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 Aug 2017 Jordan Supertramp
S
I have to be cautious
When exploring the other side of me
Because if I fall in too deep
We're all going to die
But I'm falling
Deeper and deeper

I can hear screams from the rabbit hole

My name...
They scream it everyday
My life..
They are slowly taking it away

And the worst thing is

It's the closest thing I've ever felt to friendship
It's a comfort...one of life's many indulgences
To dabble in the darkness of the human psyche

It's satisfying
To walk into a zone that is so off limits
And to have everyone stare at you
Judging loudly and being curious silently

I offer to help those in wonder discover
The worst parts of themselves

But they leave
They just give up

Because secretly we are all afraid
To realise that hell resides within us

So we run
Closer and closer to the good within us
Until it's too late
And we get hurt
Because the good within us
Really isn't good at all

Black, white and grey are all different kinds of evils
 Jul 2017 Jordan Supertramp
JAC
The boy who waved the boats from shore
had still never set sail,
but he was lonely.
One day or morning,
a sailor's sunrise,
a girl approached the boy on the pier.
It was a long walk
and they could see each other
on each side, approaching.
They watched each other,
each studying the other,
as if other could learn about each
before even speaking.
Eventually, she arrived,
and they looked at each other again,
faces full of curiosity.
"What are you doing?"
asked her eyes.
His replied,
"What's it to you?"
"Well," she blinked,
"You seem all alone here.
Boats leave, but you do not."
She communicated across a short sea
of rotting, sun-dried boards
between them.
The boy said nothing.
Instead, he cocked his head
and flicked a smile
from the corner of his lips
across the metre-long lake of boards.
She asked him after a pause,
"I've nothing to do,
may I please sit on the dock with you?"
The boy nodded warmly,
and they sat,
fewer boards between them than before.
She pulled off her shoes,
her socks too, pink and blues,
and dipped her toes
in the water she knew was cold.
They spoke very little,
but they would inevitably fall in love.
A continuation of "The Boy on the Dock".
There is a lovely noise about your name,
Above the shoutings of the city clear,
More than a moment's merriment, whose claim
Will greater grow with every mellowed year.

The people will not bear you down the street,
Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words,
The modern kings will throttle you to greet
The piping voice of artificial birds.

But the rare lonely spirits, even mine,
Who love the immortal music of all days,
Will see the glory of your trailing line,
The bedded beauty of your haunting lays.
no, I'm not talking about the ones with big noses
or greasy hair

not the ones with bad breath
or round bellies

no, I just like them raw
a little broken, a little sad

the ones with scars
a story to tell

I sure know how to pick em' you might say
but I'd never give them up any day

a whole adventure in a person like the outdoors
one with canyons and mountains he would let me explore
only ugly guys give themselves all at once
no parts hidden, everything is exposed

vulnerability is thought to be a weakness but in reality it's bold

I like ugly guys.
So go out there and be real, often we hide because we fear getting hurt. But in that fear we miss out on the world, we miss out on living, and worst of all, love. So even if we may get bruised, get to the lowest of the low, you'll one day stumble upon something that embraces you as you are, something that cherishes your ugliness unconditionally, something that inspires you to be better, whether that be a passion, a person, or something as simple as a smile. Is it really worth hiding if you miss on the chance to experience that?

Edit: I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read my work and am in disbelief a piece of mine chosen as the daily pick for the very first time! This community is amazing :)
 Jun 2017 Jordan Supertramp
Eleni
He stands like a Michelangelo
Statue of David;

Naked, perplexed
Shoulders - flexed
Abdomen, stretched.

In his **** glory
He carries a pitchfork, a warning glare.
Ready to slay Goliath, with his bare snare.

A symbol of strength, youth, beauty
And I must protect his duty.

For he loved me as the stoat loves the hare.
And I loved him as the poor girl that loves the rich, old man.

I all but food for his stomach
A helpless maiden, haunted puppet.
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