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I am lost.
Yet,
Something is telling me you are just like me.
Maybe
We were put in the darkness
To find each other.
Scibile Definition: Something which it is possible to know.
 Jul 2014 Nur Aishah Azman
nxxr
This is for the people who know how it feels to be at lost and thrown off balance.

For the people who know how it feels to plaster on a convincingly intoxicated facade so that they can drag their vacant yet burdensome bodies around without a doubt in mind.

The people who know that their world is beginning to slowly crumble around them while they try to hold onto the remaining pieces.

People who know and cease to believe that they have the ability and courage to let go of the dense obscurity in their chests to let in the weight lifting fluorescent.

Who know that they should give up but refuse to give in.

Those are the people who know.

And are not alone.
Please note: I want for whomever is going to read this poem to know that even though you may think and it might seem like you're completely alone, you're not. There is always that one person who's there for you, it could be anybody from your best friend to your grandmother for all you know, but there is always someone out there who is meant to look out and take care of you. Don't loose hope, keep going, not only for the people you care about but - most importantly - for yourself.
I love words and
I love metaphors.
I love the muse that inspires the words
and how flawlessly these words form metaphors.

I love deciding how people perceive me.
Even I am beautiful when painted metaphorically.
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air—The edge
cuts without cutting
meets—nothing—renews
itself in metal or porcelain—

whither? It ends—

But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry—

Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica—
the broken plate
glazed with a rose

Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses—

The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end—of roses

It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits

Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness—fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching

What

The place between the petal’s
edge and the

From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact—lifting
from it—neither hanging
nor pushing—

The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space
I am the pen without the ink
The ocean without water
The night without stars
I am void
Empty, lonely,
A black hole
Of turmoil and hate
I've always had love to blame
But with this emptiness
That sits in my chest
I've learnt that I really dont like you
But I'll forgive you
Because I love you
I love you.
inspiration for this came from many songs by the amazing band, Hotel Books, so if you like this check them out
See,
The problem with today is that you are the children that were slaves
To that textbook

See,
The problem with today is that the men are ingrained with the need to feel enraged at
Everything

And that very same textbook and that teacher that sent you elsewhere taught you, somehow, that you are just acting through your genetically inherited tendencies

See,
They taught you that once upon the great time
'before'
The outlandish and fairly out of context concept that we were,

Animals

But to every woman who has ever been mated by a man who thinks dominance is the answer,
I remind you,
YOU ARE NOT AN ANIMAL

You never have been, and you never will be
You are a soul who has a blind date with destiny
and if anyone ever tries to be, offensively bigger than me, I have full faith that my faith, will guide and protect me, to mutual clarity

And through the limitations of a structure that assures everyone they will see the stage and hear their name over the loud speaker in a Coliseum full of restless siblings and great grandparents,
they taught us that,
The 'Winners' found 'Fame'

And identified 'Degrees' as 'Security'
but the reality that the black hole created while trying to keep your head above the surface was just another stress to jot down in the
textbooks

But the textbooks my son reads won't contain the fallacies of the commentated beliefs of ignorant injustice that subtracted art and theater and replaced it with
"Facts"

You see,
A fact is simply a point that has yet to be falsified and I promise you that if you give it time,
no child of mine
Will forget,
that he can prove me wrong,
because I give him
*the freedom to express it
Look atcha,

sitting there
w/
a sober idea –

got nothing to say
anymore

I guess it’s back
to
drinking again.
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