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 146° 
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
 139° 
Jude
I despise myself for not being someone you could love.
 123° 
Monet Echo
What if every little thought
That lives inside your head
Instead of hiding away in there
Was spoken out, was said?

Would you be embarrassed?
Would you hate your mouth?
Would you rather be mute
Than let the truth come out?

What if every little thing
That people thought of you
Instead of being tucked away
Was heard, was listened to?

Would you be ashamed?
Would you cover your ears?
Would you rather be deaf
Than let the truth come near?

And what if every image
That passes through your thoughts
Was freed from its prison
To roam until it rots?

Would you be disgusted?
Would you look away?
Would you rather be blind
Than see your thoughts at play?
 120° 
She Writes
Tell me this!
How can you cage a bird
When you fell in love
Whilst watching it fly?
 106° 
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
 101° 
elle jaxsun
i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.
 76° 
Druzzayne Rika
Is it too late for it not to be too late now?
 67° 
LeV3e
Love = Lust + Respect
 58° 
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
 54° 
patty m
The blind man too,
enjoys birdsong, sun on his face,
pungent scents of spice, the
perfume of flowers.
Even the flute pipes sweeter when
undistracted.

In solitary silence
taste the freshly peeled orange,
enjoy the citrus spray,
remember this spaceless,
pin-wheeling sensation.

