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 Aug 2020
Nathan Pival
All we can ever do is our best
There is nothing more
Sometimes even that
Isn't enough
And we are left, defeated
But who cries that final ultimatum?
Only ourselves
We are the biggest critics of our own lives
That simple reality
Is too much sometimes
I fight it
But I know
I am the biggest ******* in my life
Bringing me down
I haven't killed my dreams
But I plague them
I sold my future
For a low-grade donut
But I can steal it back
I hate you for doing this
But I still love you
I can ask why all day
But I know the answer
Because I'm still here *******
And I'm not going anywhere

Quit self sabotaging
 Aug 2020
LittleFreeBird
I

am

bottomless


this gaping
maw

place my heart
vacated

I am
devoid

and resonance has
deserted me

this is a lonely
place to be




inside myself


.
 Jul 2020
Francie Lynch
We love my mashed potatoes,
With butter on our plates;
But at the Trumpian table,
We'd eat from Donnie's pate.
According to Mary Trump, Donald's most humiliating and embarrassing moment happened when Freddie Jr. dumped a bowl of mashed tatters on little Donnie's head.
pate: head
 Jul 2020
Francie Lynch
My grandchildren will read
The year had already passed,
By the time they were born,
To stop climate change.
I don't know how they will get the information.
I don't know when they will get the information.
I don't know from what or whom it will be delivered,
Or how it will be communicated.
I'm sure the news won't and shouldn't come from me;
Although it came duplicitously from me, and others;
Driving them everywhere, flying around, BBQing animals.
And all the entrapments of a twentieth century middle class life.
The grandkids will have serious questions,
Like Why?
I have loved you to death.
Will there be any to answer
When the signal arrives in 2070?
 Jul 2020
Francie Lynch
If I was a bigot,
Or xenophobic,
Or prejudiced,
Or sexist,
Or racist,
Or even Evangelical,
I would argue
The Wrath of God
Has enveloped America,
Like a plague.
But I'm not, I'm a non-believer.
 Jul 2020
Francie Lynch
It's not a macho thing.
It's not a Republican choice.
He's not worried
We won't hear his voice.
He just can't wear a mask,
It's not because of manly fears;
It's just Putin
Likes to hold
**** lickers by their ears.
The mask would keep slipping off with each lick.
 Jun 2020
Doy A
done with the violence
done with the pain
done with the same shame
over and
over and over
again

done with the accusations
and the suspicions
done with the same lies
in different forms
and messed up versions

today you said you're sorry
you said you love me
you always will
but who knew a love like this
could somehow ****
the passion
the trust
the ways that I
thought I knew you
were loving me the same way
I did
with my whole heart and
my whole life

my whole life
is unrecognisable and I
can barely tell which truth to believe in
because how can you ever deceive
someone who stopped their heart beating
for you
how can you destroy someone who
took you in their arms and
went ahead and said,
"stay here, you belong in the home
inside my heart
I built only for you."

done with late night crying
finding myself imagining dying
as a way out, an escape
done with blaming you or me
for the choices I keep on making
done punishing
myself for the mistakes
that you made
because I made the same mistakes too
as if the path to forgiveness is repeating
the ways we've hurt each other hoping
it will just stop to hurt
at some point

it's like you and I
Or mostly I
have to tiptoe around landmines
Afraid I'll discover more crimes
afraid I'll be in the wrong place at the wrong time and
careful I don't set off the time bomb
that is called Our Relationship

when heartbroken poets make metaphors
about wounds and battle scars
I wonder where mine are
because I've been through this same war
fought it and won it and lost it
for years and years on repeat
and yet I have no marks to prove it
so maybe not every victory is a celebration
and not every survival is the ending of the story
and not every abuse leaves a bruise
and here I am still writing
wondering about my own story's ending
 May 2020
Francie Lynch
Don't you admire his ringwork;
His footwork and speed?
Dance. Jab. Dance.
Did you see Rambonehead snap?
Glossy-eyed. Swollen and staggering
Like the bloated incumbent.
Jab. Dance. Jab.
The Dope's been roped.
The final count's on.
Obama only has to say a few words to stagger the Rambonehead.
He floats and stings.
 May 2020
Acme
One more glass of wine
  Into my time machine I
  travel back before you die.
  We'll laugh until we cry!
  remembering, remembering...
  We agree death tops our fears.
  and morning overwhelms.
  I drown again in a sea of tears.
 May 2020
Francie Lynch
Who dares enjoy your gold with you?
What good is it Midas? It's contaminated.
When will you, if ever, enjoy it again?
Where is your preferred seating now?
Why persist with your follies? Don't touch me.
There are no shows, theaters, arenas, ports of call, restaurants, flights, etc., where the rich can spend their gold. And anyone who makes a profit out of our misery, may they have the Midas Touch.
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