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 Dec 2016
Karina Norris-Veirs
I was asked
"Is the glass half empty, or half full?"
I answered, "the glass is refillable"
But they do not understand
How long it has taken to get to that
The medicines I take
The mantras I repeat
Every minute, hour, day
The fact I submerse myself in life
Trying to find that "normalacy"
The medicines help
They keep my monster locked away
At least, I like to think they do
It is still there
Taunting me behind bars
Attempting to break free
Devour me with its darkness
I may seem normal
Happy-go-lucky
But they don't see
How much I fight
To keep the monster from me
This monster of mine is forever there. Lurking in the shadows. Crouched and ready to strike. It will take the simplest of things and turn them into catastrophic events. I fight everyday to keep him within...

I was asked by one who does not suffer what it is like. This is the best I can do to explain. If you do not live with it or deal with it everyday, you do not fully understand. Sorry if this sounds more like a PSA. It just needs to be said.
 Dec 2016
Eleanor Rigby
Most people were conditioned
To think in a certain way.
Some cope with it with submission
Others with rebellion.

All the same
In the end.


-- Eleanor
Broken
does not render someone useless,
nor does it mean that the end has come,

It simply means
that the person has been mishandled,
I believe, that this is the case, for some.

Broken
does not mean hopeless,
nor does it mean that better days,
for the tired soul, will not arrive,

It simply means that the person
has to work harder
to bounce back,
to be brave and stay alive.

Broken,
in itself,
is beautiful,
it means that the person
has lived,
experienced and survived,

Broken
means strength and endurance -
It means, that by a Warrior,
defeat was denied.

By Lady R.F ©2016
 Dec 2016
Eleanor Rigby
Skinned ghosts and spilled ink
In a sack of flesh
My very own.
 Dec 2016
Hank Helman
Should we enjoy life while others suffer.
Right now all us know there are horrors beyond words
Occurring in this second.

A girl child is being ****** to her death,
Buried up to her neck in dirt, while grown men
Throw heavy rocks at her head,
And gossip amongst themselves,
Until they fracture her skull several times and she dies slowly.
Oh they put a hood over her head,
So none will have to look her in the eye.

A boy just blew himself and others to pieces.
A child,
He walked six blocks
Shivering from the chill of final minutes,
The awkward explosives rasping the skin on his hips raw,
Praying to a degenerate god,
Until his uncle presses a button.

A man is being tortured to death
By an adult in a uniform,
A uniform worn with pride by millions,
A uniform stained by hypocrisy and confusion,
And the mud of rights and wrongs.

A mother is watching her child starve to death.
Can you place yourself there,
A single room,
No heat or light, no way to protect your child,
No one to help you, death a constant whisper,
The suicidal despair of watching your child die,
A child who pleads into insanity, for you to help.

Perhaps it is happening only two blocks
From where you sit,
Or two million blocks
From where you sleep and fornicate and wish.
But we know.
We know.
It is happening and
I know
That
You know.

You, the one reading this poem right now,
And I
We know this truth.
So now what?
Can we be happy in an unjust world-- someone explain that to me. HH
 Dec 2016
Silence Screamz
A simple dust covered plastic mistletoe,
that stayed stapled above
the front door all year round
and a carton of Camel smokes wrapped
in red and green wrapping paper,
under the Christmas tree,
with a big silver "store bought" bow on it,
the tag said "Merry Christmas, FROM: SANTA"
is how I remember Christmas.

Ahh!! The Joy of Christmas
and no chestnuts roasting by an open fire.
We did have a real pine tree though.

My highlight of the holidays
was going down to the local VFW
and seeing a "Jolly Old Elf" with a fake beard,
he was really a fat, retired police officer.
But still Saint Nick to an eight year old boy.

You see that was the time when you got
out of the house.
When "he" started downing his
Christmas "spirits" and *******
down those cancer sticks.
The fumes were so thick at times,
I swore I was in LA ,
during rushhour on the 5.

After the frantically ripping open the presents,
us kids would dash off to our bedrooms.
Taking one or two gifts with us,
we created our own
getaway world, our own Christmas of Joy.

Then.

It began.

With voices raised,
even the mice scurried away.
I would wrap the pillows over my ears
and I would pray for peace on earth
and good will toward men.

Ghosts of my Christmas past
still seep into my memory at times
and
they haunt me till this day.
My Christmas past were not all joyful. Have a great holiday, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or joyous time
 Dec 2016
A W Bullen
You are close...

There is musk about your scattered limbs,
Sweet silvers on your Southern drawl,
Deep heat pinned papillon..

Let us pull these pearls
A little tighter...

Recite the hymns
That stoke the fires

From bended knee

Excite these summoned energies,
To crave these hearsay heresies

And see.....

Our war- paint , wild existence
With a  freedom seldom known.
 Dec 2016
wordvango
to sing about sad things
try to reconcile loves I left behind
those that broke my heart
long chords drawn out
*******
bad *** hearts on guitar strings
alone of course
on the side of an interstate
not even trying to go anywhere
songs sad tears remembering
in the fast
pulse of
the melodies
cars flying by
like lonely beings
lost in the
blur of fingers
crying
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