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He may have been your father,
But he sure wasn't your daddy.
He may have once donated seed
But he didn't see it through.

He wasn't there long enough
To be worthy of your affection.
He didn't teach you anything
Cept how to be untrue.

Whatever you feel t'ward him
Don't let it redefine you.

The lovely man I see here now
Isn't credit to just one *****.
Thanks to a quote from Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2.

The Underground of HP

~
I do not joke

underworld, underground,
a subterranean nether-land,
a dark net
of a peculiar type of
wonderful human trafficking

all pathways are Venetian style,
each traveler rides in a tricked out, camouflaged gondola
of their own reckoning and design,
upon "rivers of good company"^

***"dude - ain't no such thing I seen
on o dropdown menu
provided by the House of York***

you are correct and yet, you are
correctable.

the way in
to this far more real world
than the surficial one
where you currently reside,
but only half alive,
is where poets speak
in the pentameter of plain english,
exchanging kindnesses and
magic tricks, tidbits of loveliness,
poems of sheerest nylon delight

their private revelations,
their second skin
home to shared state secrets
that are close guarded,
confided confidences, confident completely,
that nothing can rise exposed to the glare of the casual observer,
the accidental tourist,
who writes but
of and for the occasion
for self-glorification

the way in you ask?

don't make me laugh.

no one will extend an invitation -
memberships do not exist
you must invite yourself.

look to the frescoed, vaulted Vatican ceiling,
see the Creation of Adam,
a single finger-extending,
breathing life
when touching his/your reciprocal,
his/your creator

this is the way, the way in,
to self creation.

make the reach of your life,
stretch your soul across the terra firma of invisible terabytes
with the touch of a single fingertip

down below is where
the super stars reside,
who count not the vanity of quantities of cheap likes,
but who delight in the
rivets of insights,
well hid in the spaces between
line and letter
and dark secret messages,
trafficking in the best of
humanity, kindness

expose yourself, accepting your self
welcomed you will be,
accepted.

down below is where the real work gets done.

the realization, the actualization,
where the top of the tip
points down, the crown,
of the inverted pyramid

where poems are the
blood and stuff,
the kisses and the touches,
the ***** and the
opening into the berm,
the root, the stem, and the blossoming
of the real world of HP


^https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1913140/in-the-river-of-good-company/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1915543/how-to-be-a-successful-poet-on-hp-in-two-parts/
 May 2017 Born Confused
Aidan A
It feels more times than not
My character is misconceived
Wherein my affinity for emotion is
Either ill received, or begs condescension
Such vindictive decrees for
Souls just as flawed as me
The difference is
Mine are the only flaws that I can see.

Void of emotion?
I prefer to think that I can
Differentiate between
A fleeting feel
And what is real -
What of the lack of social devotion?
I am only at my best
Around those who create from the heart
I discard the rest, because
I am the company I keep,
And I've kept from the start.

Over the top flattery?
I beg to differ.
You mistake the way I speak and the things I do
For my romantic battery
The thought of which makes me quiver -
It says a little something about you, too.
You fail to see
That I can so naturally
Draw emotion from the smallest of things
Do you think it is through arrogance that I sing?
A highly internalized being, who only creates things
To feed an insatiable egotistical craving?
Clearly the life that you lead
Is just lacking fantasy, or a sense of meaning...

I have met people who are metaphorical gateways,
No, actual ley lines of human creativity.
I wonder if their work would
Make you question your brand
Of Humanity.
I am a bit mad.
 Apr 2017 Born Confused
JL Smith
I have heard
The waves of the ocean
The songbird perched in height
I have heard
The giggle of a small child
The whistle of a train at night
I have heard
The melodies of grand symphonies
The rumble of thunder
And fireworks, too
But I considered myself deaf
Until I heard, "I love you."

© JL Smith
 Apr 2017 Born Confused
AC
It's twelve in the morning,
these thoughts don't have enough space
It screams for a peaceful life
yet craves for endless ideas
I'm not crazy, I am just aware
That people will leave
when they are tired of you
Believe me,
they can and they will.
The right person,
the wrong time!
The right script,
the wrong line!
the right poem,
the wrong rhyme!
and a piece of you,
that was never mine
 Apr 2017 Born Confused
Styles
He felt
great pleasure
watching her
his desires bloom
staring at her two lips
the rarest of all flowers
pedals spread
breathing life into his desires
stiffening a hard stamen
as their bodies take root
folding together like a hem
pumping seed into her cavity
baring the juices of a fruit
into a fountain
that will never end
You left.
What's up?
Did the WhatsApp offend?
Did we fail to delight?
Or is it just that you're too busy tonight?
We were chatting
Exchanging
Goofing
Emojing
But all of a sudden
It was clear you were leaving.
(Sad-face-crying)
- What'sUp?
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