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Beth Decisions Jul 2016
Reoccurring emotions.
Every few months I experience reoccurring emotions.
I have a new life.
New battles to face.
However, every few months it occurs.
The same fights with my mom.
The same conversations about it with my sister.
The same feeling of abandonment from my friends.
The same crushing feeling of missing someone who lives 1,000 miles away.
In the months inbetween everything is different.
I believe the pattern will not occur once more.
How could it?
Nothing in my life is the same as before.
Then it happens.
It becomes time to battle the reoccurring emotions.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2016
Fisherman’s Bastion

Hey,

how have you been?

I know,
some time times can be tough,
but remember,
nothing’s permanent this too shall pass,

we are only an idea of our own imagination,

and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse,
but then again maybe there is no such thing as better or worse,
and maybe that’s the truth,
and maybe the truth is that sometimes the truth hurts…

Hey,

how have you been?

Tell me,
are you enjoying this miracle called life,
in this body,
that you’re currently in?

I’m not sure you fully heard the question because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to ask it again,

“Hey how have you been,
are you enjoying this miracle called life in this body that you’re currently in?”

And yeah I know you’re confused and think you might be a lesbian,
or maybe an asexual extra-terrestrial multi-dimensional alien,
but hey that’s okay all the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine,

I’m not sure you heard the reference because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to say it again,

“All the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine.”

Hey,

how have you been?

I thought about you today,
all day actually,

all the way from Budapest Castle,
through the Labyrinth to Matthias Church,
where I drank water from the fountain,
to quench my reoccurring thirst,

I thought about you today,
from the thermal baths at Lukacs,
to right here where I’m writing this,
back to the Basilica on the Turrets of the Fisherman’s Bastion,

actually I have a question if you don’t mind me asking,

hey,

how have you been?

It seems what I’ve received from atop the turrets contemplating,
is that my attraction towards you is both affection and indifference,
affliction and obsession and independence and addiction,
and possession and freedom and acceptance and rejection,

wait a second it’s actually also the most beautiful creation in all of creation

it is we are the self manifestation of perfection from chaos and misdirection,

oh my look now to the sky is where we are headin’,

and things are going so fast now I think it’s about time I check in,

hey,

how have you been?

You still give me the chills like the hottest Sun mixed with the coldest Wind,
which also describes the highest highs both literally and figuratively that I find myself in,
because what I write is the result of insight from the Most High inside that I then let out with my pen,
and also it seems where I write these lines it’s usually from places high in the sky it can’t all be a coincidence,

this feels all too real to try and even begin to attempt to pretend,
confident and confused at the same time like wanting to make love with your best friend,

When,
will we be able to make love unconditionally without any preconditions,
when can we just be without wanting to do,
like being at a Basilica in the petition position but not needing to be on a mission,

can we please just land on foreign land for the sake of seeking refuge from stormy seas or simply to stop from drifting?

When will we be able to just be without all the questioning and invasive investigations,
I mean seriously these people these days ask so many questions it’s beginning to feel like an inquisition,

made a few more references there could you please write back and let me know when you get them?

Let me know when,
you stop fishing,
because I already know who I want,
and of course I’ve only got one question,

hey,

how have you been?

Listen,

I’m tired you’re hired please love my rebellious heart into submission,

and I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to say the whole time but I got lost in all the added adjective descriptions,

caught up in the moment as the sun set’s over the Danube river,
casting this beautiful city of Budapest in a golden glow that ripples and glistens,
and I realize just how unbelievably beautiful this whole globe is,
but honestly the whole world is only half as beautiful when i find you missin’,

see you seem so far away when you’re anywhere but here…

Here,

where I watch tourist take selfies as lovers give kisses,
from atop the turrets of Fisherman’s Bastion,
staring over the edge fighting back the undeniable urge to plummet into the abyss,
and I’m wondering if you feel the same undeniable way and that is why one last time I’m asking,

hey,

how have you been?

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆





Fisherman’s Bastion

Hey,

how have you been?

I know,
some time times can be tough,
but remember,
nothing’s permanent this too shall pass,

we are only an idea of our own imagination,

and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse,
but then again maybe there is no such thing as better or worse,
and maybe that’s the truth,
and maybe the truth is that sometimes the truth hurts…

Hey,

how have you been?

Tell me,
are you enjoying this miracle called life,
in this body,
that you’re currently in?

I’m not sure you fully heard the question because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to ask it again,

“Hey how have you been,
are you enjoying this miracle called life in this body that you’re currently in?”