Savor the memory of
of morning gold rush,
summer blues in lazy sky,
rose and amber dusk falling,
nights when the moon hung so low
light brushed your cheek with slumber
and you saw heaven through the eyes of a dream.
 51° 
Nylee
We created all the words
all the meanings
to increase the complexity
of every thing that exists
or it does not.
 44° 
Eleanor Sinclair
I met a friend today
His name was Death
He smiled big with pure white teeth
And minty fresh breath
I asked him what he did for a living
Staring blankly at me, batting his eyelashes
He did the opposite of giving
What did that mean?
But the closer I got to Death
The better I understood his scheme
In his sharp black suit he won me over
I felt an irresistible draw
Like to a diamond in the rough, or a four leaf clover
He convinced me of the beauty in the night
That when the moon was hidden from view
There was nothing better than the lack of light
He led me from my lust for life
Sang to me in my sleep
Whispered sweet nothings and handed me the knife
I tried to pull away from my newly found friend
But his choke hold was so tight
On him I started to depend
The world could see me deteriorate into nothing
He held me harder and closer
With shortness of breath I stood huffing and puffing
Enclosed in the lackluster of our friendship I became numb
The emotions drifted with my vitality
I tried to retrieve them but could only attain 1/5th of my former sum
The more time you spend with a person
The more you become like them
I suppose I couldn't see the situation worsen
Collar around my neck he leashed me like a dog
I cared so deeply for him
My haze filled mind ignored the dense fog
I came to terms with my life long trap
Death circled like a satellite around my position
No matter where I went he found my place on the map
Eventually I succame to this fate
Despite his control
Death, I could not hate
I loved him too dearly to notice the signs
I couldn't think clearly
His presence was odious and it wasn't benign
 41° 
Nylee
Does desire make you happy
or do they take away
the existing happiness?
 39° 
CA Smith
Brick
        By
            Brick
A house is built
Hour
        By
            Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
        By
            Day
The home turns into memories
Year
        By
            Year
The memories turn into people
Century
        By
            Century
The people turn into stories
Story
        By
            Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
        After
            Legend
History is changed
Piece
        By
            Piece
Lives are changed
Person
        By
            Person
Love is spread
One Love
        After
            Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Sometimes it's tough when you are just laying bricks to see the end picture, but it makes a difference in the end! It can be so easy at times to feel like we aren't doing enough to help others or to grow ourselves, but one ripple affects the entire pond.
 36° 
September Roses
43 61 6e 20 61 6e 79 6f 6e 65 20 68 65 72 65 20 6d 65 0d 0a 41 6d 20 49 20 73 63 72 65 61 6d 69 6e 67 20 6c 6f 75 64 20 65 6e 6f 75 67 68 0d 0a 4f 66 20 63 6f 75 72 73 65 20 74 68 6f 75 67 68 20 49 20 61 6d 20 6e 6f 74 0d 0a 4c 6f 6f 6b 20 61 74 20 6d 65 0d 0a 48 69 64 69 6e 67 20 0d 0a 49 6e 20 6c 69 6e 65 73 20 6f 66 20 74 65 78 74 20 6e 6f 74 20 65 76 65 6e 20 73 65 65 6e 0d 0a 4d 61 79 62 65 20 49 20 77 61 69 74 20 66 6f 72 20 74 68 65 20 6f 6e 65 20 77 68 6f 20 63 61 72 65 73 20 65 6e 6f 75 67 68 20 74 6f 20 62 65 20 72 65 61 64 69 6e 67 20 77 68 61 74 73 20 72 65 61 6c 6c 79 20 6c 65 66 74 0d 0a 55 6e 64 65 72 20 61 6c 6c 20 74 68 61 74 20 63 6f 64 65 20 6f 66 20 74 65 78 74 0d 0a 42 75 74 20 75 6e 74 69 6c 6c 20 74 68 65 6e 20 49 20 64 72 65 61 6d 0d 0a 54 6f 20 65 73 63 61 70 65 20 77 68 61 74 20 61 20 64 72 65 61 72 79 20 65 78 69 73 74 65 6e 63 65 20 0d 0a 4f 66 20 74 68 75 6e 64 65 72 20 63 6c 6f 75 64 73 20 73 6f 20 67 72 65 61 74 20 61 6e 64 20 6c 61 72 67 65 20 74 6f 20 73 77 61 72 6d 20 6f 76 65 72 20 62 75 72 6e 69 6e 67 20 68 65 61 72 74 73 0d 0a 4f 66 20 74 68 65 20 6d 61 69 64 65 6e 20 6f 66 20 74 68 65 20 73 6b 79 20 61 6e 64 20 74 68 65 20 6d 61 69 64 65 6e 20 6f 66 20 74 68 65 20 73 65 61 0d 0a 41 73 20 74 68 65 79 20 62 69 63 6b 65 72 20 62 61 63 6b 20 61 6e 64 20 66 6f 72 74 68 20 0d 0a 4f 6e 20 77 68 6f 20 68 6f 6c 64 73 20 74 68 65 20 6d 6f 73 74 20 62 65 61 75 74 79 20 0d 0a 49 20 64 61 79 20 64 72 65 61 6d 20 6f 66 20 74 68 65 20 6e 69 67 68 74 0d 0a 57 69 74 68 20 73 74 61 72 73 20 67 6c 69 73 74 65 6e 69 6e 67 20 75 6e 66 61 7a 65 64 20 73 6f 20 62 72 69 67 68 74 0d 0a 48 6f 77 20 74 68 65 79 20 6e 65 76 65 72 20 77 61 76 65 72 20 6f 72 20 77 6f 72 72 79 20 61 62 6f 75 74 20 6f 75 72 20 63 6f 77 61 72 64 6c 79 20 68 75 6d 61 6e 20 66 69 67 68 74 73 0d 0a 49 20 64 72 65 61 6d 20 6f 66 20 77 68 61 74 20 6f 6e 65 20 77 6f 75 6c 64 20 68 61 76 65 20 74 6f 20 77 6f 72 72 69 65 64 20 61 62 6f 75 74 20 61 74 20 74 68 65 20 70 65 61 6b 20 6f 66 20 61 6e 20 69 63 79 20 77 68 69 74 65 20 6d 6f 75 6e 74 61 69 6e 20 0d 0a 49 20 61 73 73 75 6d 65 20 6e 6f 74 68 69 6e 67 49 20 64 72 65 61 6d 20 6f 66 20 64 61 79 73 20 49 20 63 61 6e 20 70 61 73 73 2e 0d 0a 57 68 6f 65 76 65 72 20 64 61 72 65 64 20 74 6f 20 64 65 63 6f 64 65 20 74 68 69 73 20 77 65 65 70 79 20 70 6f 65 6d 2e 0d 0a 49 20 6e 65 65 64 20 79 6f 75 20 74 6f 20 6b 6e 6f 77 2e 0d 0a 49 20 61 6d 20 6e 6f 74 20 61 6c 72 69 67 68 74 2e 0d 0a 49 20 61 6d 20 6e 6f 74 20 6f 6b 2e 0d 0a 49 20 61 6d 20 73 63 61 72 65 64
48 65 79 20 6c 6f 6f 6b 20 61 20 70 6f 65 6d 20 69 6e 20 68 65 78 20 68 6f 77 20 63 72 61 7a 7a 79
 30° 
King
If
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
 27° 
idk
I stopped writing.
Not because I fell out of love with it...
My emotions just seemed to disappear.

