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if i can't do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don't want
to do

it's not the same thing
but it's the best i can
do

if i can't have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i've got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want

since i can't go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn't lateral

when i can't express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal
i know
but that's why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry
 Sep 2015 Nightingale74
Emma
I have heard
that sand exfoliates
and that water cleanses
I have felt the pain
of scraping rocks against my skin
To rid myself of me
To remove the history
off of my fingertips
Who I am
hates the person I have been
though I liked the thought of myself
In your arms
Some nights I stay up and cry
hoping the tears will make me an ocean
to drown all the memories
and the salt will rub against me
Like a snake
I will shed my skin
and soon forget the
warmth of your touch
In 7 years
I will not find
a speck of you on me
I thought I was finally clean but I still feel you in the rain.
I'm too old now to die young
But not old enough to get rid of my self doubt
I have many years on my record
But if I got arrested, would you still bail me out?

I'm too old now to die young
Too young to have these tragic thoughts
I have many years on my record
But I'm getting tired of walking around with a heavy heart

I'm too old now to die young
But not old enough to think that every tear's been shed
I have many years on my record
I wish I didn't feel like all those years were wasted

I'm too old now to die young
But not old enough to get rid of my self doubt
I have many years on my record
But if I got arrested, would you still bail me out?
I´m not sure about this one.. got inspired by a line in a song. Please feel free to let me know what you think/what could have been better.
Copyright @ Johanna Magdalena
i saw in your eyes
my windowed soul
my naked self freed
alive yet dousing now
joyous tear and burst
of cloud ringing stars
yay i am sure drowned
overboard in lifesaving
blooms wilds flowering
of irises touch so dear
and lay awake bathing
only to dream for sight
with looks blissful keep
the near deepest unrest
and i am fairly held nigh
holy in pagan fairy pools
of skye by sunken lochs
into bluest shyest violets
glowing moons ashudder
what unlived eyes of mine
could nae see ever before
what life held by saving us
ayes set in promising glaze.
Memories are just those suspended moments in time when everything is held together by the strongest strands of the spider’s web and the chest caving hug of a parent.
Memories are the tiniest seconds when you stand at the cusp of everything and watch every color breath across your field of vision and against your moral code you tie down those thoughts because losing that dance is worse than death.
They are the air we breathe and the space between my ears as lips creep up your face. Memories are the rooms of gold poured down a dragon’s throat and glaze hearts onto its eyes.
It’s the stuffed animal we all know is grotesque, but we can’t in our right mind throw away. Memories are the fundamental structure of everything good.
The warmth that rushes through our body and fire we take delight in. The unsuspected smiles that cause weird glances and good feelings.
Memories are an escape the equivalent to a book to which it is a world.
Memories are the birds resting on the shoulders of snow white that are so happy just to be there because they know the beautiful colors of a voice escaping her mouth are their treasure. Memories are the Hemoglobin of love that tell our minds: “remember this. It matters”
 Sep 2015 Nightingale74
Savion
You really have to watch those liberal males,
they'll spend hours and hours with you having
deep intellectual conversations.

They'll discuss deep ideas, contemplate esoteric
theory and spiritual ideas. They'll make love
for hours and write deep and meaningful poetry
about you. Sure, they will probably wear their hair
long and most likely won't own a television.

But, they'll understand art and architecture and
literature. It's true that they probably won't give two
shakes about who won what football game, but they'll
dance with you late at night under the stars and they're
always looking for new ways to please you and usually
understand your deepest thoughts, often before you
understand them yourself.

They'll be your best friend and always treat you as
an equal, in fact, it will never even enter their mind
that you're not. They're almost always physically fit, too,
because they're usually the outdoorsy type and love to hike.
They never make fun of others, or discuss small ideas.
They enjoy discussing ways to improve the world and
the lives of others.

Sure, they won't slap you on your *** and tell you to get in
the kitchen and cook them some dinner and bring them a beer
while you're at it like those macho men on the right. Instead
they'll probably tell you to relax while they whip you up a
gourmet meal and serve it to you on the best dishes.

Yeah, you really gotta watch out for those liberal males.
I wrote this in response to a derogatory comment about liberal men.
Grey dawns the morning cold; dew
gathers on the mould. while robins sing
in freshen voices, and water runs in the
swift-water way, in the mornings lovely
cold.
I woke, and this came to mind.
I love the way the thrush is
singing, down by the cold-water,
swift-water, streaming; its babbling
the thrush mistook, for laughing in
the madding way, that streams take on,
when lost in glee, in Summers gladding,
madding sway.
A tribute to Summer, loved, in her time.
She stands there on the
tufted mound, the lilies
of the valley all about her,
surrounding her in
scented spring. Lovely, in
the hidden dale, in the
sweetly scented spring.
Dreams...
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