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I knew I matured
when I realized every situation doesn't need a reaction.
Sometimes you just have to leave people to continue to do the lame **** that they do.

sometimes its only about;
*Tranquility
-nothing will bring you greater peace than minding your own business
You
You were my greatest and worst love,
my high and low, my summer and winter,
my day and night, my pain and relief.
You were both an exaggeration and an understatement.
You were everything at once and nothing at all at the same time.
It always starts
in the head
lay face down
on the bed
my cover pulled
over my head
dissecting myself
every mistake

Distrust runs riot
all ego led
patterning plans
my wings clipped;
they deem me
a flight risk

Self flagellation
my own whipping boy
mortifying flesh;

Lord, forgive me
for my sins


My body pays penance
mauled;
flesh laid bare
and, I trace with fingers
tram lines of forgiveness

Overly thinking,
all inside my mind
is unfocused
war zones of
clambering disasters

Guilt further fed;
satiated by stealing
my breaths
from cushions
that smoother

I can't breathe

There is a deep, resounding
stillness
a calm before the storm

inside & outside
landscapes swirl
as I,
fight to unpin
myself
from that to which
I'm so tightly woven.

© Sia Jane
 Mar 2015 Lambert Mark Mj
KaMe
The heart of a writer is a battle ground,
they break for the sake of breaking
because even despair has its calms.
The hands of a writer are tar black,
patched up with band aids and
agonizing pain. The eyes of a writer
is a clear ocean view, mixed with
madness and sadness and a soul
somewhere there too. The mind of a
writer is a garden of flowers,
embracing pretty words and seeking
simple wonders. The soles of a writer
are on their own, they take them to
places they have  never been before,
then trip and fall, creating their next
                                                story line.
-Ka.Me.// @herbrokenpoetri on IG
Writers unite // @herbrokenpoetri on IG and tumblr.
---:$:---:$:---


There he goes
the Democrat's fool
the Republican's stooge
a New Order tool

He thinks his candidate
tells the truth
He's heading for the
voting booth

There she goes
those lies are glib
her female hero
promotes Woman's Lib!


For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!


There they stand
The brave Senators
The political nightmare
Dogs and curs

You're out of work
and in a jam?
Just email your
Congressman!

As far as our
Fearless Leaders go
they're no better
they're politicos


For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!



At the end of our rope
we choke and dance
but we keep our
political stance

We listen to their
clever quips
kissing babies
with rotting lips

But they are poisoning
the water we drink
the air we breathe
C'mon folks!
THINK!

We have power!
We have might!
We gotta think!
We gotta fight!

The Constitution's
eroding away!
The Bill of rights?
Ha! Gone today.

In the end
We could WIN!
There's 99 of US to only

ONE OF THEM


For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/17/2015
See my new site art.
The political message
speaks loud and clear

---:$:---:$:---:$:---
The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.

We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.

As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.

Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.

In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .

How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?

The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?

Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.

half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.

Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times

The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.

The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.

The page forever bleeds.

Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.
This co write was a true honor and something I feel was way over due .
Helen honestly deserves far more credit than myself on this for her lines in this truly are brilliant.

I give her all the credit in the world cause co writing with me I know is far from easy but this write was truly a pleasure and I look forward to this being the first of many writes with her .

Cheers Helen
Scared of what life has planned
Thinking back to the past
Already been dealt a hard hand
Thought it was good at last

A lump in my throat
Scared to jinx the scheduled test
Too soon that I spoke
Holding hope too close to my breast
Another poem for my confessions challenge...  Just another things adding stress and depression to my life.
Her whisper drew spirals in my mind,
On my pelvis.
She was a cunning...
...hurricane.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Draft.
. . . . . . . . .     You   Prefer   Them
                    Do                       To Be
                Why                Happy
                     ­               Than
                              You
           ­                 To Be
                            H
                            ­A
                            P
                         ­   P
                            Y

                     ­      A   s  
                         l         y
                           w    a
Always. Everytime.
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