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 Mar 2014 Olivia Mercado
Sir B
This whole system
where
hating yourself
or trying to **** yourself
is more accepted
than loving yourself?

I am not just being cynical
I am trying to provoke thoughts
no-one is taking any action on this
that people find it more
socially acceptable
saying you are suicidal
than they do when you say
"i love myself"

I find it wrong
but i can't do anything about it
can i.
Though this poem highlights the things wrong, I am actually knee deep and just cannot control my emotions. I feel suicidal too often sometimes. It's not good, but I really don't know what to do...
To me speak words of affection
My love, thee and mine
Facing most assuredly
Certain unconditional rejection
In the perilous quest to revive
A heart frozen in time

What fool would dare
Cast loving glances my way
Walks the road of glass shards
For his admiration shall be slain

In a last desperate effort
To coerce cold blood to flow
Injecting love into a mind
Where thoughts of two
Will no longer grow

Alas the valiant dreams
Are all in vain
As soul less eyes stare out
From the impenetrable veil of pain
Who would dare



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Mar.3, 2014
the boys of the mid-west
are kind
easy to love
don't get me wrong
they will hurt you
but they will apologize
and mean it
they will hurt for you
the boys of the north east
are strong
easy to love
easy to look at
they will win your heart
like a trophy
then go after the next
prize
but atlest you were an award
the boys of the south
are cruel
easy to love
with their southern
charm
hospitality
they think that makes them special, ya know
they think that gives them the right
to think of themselves as a
prize
to hurt you
and feel nothing
but accomplishment
but thats what southern hospitality is all about
inspired by a gentleman from illinois
multiple guys in the state of new jersey
and a boy from north carolina
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture

as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body

this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!

entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?

as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation

If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way

If
it, is theater,
I, the audience

then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission

He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"





^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
A synthesis, a hybrid of recent actual adventures and thoughts in, on and about Ibsen's Doll House, rock climbing, Paris, and the exposed solitary bra strap, not in that order.
 Mar 2014 Olivia Mercado
Xyns
You think I'll be like you
You believe that I'll fall like you did
Well, You're wrong
I'll never be you
I'll never waste myself as you have

All those times you thought you helped
You were wrong
I clean up after you
I do damage control
You're only in my way
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