I started a new medication.
The doctor said it would help my panic disorder, and it did.
I took that pill, like my mother talks to God (every morning).

When I went back to the doctor she said we had to up the dosage because apparently having 2 panic attacks a week still isn't okay.
I told her that when I woke up this morning I got out of bed without crying, but she didn't consider that as much of a victory as I did.

When I was put on a higher dosage, my emotions shut down.
After a few weeks I stopped crying, my OCD got better, my panic attacks were gone, and I could even go into the student union of my college campus without my heart trying to win a race against my thoughts.

I could breathe.

But, I also stopped having fun.
I felt like a stranger in my own body.
My emotions found the exit on the plane and jumped, never to be found again.

Since when did being able to breathe require me to feel like this?
 26° 
Nylee
The end of road
they are empty
without answers
but just a line
nothing further ahead


Turning back again
to where we came from
with a new question
the road looks stranger
than what it was before
.
 25° 
Hanaa
How can emptiness be so heavy?
 22° 
Andrew Durst
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
 21° 
yúyīn
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd


Youllneverunderstand me
@.**
 21° 
Druzzayne Rika
Get me to be
a soul liberated
from every
attachment
it could be.

I want to want
nothing from anywhere
not want to get
tempted
by things unnecessary
get myself bound to
what will be my
downfall

The soul needs nothing
it is to be free
but my own flaws
have made it
not so
that it could go
as it pleases

What is that one really needs
with no one else be depleted
all the seed, sign of lives
but with greed
everything dies

Devoid of true knowledge
what is I seek
I see myself so very weak
my vision so blinded
my eyes itself closes
that I cannot see

the lies will bite
the anger will burn
my own journey
with karma
it will come back on me
I wait
as I expect them
coming to me

My sins who will wash for me?

my thoughts
why they never sided me
they followed the down path
got me to fuss on things
over all the nothings
never mattered to me

the body detoriates
every day, every second passes

My mind forget
what it remembers
I speak no tales, but riddles
what sense
I try to formulate

This time who will be
the one to get it to decode
the mysteries
the real truths
which could liberate
but to think deeper
what really is
the answer lies very deep within
much closer than
who you are actually really.
 20° 
DeAnn
I've looked bad but felt good
I've looked good but felt bad
I've looked bad and felt bad
I've looked good and felt good

I've failed so many times I can't count
I've learned so much I can't find individual moments

I have gradually increased

But I am finding myself

I am finding the confidence to strut out of my dorms like I'm walking on the runway
I have found myself so sad my body has become immobile

I am growing stronger

Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.

I am finding God in the most random moments, but when I do it is glorious

I find myself alone too often
I find myself feeling alone too often
I find myself hiding too often

I'm ready to let my potential loose
And become the lion I am meant to be
 19° 
Nylee
In depth
there's only fear and disbelief
deeper you will find nothing else
just void

the courage
is only the drop on the surface
wearing it like my favourite dress
not many times

there is rage
it intensifies how I feel
using every other emotions as fuel
it burns them

After the fire
Tired enough not to think much
and in a bad situation as such
I fall asleep

Waking the regret
funnily it keeps on returning
the cycle ongoing
bury it within

I am emotionless
with too many emotions dancing
improved a lot in masking
happy with my newfound skill.
 16° 
Nylee
a half line
incomplete stanza
an unrhymed sentence
well defined trauma

the poet's thought
uncaptured on the paper
many drafts
and crushed papers
around the study

there is a lot
same thoughts
and some sought
no process
little sense
world of words
and many buds

more time needed
to bloom
and here comes
the start of coming doom.
 15° 
NuBlaccSoul
We are forgotten yesterdays of tomorrow,
note-booked mementos on thighs time travelled,
back from the future, few tsha-tsha with flashes,
blackouts and gray-matter gashes
The slurred dance of good memory,
crib-notes on collar-bones,
bare chest, a loose tie, knots, not around neck
formal education white-suits, tucked-in remembering.

A formal date chasing me indoors.
chasing me into doors of consistent
nurturing nature of the neuro
doors on the right, left doubt outside.
A manner of hindsight sighs.

