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 Mar 2018
Graff1980
It is not as poignant
as an abused animal,

Or powerful as
a crying child,

Not as memorable
as a warzone,

Not a battlefield
of brain damage
from repeated blows,

I am not a hero
and I am to old
to be a victim
because the expiration date
was a long time ago,

So when people
talk about their trauma
I do not expose
those old wounds

Because,
no one really listened
when I told them the truth,

So I take my shovel
and I bury old scars
dig as deep as I can
until I can see
the stars
on the otherside
 Mar 2018
Graff1980
I am being silly
flexing
while wearing
a black coat
but under these
long black sleeves
I got arms
like young
Hercules

Whether I am weary
or not
I wrap myself up
in the cold
winter cloth
to shiver
and shake
this dust of snow off.

I go to work out,
then go to work,
whether I am wide awake
or barely alert,

But, my once feather light feet
now are like lead weights
that burden me,

Caffeine doesn’t seem
to be working,
even in excessive
doses,

My left eye closes
sealed shut
with sleep dust,
so I pull it up
and out
like a little scab,
thank goodness
it doesn’t bleed
like that.

Even though
I try to trick
my tired mind,
I know
that I am slow
because
I don’t even want to
finish this…….
 Mar 2018
Traveler
Twelve billion years, I’m still here
Existing beyond the void of love and fear
Where nowhere becomes somewhere
And emptiness becomes me
Bound by the hierarchies
And called of spirit to be free

Subjectively pursuing the objective life’s best
My soul ever fighting this simple-minded quest
Still I proceed and the vanity never ends
As fast as I can put it down, I pick it up again

A god that ascends or a god that descends
It makes me no never mind
I probably worshipped one or the other
In a better vanished time

Time in a moment disintegrates
Love like a molecule evaporates
Thoughts are like clouds passing over real loud
On into this world they penetrate
Solutions with new problems that complicate

Blinded by neuroses my desires run wild
I turn over control to my inner lost child
Developmental damage on the ladder of my soul
Pretending not to notice my issues become my foes

Twelve billion years, somehow I’m still here
Traveler Tim
Old one.
 Mar 2018
Graff1980
I miss the small town girls,
whose names I have
mostly forgotten,
the games of tag,
the make believe scenarios,
the fun we had.

I miss the star lit chats
that the adults had,
while I ran
with flint rock sparks,
and chased fireflies.

I miss the old campground,
where we would swim
in a small sandy pond,
splashing.
When the older folks
dipped in
they got bitten,
but I never felt
any fish nibbling.

These memories
have been dimming
over time,
plus distance
as I swim in
a different
world,

but I was younger then
playing with other children,
innocent.

I miss those moments.
 Mar 2018
Gidgette
I've lain on this horrid couch for days,
vintage in hand
ever staring
at this hideous popcorn ceiling.
A cheap white, low lying coffin lid.
You can never rehabilitate the dead
We are dead.
Yet, more alive than any of the sane people.
How I pity the sane.
Boring.
****** to a life of hell they are.
In these popcorn ceiling caskets.
And routine,
is hell~A
Hey. I've missed you.
 Mar 2018
Tiana Marie
Time and I like to race,
And the both of us won’t give in.
We wish to claim first place;
We both deny what’s not a win.

With my eye on the prize,
I try to beat my nemesis.
For it’s time I despise,
It is a thief with arrogance.

And for the longest time,
My rival was in the craved lead.
I now forbid his crime;
I have stolen his spot, indeed.

“How I do this?” you ask.
Well, it is the most simple thing.
Within each day I bask,
And in each small moment, I sing.

I don’t say “Next week I…”
And I don’t mention what has past.
I live for the day, though,
attempting just to make it last.

One day I will have won,
And I will claim my spot: first place.
I am who made time run,
All because I slowed down my pace.
 Feb 2018
Kelly Rose
I live for stolen moments
Catching glimpses of a life lived
Within the pages of…
A story, a fairytale, a myth?

Sadly, it’s easier to live
For those stolen moments
Than earned moments I create for myself

Kelly Rose
© February 28, 2018
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
I am preparing
for the sharing
of grief
as a another doctor
leaves.

Space and time
part like
the red sea.
I believe
the next one
will be good,

but I am emotionally attached
like I was to the last,
and the other doctor who passed.

Christmas time
and I will come home
to find
these tears of mine
are rather silly,
falling for
a fictional character
who isn’t even
dying.

He is just regenerating,
just changing
like we all do
even though
we struggle to
hold on to the past.

Nothing lasts,
nothing last,
nothing………
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
They agree with me
retroactively,
say they
were always
against the hate,

but I remember when
those women
and men
came rolling in
with their rage,

when they said
the immigrants
were to blame,
when the few
who stood against them
were defamed.

It has happened
again and again,
blacklists,
secret prisons,
social poisons,
marches,
white rage,
fascism.
The masses join in
while we keep struggling.

Then when
peace swings
back in,
when the pendulum
is less threatening
I hear them say
that they never behaved
that way. *******!

I’ll bet their grandchildren will proclaim
“I could never be led astray the same way.”
Then make the same about face.
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