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Everybody’s staring again,
wherever I go whether they know or not,
I see the stares and it doesn’t matter,
if you’re taking my time you’re taking my pain,

what’s to gain,
from all this trouble,
I put my headphones on and try to focus,
but their staring again and it’s distracting,

fck this,
I want to explode like a supernova,
you don’t know me you want to know me,
I’d show you the truth but you’d be scared,

they always want to love you from a safe distance,
well with love there is no always and no distance is safe,
facts folks facts,
I’m off my axis writing in undefined prose,

what’s the pattern here,
there is no pattern here,
I’m getting bored I’m done here,
“Hey do you want to get out of here?”

Let’s go,
find a place,
where we can be,
period.

Want to take all this pain,
and push it into the world,
turn it into beauty,
change it into medicine,

oh man,
he’s on one again,
on that “Saving the world” spiel,
what’d they slip in his coffee today,

he’s acting strange,
and everybody’s staring,
like they know something great when they see it,
even if they don’t know exactly what that thing is,

what am I,
I don’t know and don’t have time to care,
got words to think and books to write,
got history to make before I get out of here,

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Everybody’s staring again,
and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.”

The king of awkward feeling strange on his throne,
I guess the best thing about being a runaway is you’re always home.

Or you’re never home,
and everywhere you roam everybody  stares,
wherever I go whether they know or not,
I see the stares and it doesn’t matter,
if you’re taking my time you’re taking my pain,

“What are you staring at?!?!”

Really I want to know,
because I’ve been trying to figure it out for years,
been to every continent,
and still I have no idea,

you are forcing me to not care,
taking hope and making my favorite word “whatever”,
whatever I feel exceptionally dizzy and want to throw up,
everybody’s staring the world is spinning I’m at a cafe in Budapest,

a table full of girls asked,
“What did you eat?”
I answer truthfully,
“Nothing, I just woke up.”

I was just stood up,
or maybe I missed my date because I just slept in,
I don’t know anymore because I feel disconnected from everyone,
and the further away I feel the more I see them stare…

Everybody’s staring again,
wherever I go whether they know or not,
I see the stares and it doesn’t matter,
if you’re taking my time you’re taking my pain…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of The H Trilogy
author of The Poetry Trilogy
I don't ask for much
a kiss now and then
To be spoken to
with reverence and kindness

My throat is somehow
not speaking its truth
these days
just a succumbing to every
whim but mine

and nothing to show for it
but this lousy t-shirt
that says "life is good"
It can't be that easy
where are the t-shirts
that proclaim the truth

*"Life is good as long as you
don't have a clue about anything.
Life is a conglomerate of
contradictions at which we all should
strive to embody the center of nonduality
for true inner peace."
Whiskey in a tea cup
Porcelain and wild
Blonde and dark
She's running me amok

She swept through my life like a
tempest
Whirling and screaming and
Throwing dishes, crying, swearing -
All the things those storms do
to make you never forget

She'd destroy my home
And I'd take cover
Cursing her and that infernal
Wildness

When it stops
And the rain quits pouring
I'd look to the sky,
hoping it would all happen
Again.
 Feb 2017 Laura Enright
Graff1980
My last dance will be an inspiration
Hands to hands tightly intertwined
Music deeper than any revelation
And all done in my own time

My last meal will be very delicious
Sampling a bit of all of my favorite things
And being my last, need not be nutritious
Humming with flavor cause you know it makes me sing
My last slumber will be the deepest I’ve known
Dreams will no longer come at all
My essence thus departed receding from how I’ve grown
So there will be no me left to recall

My last conversation will never be my last
Though my bodies may fade
Becoming only an echoe in the past
My words will remain to be remade

Revisited over and over again
It may not be immortality
But it is as close as I can come my friend
Words etched in the collective unconscious
Until humanity ends
The first thing I remember is breathing under water.
And what do you remember, dear and distant friend?

Lifetimes, braided together like blessed challah bread,
are intertwined, one into the next, sometimes glimpsed.

Living so differently, in music, through earthquakes and
tidal waves, we visit from one time into another,
to learn, to see life through one heart, our one unbounded
mind, the one universal soul that inhabits us all.

I have heard it said that after our ten thousandth lifetime
we can go home to our limitless beginnings.

Are we ready, dear, and distant friend?
Are you? Am I?
©Elisa Maria Argiro
 Jan 2017 Laura Enright
Srhrz
Expecting
that you will continue to look at her
and will become unaware of my feelings for you

But it was unexpected
for you to stop looking at her
and for you to be aware of my feelings for you

"Good things take time, indeed."

srhrz.
Mother

Always bearing the heavy hearts of her crying children.
Healing the wounds of the forgotten and lost.
Mending the bones of the injured soldiers.  But in the end we always take her for granted.

Like when you forget a pen without the paper, the tree without the dirt, the animals without a home.
Though we have love for her we beat her call her useless yell like an angry teen screaming i hate you when she unleashes her punishment. But she is still our mother, our womb, our world around us and we chip and scrap the pureness off her back to build ourselves ...and she lets us...crying and hurt shes there ....but like most mothers too old and beaten to care for their young one day she will only be a whisper in the wind. A memory of the past, and a simple thing we have always taken for granted, but with this misused love we are forever sorry.

- Malaya Mealy
Most humans drink coffee and wine
They consume television and mainstream novels
They feed their souls with popularity contests and safe relationships

But poets
We could not survive without passion, intensity, and meaning
Everything we feel is felt to the depths of our souls
We are the ones to put into words the unspeakable pain of heartbreak
The incomprehensible joy of falling in love
We are the ones brave enough to say out loud the diaries of a thousand souls

Us poets
We drink tea and whiskey
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