Running back to tomorrow to save my 4 unborn children
from my present past. Amnesia.
The pendulum swings in reversed backwards.
Forward is just an antithesis, poor protest-art
An analogue, roman-concept coded in digital now.
Fraudulent, faux and pseudo. We look at the sun
to tell day from night. Progress practising stillness
Passage of pain frozen in time,
sun is amber lantern,
phantom of what & who has risen,
out of resin's
suspended-infinity-loop prison.
The bitterness of honey stings
sour-sweet on the taste buds of trauma.
Strolling up memory lane, compassion
for former faults. Less envy, only empathy
Fragments of a broken dream further smashed
can’t fill in the gas smothered cracks.

We died many deaths.
A mass burial, a mountain of bodies brewing
under the garden, the slumbering soil wakes.
3 is the number of perfect balance and god.
Ma’, Sister, and I.
Mother died the day Doctor
told her that the body she named
Home was evicting her, with a 10-year-notice.
She must have watched herself
watch herself
sitting on covered couches
thinking what a theft of life
this holy trinity is –
what is left
to see
here?

I saved all pain of breaking
bones for this,
I ran in opposites, dislocated my hip
tore tender tendons, I have a Belgian-Congolese tendency
never stood for much but numbness
an absence of nothing because
feelings ****.
I saved haunting ghosts of night for day
For this day
For today.
All these reservoirs of resilience won’t be enough,
ever.

I wept
winter sunsets –
to remind my new self on the coldest of nights
that once time was warm days
a slice of life’s beauty in Redemption.

Efforts tuck sweat under my arms,
gravity grounding my prideful chest down.

A bed of waves
afloat sober dreams
nightmares of wrinkled water
submarine my day dreams
and flowing peace.
Please be polite and let me be.

I now know, less hoarding.
A pair of paradox, or pandora's box: written by Phila Dyasi
Published by: NuBlaccSoul

To call it an existential crisis
would speak exclusively to a disturbance relating to the decaying case
that encapsulates my eternal hold of being.
NO!
This crisis is a crises extending to the infinite.
A philosophical and metaphysical troubled state.

NB: Please comment and critique and share :) Feedback is always welcomed.

(C) 2018. Copyrighted 19 February
2018 NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
I ran,
Towards the horizon,
Where the land and the sky meet.

I ran,
To see,
Where they become complete.

I ran,
To see,
The land and the sky together.

And I am
Running,
For forever.

And I am
Running,
For forever.
From far away, things seems different, when we get close we see the real things or it just the way it is.
Sometimes things are better from far and we can never get near them no matter how much we try.
 13° 
Sophia
As we sit down to our dinners,
as we open our romance books,
people die.

We sip our water;
their guts spill open.
We study our notes;
their planes crash.

We live;
they die.
We breathe;
they suffocate.

We are testaments to chance,
to luck, to possibility.

We are not products of God.

We are blind goats trotting on our path
before we perish, suddenly,
and vanish into death.
 12° 
JS Clark
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
    Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.

So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
    To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.

His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
    Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
    Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
    Ever sung.

He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
    Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
    Youth and yore.

And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
 12° 
Jayantee Khare

No cerecloth has pockets
No bag fits in coffin
No grave has cupboards


A thought..We leave empty handed from the world
 12° 
Hannah Christina
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
 11° 
Traveler
In poetic manipulation
In magic of our words
Beneath the breath
Above duress
Let your heavy
Hearts be heard
In power of rhyme
Upfront sublime
Equal syllable
Entwined
In each consecutive
Spellbinding high
Or
Emotionality low
Crafted on
The twist of tongue
Either way
Let poetry make us whole

We all have the power
Write it down
lock
And load!
.........
Traveler Tim
How does
It come to pass
That no one in Catholic church
Realizes it is traumatizing to a
Child
To tell them they're
Eating
"The body of Christ"
?
 11° 
A Simillacrum
Oh no you don't, website.

I want no part of this selection process.

Please remove this.
 10° 
Nylee
Beneath the skin,
it is all so ****
the bones and flesh
blood flowing around
all the *****
fragile,
tissue connection
delicately placed
hard to keep
healthy really.
Pills fill the stomach
chemical reaction
and there goes down.
The beauty is seen with eyes
mind constructs
its perceptions
Although
the Outer body is
much better than what
I hide inside.
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