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 Aug 2019 Bad Luck
Vani
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
 Aug 2019 Bad Luck
Hannah
From Hello
 Aug 2019 Bad Luck
Hannah
I don't believe in soul mates
What I do believe in
Is people that connect
On some deeper level
Immediately upon acquaintance
And not meaning you agree
On where to eat for dinner
But the connection where your heart
Seems to slip out
Of your rib cage
Because it's found a home
Outside of your chest.
1.  The only escape from this nightmare is death
     But that’s not escape - it’s nothing but a blackout.
     The only hope left flickers and dies
     Like an ill-tended summer campfire
     As the lucky numbers refuse to compute,
     And all that’s left is sand and sun     
     That scorches all attempts to find a way
     To make accommodations to the heat.

      Safe for now inside a fragile stucco igloo,
      What will happen when the statement comes
      That says we can’t afford the ice
      That’s needed to stave off the burn,
      And there’s no shady place to go and hide.
      With no escape to dream filled sleep
      There’s only counting minutes on a clock that                                                          never  moves.                             
                                                                ­                                    
2.   The ragged sleeve is not caught up at night
      And the road ends at a chasm of despair.
      The winds and tides are out of sync
      And morning comes at midnight.
      Writhing in the tangled sheets, I’m
      Thinking thoughts with no way out,
      Of what was always bound to come,
      Riding on another bad decision.

3.   Death will not lure me this night -
      Too cruel to leave him here alone
      Without the necessary tools to live
      And find a road that leads to hope.
      If only slumber was my friend
      And I was not out counting stars
      When it’s too dark to find my way
      And all the nearby world is snoring.

4.   Huddled in a corner with a pen
      The paper blots up tears and ink
      And offers no hope of surcease
      To seeds of panic poised to grow.
      If only a little rain would fall.

ljm
Another tome from a dark period a while ago.  I'm OK now.
Walking streets
Where I’m unknown
I stifle sobs
And dab my eyes.
I don’t belong.
I don’t fit in.
There’s nothing here
That smells of me,
That looks like me,
That calls to me.

I climb a hill
To watch the sun
Pour pink and gold
On lacy clouds.
I scan the valley
Full of houses.
Which one is mine-
It’s hard to tell.
they look the same
But I do not.

My footsteps do not
Fit the path
I need to walk
If I’m to find
A welcome here
I worship the wrong
Ideals and ideas
And I must hide
Behind a silent smile
Lest I be ushered out.

I cannot run
I’m here to stay
There is no other
Universe for me.
I’ll choose a
Another middle name-
Chameleon sounds right.
I’ll make them think
I’m one of them
And blend into a life.
                ljm
Another old one (well, 6 mo. old, anyway).  From my "I don't want to be here" period.  I'm better (resigned) now.
Thistledown on a gentle breeze
On it’s way to somewhere

Tiny petals setting sail
Across an Autumn puddle

Blackbirds sing in the Cat-tail reeds
And three puppies sleep in a tangle

I hold a cup of steaming tea
And sit on the front porch steps

As summer fades I recollect
The past year of my life

I didn’t win awards or fame
I didn’t inherit wealth

I finally learned to love myself
And forgive me all my failings

That opened doors I never saw
And gave me eyes to see

The beauties of the life I’ve made
And who I’ve come to be

The strength I didn’t know was there
The gentle hand I offer

I comforted that little girl
Trembling in a corner

Of the dark space in my soul
And told her it will be O.K.

The sunrise here is glorious
And we’re gonna be just fine.
                ljm
In  my current emotional yo-yo state, this was a very good day.
POEM
1. an arrangement of words written or spoken: traditionally a rhythmical composition, sometimes rhymed, expressing experiences, ideas or emotions in a style more concentrated, imaginative and powerful than that of ordinary speech or prose; some poems are in meter, some in free verse.
2.anything suggesting a poem in its effect.
Webster's New College Dictionary,  4th Edition
I’m told real poems always rhyme-
Anything else is drivel.
If we abide by that stern rule
Then real music can only be opera.

Real dance can only be ballet
And real paintings photographic.
Why is there so much latitude
In all the other art forms

And no acceptance for blank verse,
Even with fantastic formats,
Even if it makes you cry...
If there is no rhyme, it’s junk.

Everyone who does not rhyme
Quite probably can do it,
But they can write blank verse sublime
If you only leave them to it.
ljm
All done with this topic now.
 Aug 2018 Bad Luck
Adrianna
I despise social media.
It's ugly, to state the obvious
Our lives are posted, retweeted, altered, reblogged, perfected, and photoshopped to exactly how we want to be perceived
We have the freedom to be exactly what they want us to be.

It starts with a few edits doesn't it,
pigmented our skin to seem smooth and sun kissed,
that would seem most acceptable right?
Maybe an extra like for the skinnier waist.
More reassurance for brighter colors.
Some more filters will hid the emptiness you feel with your friends
   Another like
Flashier clothing, phones, shoes, cars, other simple words our eyes have latched on to
     Another like
We urge ourselves to portray the life of leisure and effortless beauty, happiness, success,
       Another like
But what are we enjoying?
         Another like
Views of our changing world through a 3 by 8 view.
           Another like
Events pass by swipe
             Another like
and swipe
               Another like

And when we managed to unlock ourselves from this grasp
We always come back
Like flies to light, more like scratches to a scab
Festering we find ourselves getting ****** back in
To an imaginary world, that if destroyed, would have no physical effects on their fictional beings
For without this world, maybe eyes will open
We will step past the boundaries,
and start to love our beings
unfiltered
I really do not like the social norms of having the staples of social media, it is a toxic area that traps us in an infinite loop of trying to upgrade one another
 Feb 2015 Bad Luck
Ren
He loves me when he loves me
He convinces me
I’m the kind who serves up suicide with every Ciroc poured
in the neon blue of this town
where dreams turn cold but where,
He says,
I,
I am as hot as the blue light flame
He opens the Pandora’s curiosity in me
With warm breath and a silent scream
he makes me say his name
I know there’s fiction in the space between us
covered in polyurethane that some would consider toxic
but where I,
I rub my flesh into the smooth and dip fingers into my inkwell
He makes me an artist
He has a way
Hurt me a little
Make me cry
Rubbing this little pendulum of mine
I want to know I knew you even before I knew you
Savor you like an oyster
Memorize you
Hold you under my tongue
Learn you by heart so when you leave
I can go to the inkwell, again
*Orlando
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