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Why LOVE is not forgettable?
Its existed since four thousand years
Trampled by human race
Uplifted by Gods and sons of God
The Prophets and the Messaih
The saints and seers
The Lamas and Sufis
Who march ahead for compassion & care
Bearing the flags of non-violence
with a promise not to hurt anyone

And now you got the scent of LOVE?
I see you are on the way to discover it
And Re-live your life with LOVE
Whether you belong to a family
Or you decide to be a Gypsy
LOVE always shows you the way
And LOVE always yields its returns
Even if not for you - NOW
Surely for the entire human race
For the next four thousand years!
 Aug 2015 weirdlittlealien
Joanna
Over the past year I have just learned a lot about this quest of mine for love.
I've cried a lot, made bad choices, but I've also grown a lot.
But it doesn't make it any easier.
I wish I didn't crave affection.
I wish I didn't fall so quickly.
I wish that the fact that my heart is in a cage would mean that it is protected, but I've finally realized that all it is, is trapped and unable to break free.
It's a prisoner.
I'm captive to my own emotions and lately it's driving me crazy.
Because it's a broken record: I'm a great girl, I have respect for myself, I have the personality and a bit of the looks as well but for some reason these guys either don't see it or don't value it.
And I know that that means I shouldn't care for them but that's a hell of a lot easier to say than done.
The truth is I hate being sad about this one insignificant and tiny blip in my life when there is so much to be happy and grateful for.
And then I'm angry because I'm sad and I feel like I can be in a crowded room and yet alone and then I start to find all of the reasons to legitimize being angry perhaps when they aren't even good reasons.
I feel like I'm so happy in a lot of ways but sad in some of the ways I want to be happy.
And there is always a reason for me to not be with someone.
Always.
And before it was always me in the way but now it's them, they don't want me.
And I know that I'm priceless and I know that I'm worth all of the stars and combustible helium and dust in this galaxy but it's really hard to believe something is up in the sky when all you see is the ground and sometimes I just can't muster up that kind of faith.
Sometimes I feel like my emotions are the poem I wish I could write and other times I'm just so **** tired of being the poet because for once I just want to be someone's poem.
And I know that they say that when you're broken that is how the light gets in but it also allows for shadows and I'm growing to hate the darkness.
Every bit of happiness I feel lately turns out just to be just like a stone thrown into water and it's impossible to avoid the ripples, and they remind me that I have no control and must go with the flow and I'm tired of going against the current.
And god knows I wish I had the confidence to walk across a room and know that I am something worth having but it's hard when subpar is what you're used to.
And I'm slowly coming to find the word empty to be ironic because in reality, this emptiness has never felt so heavy.
It's hard to stand tall when you do and you fall and you also realize parts of you are made of glass.
And it's the scariest thing to admit that in some ways you're broken because broken things never truly get fixed.
They find a "new normal" and maybe I'm old fashioned but I like some things to stay the same.
And I know that there are storms in my eyes and electricity in my lips but **** it I think the pain is worth it.
I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder but what happens when everyone is blind?
And what scares me the most is putting these thoughts into words because tongues always cut the deepest.
Read it the way you would with slam poetry.
 Aug 2015 weirdlittlealien
Lydia
This poem is for everyone who is reading it at midnight.
It's hard to be encouraging to you.
I'm writing this at midnight.
I can't sleep, either
The never ending rush of existence that lives inside of you,
I feel it
I feel it, too
At night I become a display case,
Showing everyone every shred of me
Every brutal scar that my clothing couldn't hide
Covered up by waking up
Or the clock striking seven,
Forcing another sleepless night
Slowly begining to fade the nightmares from before
Nightmares aren't dreams, they're memories
I show them on my skin like tatoos
All night,
I try and hand my consciousness to you
All night,
I try to convince myself there is a reason to wait for tomorrow
All night I face self loathing and terror
Every night I wish I weren't alone
Some nights,
I remember that I'm not
For everyone with insomnia... You are not alone. I know how it feels. I understand.
Please comment :)


Thank you for all of the support on this poem. I'm glad to see that people were able to relate :) Thank you to everyone who shared their experiences, too. I would like to encourage everyone who is reading this to talk about it, because every experience is different. Thank you everyone who has read and liked this poem as well. :) :) :)
What do you hate?
LOVE?
Or is it...
Someone LOVING YOU?

Then you should also hate...

The ocean
The rains
The clouds
The flowers
The sun
The stars
The moon
The birds
The breeze
The rose
(the list goes on...)

And most probably
Your beauty too...!
Peculiar human she was, with shiny delicate scales...
underneath fragile skin so pale.
She played two roles, one was crowned and wore a broken halo...
One Queen *****, and the other a semi-angelic hobo.
She traveled from place to place,
and she traveled quickly, as if it was a race...
and to her the many suitors were her homes.
She lived inside their beds, and gently ****** away their souls...
and then left, disappeared without a trace.
Why must she break so many hearts? And in such haste!
You must think "What an inconsiderate *****!"
So **** worried about becoming a bore...
and yet everyone else was the source of her ennui...
Even a million lovers couldn't fill her void inside.
And how pitiful...She was absolutely beautiful.
Like glitter she was stuck in my skin, a sparkling syringe so delightful.
Injecting her majestic into my thin little wrists,
and she left me, another broken empty home, with nothing but the ghost of her bliss.

— The End —