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my hands and heart are calloused
from writing out our story
from living out our story
god knows
i breathe so much love for you
and it lives within me
and right now it's messier
than before

it's angry
it's painful
it's jaggedly soft and a whispered
prayer
are you there?
my love, are you there?

you may give up on me
but my knees are scuffed
because i've been praying
on concrete.
that never used to happen before

i've this carpet burn
from sleeping on the floor,
because the bed
is a mocking reminder
of the softness of your skin
of you love
of you

i'm a sinner, and you know it
but i felt so holy
when your lips touched mine
the way they did

i miss you
like an ocean misses the shore
i will always be trying
to reach you

my heart's still in your hands
it's in your hands
i always melted in your hands...
love doesn't dicriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes. but we keep loving anyway, we laugh and we cry and we break and we make our mistakes.
Currently we judge,
Looking at angles to win
Just to please your own mind.

We throw insults and we fight,
We ignite fuel to our fingers
Tapping away like it's a race for popularity.

The world spins and spins,
Yet nothing really changes
Because we just keep spinning.

But it's as if we have weaved
Ourselves into a ditch of
Despairing linear paths.

As we watch, we listen, we observe
And try to become something else,
Something we're not supposed to be.

Just to let everyone know
That you watch the same things,
That you do the same things.

But then after it all we realise
As we grow older and as we mature,
We merely did nothing for ourselves.

We just followed the same road,
We followed the same destiny
And we lose ourselves in our journey.

At the end of it all we start to notice
We have taken the wrong path,
And the other roads are too far away.

So we turn into the side-roads,
Which lead to nothing but plagued floors
Broken doors and empty souls.

Mobiles have taken love out of ***,
Generations have missed out
How it feels to actually be connected.

You make love and your phone rings,
People stop to answer like your moments
Aren't precious enough with loved ones.

We eat meals at restaurants
With our families and friends,
All I see is arched necks and fiery fingers.

I wish I was in a time when we spoke
To one another about our days,
Not about a video that has gone viral.

I wish that as I grow and my children
Will walk amongst the earth I have,
It won't **** them into inevitable fates.

I don't want them to be another
White sheep hopping the same fence,
Like the rest of this miserable world.

Systems have taken individualism
Out of individuals and get labelled weird,
They give us titles like "OCD, ADHD".

I'm not either, and I don't actually have
A label to my name, yet I feel I should
I feel why shouldn't I?

After all I like to think different,
I like to think one day we will see
The clear glass in front of us.

But most of all, I truly hope one day,
We can become a better world
Instead of repetition in characters.
Just some quick thoughts I had on my brain. But this type of thing doesn't get spoken about enough. This may "offend" some, but I only speak in truths. My heart can only love so much until it gets stretched beyond its limit.
from  the farming minds
in Clayhatchee
in all of Bamalama'y
came cheers
for Trumps
explanations this week
how each side was wrong equally
and one was not permitted or notarized even
worth hearing
if you listen to the guy on the tractor bearing down on
corn after row of corn this week
he stated
those rotten com'nists he stated
were just ripe fer pluckin'
he had silken hair a load of
chaw tobacky
spit every two seconds debonair
in south "bama" standards
a man of "airs"
a man of "means"
I can't compete
since that sign
I put up
Vote Hillary
was so abused by
tomatoes and dog **** spattered last year
  Aug 2017 Clark Davis Hitchens
Kevin
Mystery of the vanishing hills along the old silk routes.
near unused spirit houses i saw a church.
at my feet i noticed the minor compartments lie in
where the Spanish rancheros once lived and worked.

Golden fleece of dixie,
beyond wind shaped cypress trees of giants and dwarfs
aquamarine water gently washes, trapped by falling tide,
a herd of whales meets death ashore

bishops had thrown out all the devils,
man with ginger colored hair and chocolate skin,
decorated with intricate tattoos
from high in the air on the island
i crossed a channel to another part

oh yes, the spirit houses remain
but hiking trails lead to streams
valley in a winter mood; photograph
the wrinkled and gently contoured mountains

for four days we wandered
monks hope the disillusioned, skeleton of the ox.
somebody knew, i was coming.
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