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 Sep 2018 mi
Bek Blanchard
iDol
 Sep 2018 mi
Bek Blanchard
Disconnected the more we’re connected
Our children are affected and feeling neglected
While our rights to privacy are no longer respected
An idea our ancestors never projected
The transgressions of technological progression
An obsession creating social oppression
A Millennial’s iDol, a prized possession
 Sep 2018 mi
MisfitOfSociety
Bees
 Sep 2018 mi
MisfitOfSociety
The bees don't care what you say,
The bees go their own way.
Don't be like a monkey,
Rather be like a bee,
You can't tell them what to do,
the bees just defy you.

You can hold down the seas,
but you can't hold down the bees,
Who are you to tell them what to do,
We are the many run by the few.

Newton is my god,
god is good,
god is great.
Forgive me father,
for I have sinned.
I am sorry,
for questioning thee.
Bless upon the fruit that fell and freed us!
Bless upon the monkeys that gave birth to us!
Bless upon the pictures that they painted for us!
Bless upon the cosmic scaled **** that made us!

You are my eyes,
my prophet,
my seer,
my revelator,
put thoughts in my head,
and I will repeat what you have said
Our thoughts are not our own,
We are not safe, even in our home.

Monkey see, monkey do,
we are the many run by the few.
Don't be like a monkey,
rather be like a bee,
don't do what they say,
forget what you have learnt and levitate away.
*** did I just write.
 Dec 2017 mi
galaxy of myths
you do?
 Dec 2017 mi
galaxy of myths
Baby boy, there's no need to feel insecure
cause in my eyes, you put the moon in the sky.
I wonder how you'll feel if you knew
or maybe deep down, you do?

-m.b
 Oct 2017 mi
Silver Lining
It's my Birthday today.
I'm Turning 17.
The same age that you had been frozen at.
It's so incredibly unfair...
You didn't have enough time.
I don't feel old.
I don't feel wise.
I don't feel like I'm one year away from being an adult.
And I certainly don't feel old enough to die.
 Sep 2017 mi
Chuck
Mistress
 Sep 2017 mi
Chuck
Guilty pleasure
But time I treasure
Just you and I
No kids' screaming cry
No wife to bark orders
As we seek new borders
I stroke your limbs
My ego brims
You ride me away
From stresses in my day
Your frame is so light
I ride you just right
You transport my life
In a different way than my wife
I love the both of you
To you both I'll be true
But with you I'm physical
My wife is mystical
You create such sweat
The drips make you soaking wet
As I crank you on ascents
And coast down long descents
I get light headed
Nothing you do is dreaded
You carry me away
So I just needed to say
You are my mistress, my queen
I don't want to be obscene
But if loving you is wrong
Why does my wife sometimes ride along
If you haven't guessed, and I hope you have, my mistress is my bicycle. Actually I have six of them. It's okay; they know about each other. Haha
 Sep 2017 mi
R Saba
personal math
 Sep 2017 mi
R Saba
i am not
the sum of my parts

i am my parts, still scattered
and somehow arranged
in working order
fingers scrabbling to sew
the pieces together
into this shambling, smiling mess

i am not
the whole picture

i am the pixels, the sharp squares
of almost-colour
that mean nothing up close
but look ordinary, lifelike
and solid
from far away

i am far away
a million-pixel memory
moving into the whole picture
and fitting in just perfectly enough
to fade into the horizon
as the sum of my parts
becomes just another spark
trying to ignite a dormant soul
i **** at math
 Sep 2017 mi
m i a
[ math boy ]
 Sep 2017 mi
m i a
don't add me into your life,
just to subtract me out, alright?
please don't divide my heart in half,
just to walk away and laugh,
don't try to solve me like an algebraic equation,
unless you're patient,
if not,
you might as well give up and go on vacation,
i'm too complicated,
you can go and ask all the past guys i've dated,
you may be smart math boy,
but trust me,
i'm smarter than all of your other toys.
this was fun to write, i was supposed to be studying for math but came up with this instead.
 Aug 2017 mi
Mikkoy Mencede
The moon and stars they wept.
The grey blanket of clouds covered the light source.
The morning sun was dead.
In a bunked lowly chair I sat as I stare the first drop of sky's tears fall in the windowpane.
It's like watching a full played orchestra.
The loud crackles of every droplet hitting my roof sounded like violins.
The wind steered the tempo of each cello sounding raindrops.
Marvelous harmonies of saxophones, bassoons, oboes, clarinets and flutes symphonized the silence.
Sky, the orchestra conductor is crying.
So am I.
Then I remembered, that I'll play a function too.
I'm the orchestra's vocal soloist.
Oh, here's my part . . . I screamed.
Depressed.
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