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 Oct 2017 Illona
Emily Dickinson
54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!
 Oct 2017 Illona
Poetic T
I urinate on your weak wording,
not out of disrespect but I find that
this is all the apologise that they need.

Can I give your thoughts merit on mere
wording, No.... they brain damage me,
to a Neanderthal grasping of should I touch fire.

I try to inhibit my attention but I wrap my
mind around a lamp post and my thoughts
bleed swiftly out on the road till they die..

They are like full beam on a dark road leading
to the eventuality of my mind blinded thinking
how could this have been shone before eyes.

I urinated on your word just to put the fire out
that was burning on the page, charcoal words
were washed quickly from my now numbed mind.
 Oct 2017 Illona
olive
listen
 Oct 2017 Illona
olive
she made every day sunny,
always in my head.
she soon became the reason
i should get out of bed.

she was the neon of the night,
and the cool clouds of the day.
she was the distance to the stars,
she was so far away.

i told her, “you’re beautiful.”
she didn’t hear me.
i looked at her with all of the love in the world,
she didn’t see.

i did these things in my head,
i never let her know.
i should not have kept so quiet,
now i have to let her go.
 Oct 2017 Illona
olive
Such a little baby,
So green and so small,
Think of how crazy,
No one wants her at all.

Some say that she’s vile,
Some say that she’s cruel,
But all the while,
This just gives her more fuel.

Though all the things said,
The girl does not crack,
All this has led,
To a knife in her back!

They say that she’s wicked,
It’s chaos they’ve brought,
Her aura is livid,
Wicked’s something she’s not!

She is not all these things,
Her compassion shines true,
All the hurt that it brings,
Makes her look like a fool.

In a panic and a hurry,
Her whole life is changed,
The girl now must scurry,
In fear of being caged.

She runs and she flies,
To a place far away,
For herself now she cries,
She’s safe for the day.

No one is born wicked,
It’s something you become,
Though she’s been afflicted,
She is still full of love.
 Oct 2017 Illona
Born
Listen
 Oct 2017 Illona
Born
Hate is a strong word when your surrounded by lunacy
that crippling mentality that's  been woven to entertain us
or you, who's entire existence relies on fantasy
created to suffocate your intelligence
with a programmed 'urge' that'll always be there

Goals and dreams have been replaced by dalliance
do you know the meaning of dalliance
probably not cause your brain is too confined
to notice that it has lost control of its own self
but still, reluctantly have to ask you to
Care enough to think

Learning and creativity has been distracted by entertainment
a society that is willingly slaving their way to
a chained ignorance
so yeah, before I sleep I better check my fantasies
seeking instant gratification of some kind

Do you ever wonder what keeps you in mediocrity
is it the job that you hate, which your stuck on
Is it your failed relationships
is it because you cannot desert distraction
is it your inability to be creative
or is it because you don't know what to do
 Oct 2017 Illona
Malak S
Dear death,
I am a waste.
I am a waste of space, of air, of life.
I am a waste.
I am wasting away in this darkness of memories that I can’t seem to let go.
I am a waste.
How do I rid myself of pain that strings along the chords of my heart,
Playing it as if an instrument.
How do people make sense of the waste?
How do they learn to appreciate how their mind was meddled with and how their heart gave and gave only to be unappreciated?
I am a waste,
And I still cannot figure out how to make something out of nothing
I am still figuring out who I want to be and where I want to go and all I can seem to think of is you.
Death,
What do you do to people who are wasting away?
Do you **** the breath out of their lungs leaving them to slowly decay and turn to dust?
Or do you hug them tight and tell them everything will be okay even though all you’ll leave behind is a mess?
Death,
I can’t put my pieces back together again.
Sometimes it’s hard getting out of bed and I call you,
Yet you never pick up.
Sometimes I long to jump off of bridges and land into the arms of comfort...yet I never have the courage
Because giving myself to you or to life means commitment and I’ve never known anyone to be committed to me.
Sometimes the waste pulls me in and I drown in a sea of my mistakes; the ones people constantly remind me of, and it seems easier to let the water fill my lungs and sink than fight against the tides.

I am a waste,
Yet I’m still figuring out how to be more.
How to evolve and progress and become
To simply become something more
To want more
To experience and live more
To have said a waste but I certainly am not.
I have been put on this earth for a purpose, and I’m on an adventure of figuring out what my reason is.
This came to me as I was thinking of performing at a poetry/mental health event. Didn’t get to perform but at least I can share it
 Oct 2017 Illona
Seema
Human Beasts
 Oct 2017 Illona
Seema
Crawling mists
Moonless night
Hovering beasts
Pledging plight

Stars sink in sky
Mind puzzle bound
I ask myself, why
I'm not yet found

Hands covered in dirt
Laying low in the reeds
Pulling up my skirt
Thinking of my needs

Dews covered my face
Dusk broke the first light
Birds began to race
Two voice seem to fight

Up on my feet slowly
Finding my track back
My feelings so lonely
O' where is my pack

A dim campfire shown
Delighted I ran towards
My heart got blown
Seeing bodies hung via cords

Which way shall I run
My lifeline running low
A shot from a gun
And my pace geared slow

Blood smeared on my face
As I fell on the ground
Lost my track in a trace
Human beasts surround...


©sim
Spilling imagination :)
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