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 Mar 12 Nylee
dee
Preservation
 Mar 12 Nylee
dee
Courtesy to the star that was forged to make me all I am.
Kisses to the protein and salts used to make up all the parts of my brain.
Though I still lack the capability to figure out how it holds everything
and nothing at the same time.
Even in a yonderly state the words still know how to line themselves
on the page, as they transfer from my head and onto the white screen.
something else I can't explain.
Like how substances can tell me how life should feel
but I lack the capability to grasp it for myself.
How I hold the potential to achieve the impossible in my back pockets
but even the possible seems too incredible for me.
More things I can't physically grasp onto.
I'm mentally climbing a man-made rope called strength.
I'm strong for all the wrong reasons, wrong people.
I just have to be strong enough to survive, but what if I just don't
want to do that either.
What if I just want to clock out, and call off for the next 5 years
to grow inside of myself and not this astronomical object that harbors
my life and anything else with one.
random but cute
 Mar 12 Nylee
Sally A Bayan
We
 Mar 12 Nylee
Sally A Bayan
We
Some people aren't open to talks
others don't even entertain jokes,
because their daily moments are
a chaos, of sadness, pain, of anger,
of rising from varying rejections.

We.....are the heroes,
or the villains...or the sacrificed,
characters...in glorious times,
struggles, described in verses;
we know...for we are those writers,
our poems are colored with our lives.

We create our own rhythms, from
calm or tempestuous days and nights,
we hear ourselves
in gentle or loud voices
we hide...among our limited choices,
we turn numb
we become blind, due to despair,
yet, with a little love,
we get by, and...in time,
our poems become our lifetime hymns,
bringing us back to those days,
how we tried, and
learned our lessons.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 2, 2025
 Mar 12 Nylee
Carlo C Gomez
This is not a common era

The trouble is threefold

Drinking from an empty glass

Opening the door to strangers

Walking along these jagged cliffs

If you tolerate this

Your children will be next
To my dearest monsters,

  I hope this letter finds you on the brink of your doom, rotting away in your sinister cave. Because it's what evil like you deserves. To rot and woe, to know the pain of fading, before you fade away. Because your longevity is short lived, for most of you will die come first daylight.
  I hope you know, there is no home for you here. But if you try and build one, It will be burnt down. Every scrapped cinder and discarded log crushed to black dust. The substance of your soul, you're made of cinders, burning away at the human you once were. And if no one else will stand against you, know I will. Don't mess with fresh fire, lest you get burn away too.

                                                                                    Sincerely, I.
I refuse to be fooled by one of these again, I call to the writers of HP, let us make this a safe space for all writers.
 Mar 8 Nylee
G
Untitled
 Mar 8 Nylee
G
She was free
Not in the sense of wealth nor power
But of the mind
She was free
Didn’t have desire to be cast down by chains
No one speaking her name in vain
She was free
Of the world; of the worry
She was free
And that was a beautiful thing for her to finally
Be.
The spirit's board, a chess of silent grace,
Where goals, like pawns, find their appointed space.
Invest like rooks, in wisdom's sacred lore,
Mindful as bishops, what paths to explore.

Like queen, a heart that counsels, serves, and mends,
A gentle nurture, where true kindness blends.
Control your knights, your senses wild and free,
No overreach, in silent dignity.

Each day a gambit, new and bright unfold,
Accept the check, where patience makes you bold.
Forgive the captures, learn from every snare,
Humility's white king, beyond compare.

Black and white it seems, the boxes we stand
It's good, bad, all moves can't be preplanned
So with time, make the best of it
A soul is its very own mate.
This thought has always haunted me.

People you meet once
and never again in your life.

You have a static picture in your mind
of their face
the small conversation
their little story they tell you
the place you met them
in a bus, a shop, on the road
interactions not long
but meaningfully small
yet leaving a memory in you.

I think of all those people
I stopped by to ask for time
seek direction of my destination
or asking where I might find
food or a resting place
in an unfamiliar area.

Once and just once you meet them.

On a summer trip, I was looking for icecream
in a strange place off the highway
walked ten minutes to find a shop
where for that brief encounter
the seller made me feel like
he had known me for long
shared the history of that area
the migration and culture of the residents
before helping me with the right icecream.

Sometimes I wonder
if they would have enriched my life
were they part of my association.

Not scholars, not rich, but simple men
who bring you down to earth
and carve a space in your mindscape.

Sadly you meet them once in your life.

I feel it's so designed.
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