
You were getting lost, forgetting what you are made of, forgetting your aptitude.
You have fallen from what once was an inspiring altitude.
You did it so calmly, so indifferently, that you have convinced us that it was just a temporary phase.
Just a passing malaise.
I have originally written this short piece in french. It is very unlike what french romantics would write, whether it's the language the expressions or even the topic. The translation is inexact and unprecise, but anyways I hope that you like it.
A greater cause,
means a better life.
Or atleast so they voice.
But how do you fight for what is right;
when all you dispose of is knife?

I ask myself who is my greatest enemy?
Is it me, myslef, or I?
Mybe all I need is a remedy.
To make all the wrong rectify.

I know that all of what I am capabe of holding is a weapon.
But how do you use such a thing when you can't tell the difference between your foe and your allies?
All I see are demons who seem to have come from the heart of heaven.
But afetr all, isn't that everybodies homeland. Even the devil knows all of its alleys.

But mybe weapons as deadly as they can be,
are the more or less something like you and me.
Mybe they weren't found for the unique cause of killing.
Pedro Reyes made weapon in art fullfilling.

What was war's greatest tool.
Has now become harmony's moor.
What was used in fights caused by sheer unreason.
Has now brought all people even.

All those cries,
all those tries.
And I still can't realize:
what on earth can possibly be my cause.
Pedro Reyes is a mexican artist who's most famous for making musical instruments out of weapons
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