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prelude.

did you know that English stands alone as a written language requiring the capitalization of the word "I"... yet makes no similar provision for “we” or “us; a sad statement of self inflation.  it was after learning this that i abandoned the rule in my own poetry.


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my i’s averted,
lowered, diverted,
reduced in size,
an exercise of
large proportions;
breaking down the me-isms,
finding room for we-isms,
to take the larger place;
create an i for seeing,
the case for simple,
smaller being;
no need to punctuate,
instead eliminate this
compulsion to inflate;
’tis my i-drop moment,
my i-reducing ointment,
these pupils are dilated,
deflating i and me,
enlarging we and thee;
finding that in i-reduction,
the eyes are widely opened,
thus to better see,
what i really need to be.
solely engrossed, slow to emotions
prone to be a soul that is broken
lowly focus, frozen devotion
vocal notions erode when unspoken

(doing fine, i lie with a smile
while i fight my own quiet trial
i clear my head, i'm alright for a while
but
a mind that is clear is a mind in denial)

goal, avoidance of a throat opened
my vocal notions will go unspoken
choking on the voices stolen
prone to be a soul that is broken
I was ready to quit this site, but all the support that I have received while I wasn't even active has changed my mind. Thanks to all who have read my writing. Hugs to you all!
when no objective is best for our protection
protecting ourselves would be the best direction
directing ourselves toward a progressive connection
connecting our minds to make a collective correction

correcting the obsessions that infect our perception
perceiving ourselves as the essence of conception
conceiving a brand new perspective of reception
receiving the blessing that we call perfection
In a Quantum Loop poem, the last line of each stanza must be used as a different form of the word, as the first word in the following line. It also must rhyme, or nearly rhyme. Rhyme scheme can be any way you want it though. In a double quantum loop poem, the first word in lines 2, 3, and 4 must rhyme.
i see poems in my dreams
but i can't write them.

i'm haunted by demons in my head
but i can't fight them.

i've done wrongs in my past
but i can't right them.

so many dark paths to wander down
but i can't light them.

so many bright futures ahead
but i can't sight them.
i
don't
know how
i'm being
screamed at by silence.
i don't know what these rooms are for-
filled with ghosts and curtains that will never stop haunting.
i watch these stacked rooms from afar as we drive home. a wraith whispers light into their ears.
alone with the seconds tapped out by my feet, ticked out by the clock. i wonder if the hands get bored of circles? of turning gears? of being read? do they follow the expectations on them to give the correct time? do they crack under pressure, ticking a few seconds late or a few seconds early? are their poems about their life like poems about mine?
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