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  Jul 2018 Sam
A Simillacrum
I want to live, but
I want to crawl inside my past.
Personal history
will set me free at last,
regardless of what burns my tongue
as if it's on the cusp of being said.
If I find my womb again, well,
good enough for me, I guess,
that I will have won.

I want to live!
I want to crawl inside my mind.
I haven't found dogs that write scripture
for all that I've searched.
While I realize it could be,
I ask myself, "How long will you toil
in the name of agency
all to find
someone to take your shame
and make it palatable?"

Trend is set from continued action
My inaction left me numb and blind
The trend is set that my earthly distributors
May take of me as they find me if I'm turned off
The trend is still the same as the dreams
My grandparents had for a better world
Trend toward full automation

Fine for '56
What am I doing now?
How do I live without
knowledge?

My distributors and keepers
kept me wet
in their fluids
using my blood
before but

They will not win this war.
I commit myself to sit and reconnect.
If a hand offers me happiness,
I'll ask, first, Which conglomerate?
If my choices seem chiseled
In the mint of coins
And the choices fit perfectly opposed
I'll remember my nose and sniff
Out the metals that fund this war.
I'll ask then, Whose coin is this?

And it's not ungrateful
When those with all the excess
Try and rule the world
Because of how bored with
What Is they've become
And exactly absolute

Well, what if
I decide there's no war?
Well, what if
I bow my head and take a knee?

People of my same society will laugh at me,
And chastise my every thought before
They say, for sure, "It's just how it works."
Then either crush me from high
Or forget me and play State of Decay
Until they forget how much they're worth.

I hold.
There is no war.
This is not a game.
This is our Existence.
Fragile at best.
This is beyond
Humility.
This is actual
Neglect.
Is it that no one wants to learn?

No.

It's that knowledge has been made secret.

Lies and secrets consume my world.
  Jun 2018 Sam
Lyn-Purcell
There isn't a person
in this world
who has
not
said or done
something they
deeply regret.
And it's
okay.

We're only human.
We're not programmed
to be flawless.

Naturally we would want to:

lock it up,
toss the key,
walk ahead,
never look back.
Pray that it remains
buried or lost in the
shadows so that society
never finds out.
Given the opportunity,
they would relish
in the chance to
tear us apart.
Drag us up and
down on the media.
Because only in our
moments of weakness
they can forget their
own imperfections.

Sad but hey, that's society now...

Just know that making
a mistake is natural
Owning up to what
you did takes
courage.

Just remember this, don't forget your mistakes, ok?

Never forget.
Because to know
who you are,
you need to

remember where you came from.
Such is life...
Only 22 and I can admit and acknowledge some big mistakes.
Things I'm ashamed off...
But hey, that's life!
As sad as I am, as scared as I am, as angry and hurt as I am, I'm still here.
Even when I feel like wanting to die, I'm still here.
My story isn't over. Not yet anyway.

Be back soon!
Lyn x
  Jun 2018 Sam
Rebecca Sorenson
What do you do,
when your entire life
has been an act?

A terrible mask,
glued to my face,
suffocating me

The mask shows a smile,
while underneath,
I crumble

But that’s okay,
I guess,
as long as you’re happy,
everything is fine, right?
Sam Jun 2018
1.
You love like it’s effortless.
Like it grew in with your bones,
like you have always known how to, like the idea of not openly expressing love is foreign.
(Love is a choice, you say,
like it’s obvious and certain,
Love does not intend harm)

2.
You love like you are waiting for someone to stab you in the back.
Careless, and freely given, until the line is drawn on the grass and you expected this in the first place - you live as though you expect to need to cut your losses at any second. (Until that point, however, you love wholeheartedly— hell hath fury on those who harm the ones you love.)

3.
You love as though it will break you if you don’t. Your emotions are bursting on the surface, and it will hurt you more to turn a blind eye than it will to take a trip down another’s misery. You love earnestly and obviously, and your own bleeding heart will come second always, but you understand what can happen, heartbreak - will risk it again and again despite that the odds may now be ever against you.

4.
You love like it’s a forgone conclusion that everyone knows love exists. Like it’s just there, and of course it’s supposed to be good, and of course it’s supposed to be freely given and returned. (And you seem so confused when others do not follow your simple ideology.)

5.
You love cautiously. Because you thought they weren’t out to get you, once, but they were. (And not all parts of you survived it.) So now everything terrifies you, and you create holes to jump through, tests to run - your use of the word trust is seldom, of love rarer still.

6.
You love in secret. Like a facade will protect you from life, but all it does drive people away who don’t come back for the second look. You love as though you’re unlovable, but you know what it’s like to be loved, and you willingly go with the ones who come back through.

7.
You love people like they will save you. A hope that they will rally to your side. You need them, but you need them to need you, and you know how to be calculating, but you didn’t want to be. You love freely, though, until they burn the bridges you once crossed together.

8.
You love people who don’t expect it, and you love like you’re on a mission, non-malicious, because you’re really just trying to give others a little piece of the world they don’t yet have, and the love and affection that comes afterwards is an unintended, albeit not unwelcome consequence.

9.
I love like it’s forbidden.
As though the minute it is admitted, the love will disappear, by nature of simply acknowledging the fact.
(And so they fade away without ever knowing.)

10.
You love like it’s an afterthought,
like you didn’t know you were allowed to.
It drips from your shoulders,
in an array of colors
I have never seen before.
And yet, it’s kept tight against your body
As if you’d rather it be hurt then you.

(You’re allowed to be loved, and love in return. You already are.)
10 interpretations of how different people love, the first 9, of 9 different people from my perspective, the 10th an interpretation by my friend in response to reading the poem, on person 9 (me).
  May 2018 Sam
Kendall Seers
There’s an old friend that calls to me
their hands are shoved into pockets
dark half-circles have settled on their face
and their shoes are worn
They want a place to crash again

This traveling stain has gone by many names
but what I used to call them
the pit in my stomach
always seemed more descriptive
than simply calling them self loathing.

They seem weak now
but under dirtied clothes is hard shell
shell, like a seed that once planted it roots in me
and burrowed till they had climbed my throat
and coated my insides in black gooey hate

they left a sticky residue,
the kind that resists being scrubbed off raw fingertips
and stuck on me post-it notes of resentful thoughts
reminding me that even though they’re gone now
they were once there.

So I started writing my own notes
stickers that filled my mind
then my neck, and chest, and finally
my gut.
Little words that accumulated till I opened my mouth and spewed them forward
I repeated them, until I believed them.

One keeps cropping up,
a small slip of syllables that teaches me to act,
regardless of doubt
I take it out of my leather jacket now,
and pass it on to this old friend
reading it out loud as I do,
and saying, clear and fearless,
“No point but the one I choose to make.”
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