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I'm sorry
I'm selfish
I'm sorry
I'm stupid
I'm sorry
I miss you
I'm sorry
I want you
I'm sorry
I need you
I'm sorry
I can't forget you
I'm sorry
I can't loose you
I'm sorry
I love you
I'm sorry
I'm sorry I love you to much to let this go.
 Dec 2015 Aztec Warrior
Àŧùl
The king had a terrific ***,
The *** ran a race & won it!

The media glorified it and put,
'The King's *** Won The Race!'

The king felt embarrassed,
He gave his *** to the queen.

The media again hyped it and put,
'A Royal Exchange: The Queen Has The Best *** In The Kingdom!'

The royal family felt frustrated & flustered,
They decided to do away with the *** now.

The Queen's ***, which earlier was the King's *** was abandoned in the forest,
The royalty felt at ease now.

But the media hyped it too!
*THE ROYAL *** GOES WILD!!!
Inspired from a Whatscrap joke I received.

A King enrolled his donkey in a race & won.

Local paper read:
'KING's *** WON'

The king was so upset with this kind of publicity that he gave the donkey to the queen.

The local paper then read:
"QUEEN HAS THE BEST *** IN TOWN"
The king fainted....

Queen sold the donkey to a farmer for Rs100.

Next day paper read: "QUEEN SELLS HER *** FOR Rs100"
The queen fainted...

The next day king ordered the queen
to buy back the donkey and leave it in jungle.

The Next Headlines:
"QUEEN ANNOUNCES HER *** IS FREE & WILD"
The king died... !!

This was Indian media in Britain, you know better.

My HP Poem #932
©Atul Kaushal
'
There is no understandin' for Crazy Makin'
                It just is, what it is, what it is...
There is no formula to fix things so broke
                It just is, what it is, what it is...

There are no words to express,
when the shootin' starts and your the target.
All you can do is take cover and hope your
ear drums don't pop.
When you become the focus of all
disappointment and anger...
No way to rest in that.
No way to heal there.  
No way to breath comfortably any more...

Where do we find the strength to escape.
Put our blown up parts back together again.
What if we are too ****** and damaged
to connect the pieces.
How do you mend a heart ripped to shreads

I ask this....
What then,
What then... Cuz,
               It just is what it is what it is....


Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
RE-POST
I have been programmed
Been tighten with the wires
Cant move and think beyond the limit
I am smiling as no sadness got place

I work, care and love
Dont have choice beside that
I make myself happy
Dont know how to express hurt

Can you please make me feel
That I can cry& share my problems
Can you give me time to feel the love
Want to do the thing you are doing for long

And poor me , he switched me off
Reprogrammed me
And make me robot again
:(  :(
There are thousands of us here
In this small part of the internet.
We are thousands,
Voices of all natures.
I wonder how many in all
The corners of the world?
Here alone are thousands
Which plant seeds of philisophical change
And the evolution of our society.

How many words will it take
To declare the state of humanity
As the world goes deaf and blind?

Every once in a while I see a poem
With a national headline,
Some black kid shot by a white cop.
Then the poem disappears,
The poet and his or her fellow
Writers retreat inward
Jumping into nothingness
Of feelings and self loathe.
We carry a banner with a million
Words and nothing to say in unision.
Oh God, is this the path of the poets?

But suddenly I realise
And I see I am just as shallow
As the next,
The pulse of the world will not
Beat with poets,
Though poets can be the racing pulse
Of change.

Let the poets unite on common ground!
Cry out against something in unision.
We are thousands of voices
That cannot yell.
How many of us here on the internet?

How hard is it to rise against
The machine and bring
About change truly to the soul,
To see ourselves rise up
With our words?
What we speak we will write,
What change we write
Will give birth to humanity.
 Dec 2015 Aztec Warrior
Riya
To my unfinished poems,
the ones that will never see the light of day.
The ones that sit and pray
To be more than just a fantasy.

I need you to know that I’m sorry.
Sorry for not being brave enough to show you off to the world,
Sorry for not having enough strength to sew you up and make you perfect,
Sorry for not being able to give you enough so you could be just right,
Sorry that I didn’t have the strength to write.

To my unfinished poems,
The smell of coffee and stains of tears
Will always remain on your tattered pages.
The wails in the middle of the night
Of all the strife and plight
That I had to witness with my innocent little eyes.

To my unfinished poems,
Dry up your little eyes,
I know it’s hard to only see the night sky,
To never know the glimmer of light,
To be an incomplete work of art,
But darlings,
Don’t you see,
How even when you’re incomplete,
You’re still so very special to me.
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