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 Sep 2014 Mr X
Pax
To Forget Something is Easy,
but losing Someone is Hard.




*© Pax
a quote - never compare someone to a thing, things are easily replace-able, close friends/family are not and it is the most hardest to forget when you lost them...
 Sep 2014 Mr X
Liliana Jaworska
In the depths of the soul
I would like to be a better man
for ants,
for passer-by,
for daisies.

In the depths of the soul
I would like to be the brightest beacon
for my astray soul,
for my troubled mind,
for my amblyopic eyes.

In the depths of the soul
I would like to be the purest form of love
to appreciate the beauty of the world,
to reconcile with an old friend,
to awaken in others simple needs of the heart.

In the depths of the soul
I would like to become a ray of hope
to discover the meaning of forgiveness,
to have a better taste of coffee in the morning,
to experience a long farewell.

In the depths of the soul
I would like to find answers to your questions
about love,
about God,
about Universe.

In the depths of the soul
I would like to get far away from here
to find myself amidst worries,
to subdue my own weakness,
to breathe a sigh of relief.

In the depths of the soul
I would like to become everything
that's admirable for your eyes
to possess Unity,
to possess your soul
forever.
 Sep 2014 Mr X
Leah Rae
Six girls.
Four bunk beds.
Freshman year.
College.
We are all nervous.
Elbows and knees. Awkward.
Like being packed into a cattle car.
Rewind 6 years.
Homeless, living in the back of a minivan.
Three children, and our mother.

Sleeping together in a single motel bed
Nervous for morning.

Elbows and knees.
I am built for building.
Made to create.
Hands like carpenters, I make a home out of anywhere I go.
Learned to carry it on my back.
To take things with me.

And now, I am almost nineteen year old and I have been living out of boxes for the past two months.

Out of containers filled with my own clothing.
I feel like I can’t find stillness.
Or have silence.

I haven’t been alone in two months.
I am sleeping with the lights on.
They call this temporary housing,
For all the students who applied late.
Like me.

But I didn't think I would be here.
But I was raised poor,
remember the minivan,
so a free college education tasted like..
Like you’re starving, and your mom’s food stamps haven’t came in yet, and you’re at the grocery store,
and its Saturday,

and they’re handing out free samples.

And I feel lucky.
And I feel blessed.
And I feel grateful.
And I feel slighted.
And I feel frustrated.
And I feel tired.
And I feel angry.

Angry that I am this easy to tear down.
That I am ticker tape,
salvage yard,
construction zone.
That the four walls of the home I've tried to build inside of myself can be so easily burned down.

Can be destroyed.
A fire alarm in my chest, and a flooded basement.
That I can’t find peace in the only home I've ever had.

There are motel signs.
Blinking,
three am,
and my mother’s credit card is being declined.
And my little sister won’t stop crying.

And we are in a homeless shelter when I’m 6.

And we’re in another when I’m 8.

And another when I’m 13.

I’m 19 in a few months,
And this dorm feels like another one.

And I’m convinced they build these places, on purpose.
Temporarily temporary.

To show us how temporary we all are.
That we can’t take anything with us.

That I can't take anything with me.

Where ever it is that I am going.
Where ever it is that I might end up.
I’m just praying..

Praying there is a warm bed to sleep in when I get there.
 Sep 2014 Mr X
blythe
Learn
 Sep 2014 Mr X
blythe
In life,
It is essential
That you learn
How to be strong enough
To let go;
And wise enough
To wait
For what you deserve.
There was a poem
awaiting me
from the morn

announced her name
showed faintly
shy to be born!

She walked all night
along my dreams
fell as dew

robbed daylight
its howling screams
she hardly grew!

She tore my sleep
her garbled rhymes
thumped heartbeat

I couldn’t keep
her broken lines
on crumpled sheet!

There was a poem
awaiting me
from the morn

her incoherence
made no sense
she was stillborn!
 Sep 2014 Mr X
SøułSurvivør
Rain falls
behind her eyes

misting her world
the color of asphalt and
wet granite

not a single

tear

falls



Soul Survivor
I saw a photograph in Life magazine.
It was of a woman who was displaced from
Oklahoma during the 1930's.
She and her family were homeless.
Not a tear was in her eye.
She was too numb to cry another tear.
She was done crying.

This is for all the women out there
who suffer in silence.
 Sep 2014 Mr X
Stu Harley
all the kites
that
gather all
in the
breckenridge
blue sky tall
to spread
their wings
so they
can fly
trumpet their
voices sing high
when we run
make both our hands
pull their strings
to hear them sing
and lord
all the kites glow
 Sep 2014 Mr X
Born
If i could write a poem
i would
if i could express my lowest points
i would
if i could tell you how much i love life
i would
if i could tell you why death is always hanging on my shoulders
i would
if only my happiness could be better than my sadness
i would!

If i could tell you the burden of religions
i would
if i could break from the chains that suffocate me
i would
if i could rid off voices in my head
i would
if you could understand the pains of my sufferings
you would
if my words could speak for my silence
it would
 Sep 2014 Mr X
Nicole Joanne
All she ever wanted was someone to look into her eyes
and tell her they would rather get lost in her milky way
than in the blue skies of another.
She wanted arms to be wrapped around her in the way
the cover of a book would its pages: tight and secure,
but loose enough to let her story build on.
How many times can a person fall in love and not be loved in return?
How many words can be wasted on people who will never read them?
Why dress up sadness in beautiful metaphors?

Daydreaming of someone looking at her as if she was the metaphor
for all things beautiful and sad in life,
how though a rose may be sharp-stemmed
he'd endure the thorns and adore the petals;
dreaming of finding that someone
who will see the pink beneath the red
and know that though passionate as she is.
there's a fragile little girl hidden, scared.

How many times can you watch the sun set and rise,
only to build up fantasies and beautiful lies?
Dancing on a field of green under the colours of the world;
I swear there's a colour that has not yet been observed.
I dream I dance beneath it, with his hand in mine;
I identify with a colour that has not yet been inscribed;
who would hold a hand of one that is not confirmed?
Who will see the colour if neither can I?

She writes poetry in an attempt to become a poem herself,
in the eyes of someone else.

(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved
 Sep 2014 Mr X
JD
memory
 Sep 2014 Mr X
JD
I looked back to what I was
To realize who I am again
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