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what is the meaning of life
if my heart wants the knife

What is the point of love
if theres nothing to dream of

How am I supposed to live,
feeling this way
If I want to **** myself,
Every **** day

I keep searching for reasons
Theres only a steady hum
stuck with closed minded relations
hearing nothing but a drum

stuck in this war
I am cold and sore

I am doing the time
but what is my crime

I can see blood
It looks like mud
Theres nothing left in me
so why dont you flee

I am undefined
and not so kind

you need to see
that theres nothing left for me
I dont want to breathe
So say I wont leave
In Japan there is an art form
called kintsukuroi which means
to repair with gold
When a ceramic *** or bowls
would break the artisan would
put the pieces together again
using gold or silver lacquer
to create something stronger
forevermore beautiful than before
The breaking is never something
to hide
It doesn’t mean that the work of the art
is ruined or without value because
it is different than what anticipated
Kintsukuroi is a way of living that
embraces every flaw and imperfections
Every crack is part of the  history of
the object and it becomes forevermore
beautiful
precisely because it has been
broken
I’ve told this story to tell you this
People are the same way
Being hurt or heart broken
or feeling broken generally
is not who you are
It is something that happens to you
Rise up stand proud and move forward
Stop looking about what the world says
about you and who you are
The value of your worth is more
than you can ever conceive
and when you trust
in your heart you’ll understand
the Power you house within
Cracks and all your true value
can never be lost in translation
Know the value of your worth, you worth more than gold... made to an exact specification!
An introduction,
I would allow myself,
No more than that,
Instantaneously captivated by her,
Magnetized,
But I was fighting against gravity.

Knowing the depths of my baggage,
And the density,
Of the fog and noise around me.

I refused to be another stumbler,
Seeking your attention,
I would state my name,
And my awareness,
Of your existence in my universe,
And let the chips fall where they may...

But you made your existence blatantly apparent,
As if our spike in conversation,
Would prevent either of us denying,
A chemical reaction within our words,
Reading between the lines of you.

And now you linger...
Or not so much you,
But the idea of you,
Lingers on my palate.

Awaiting another taste,
Of what it might be like if our worlds,
Were ever again to collide.
 Sep 2018 Samuel Canerday
Vish
Black bird flapping it’s delicate wings under a stormy sky

Dark clouds overhead promise of a thunderous cry

Black bird screeching a wail that sounds like a muted song

Filling the air with smoke of despair that is certain to last long

Black bird shedding it’s inky feathers after the downpour has settled

Only to be reminded of the loss that will soon leave its bones rattled
we all have a dark side
I don't have the best vocabulary,
Surely dont know anything about rhyme schemes,
If you asked me I couldn't tell the difference between a simile or a metaphor.
Ballads, Sonets, Triplets,
Doesn't really help me write more
I've been through it all and sometimes I don't have time to finish writing.
But I am still a poet,
Respect my story.
 Aug 2018 Samuel Canerday
Helena
For my best friend, Naomi

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you came to me
gently,
with the soothing voice
of a sweaty spring
thank you, old friend
for being able to be
dark enough to see
the hidden light
in me

i will not go into the times we shared
asphyxia and summer air
juxtaposed to form
an inseparable pair

who am I, old friend
when the ship´s horn blares
if you made me who I am
(if you made me scarce)

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you left me
softly, without
any warning of
the lack of color
(there would be)
without your splendor
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