And yeah I know you’re confused and think you might be a lesbian,
or maybe an asexual extra-terrestrial multi-dimensional alien,
but hey that’s okay all the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine,

I’m not sure you heard the reference because I don’t know if you were listening,
so at the risk of being repetitive I’m going to say it again,

“All the world’s a stage and we are all thespians,
oddity prodigies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine.”

Hey,

how have you been?

I thought about you today,
all day actually,

all the way from Budapest Castle,
through the Labyrinth to Matthias Church,
where I drank water from the fountain,
to quench my reoccurring thirst,

I thought about you today,
from the thermal baths at Lukacs,
to right here where I’m writing this,
back to the Basilica on the Turrets of the Fisherman’s Bastion,

actually I have a question if you don’t mind me asking,

hey,

how have you been?

It seems what I’ve received from atop the turrets contemplating,
is that my attraction towards you is both affection and indifference,
affliction and obsession and independence and addiction,
and possession and freedom and acceptance and rejection,

wait a second it’s actually also the most beautiful creation in all of creation

it is we are the self manifestation of perfection from chaos and misdirection,

oh my look now to the sky is where we are headin’,

and things are going so fast now I think it’s about time I check in,

hey,

how have you been?

You still give me the chills like the hottest Sun mixed with the coldest Wind,
which also describes the highest highs both literally and figuratively that I find myself in,
because what I write is the result of insight from the Most High inside that I then let out with my pen,
and also it seems where I write these lines it’s usually from places high in the sky it can’t all be a coincidence,

this feels all too real to try and even begin to attempt to pretend,
confident and confused at the same time like wanting to make love with your best friend,

When,
will we be able to make love unconditionally without any preconditions,
when can we just be without wanting to do,
like being at a Basilica in the petition position but not needing to be on a mission,

can we please just land on foreign land for the sake of seeking refuge from stormy seas or simply to stop from drifting?

When will we be able to just be without all the questioning and invasive investigations,
I mean seriously these people these days ask so many questions it’s beginning to feel like an inquisition,

made a few more references there could you please write back and let me know when you get them?

Let me know when,
you stop fishing,
because I already know who I want,
and of course I’ve only got one question,

hey,

how have you been?

Listen,

I’m tired you’re hired please love my rebellious heart into submission,

and I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to say the whole time but I got lost in all the added adjective descriptions,

caught up in the moment as the sun set’s over the Danube river,
casting this beautiful city of Budapest in a golden glow that ripples and glistens,
and I realize just how unbelievably beautiful this whole globe is,
but honestly the whole world is only half as beautiful when i find you missin’,

see you seem so far away when you’re anywhere but here…

Here,

where I watch tourist take selfies as lovers give kisses,
from atop the turrets of Fisherman’s Bastion,
staring over the edge fighting back the undeniable urge to plummet into the abyss,
and I’m wondering if you feel the same undeniable way and that is why one last time I’m asking,

hey,

how have you been?

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
I find comfort in the news
Be it typhoons or drones
I feel like a 100 year old Camus
For he was a miserable little raccoon
Or should I say Morrissey?
But the bipolar king is lost at sea!
I think of Sylvia Plath and her oven
Incinerated in a jar or in a coffin?

I will mention roses in a second
But first, wear your veil
May I eat your cheeks?
I’m your psychopath with style

We bathed in herbs together
The pale ******* that shone
A reoccurring dream of two moons
I believe in reincarnation
bosoms, as the lunar eyes of an owl

Stars, rain, coffee, cigarettes and music
Few clichés, I forgot about your roses
One day I’ll strike the balance
between rhymes and passion
Diana Garcia Oct 2017
Written by Diana Garcia**
My brain waves are like a storm
I wish i could sit in silence
I wish i wasnt so ******* torn
I tried to understand you but whats the use
it's my turn to talk but will you listen?
When you look at me what do you see
Your daughter, your sister or am I the punching bag that youve been missin'?
let me show you the scars you gave me
those wonderful gifts
that keep me up at night
the reoccurring hate
those angry tears.
All the times i went hungry
cause i refused to come home for years.
Over and over again i was told.
Theres nobody to blame other than myself.
YES! cause it is I who but my well being up on the shelf.
Ive checked out, to this i do admit.
I am numb and I simply exist.
How can I love, hate, or any of those words in the adjective list
when all I know is how to roll with the punches, how to roll with waves in the stormy ocean with all these ******* dusty emotions..
Lily Espy Oct 2014
there's seven steps to the making and drinking hot cocoa process.

prepping: grab the mug, make sure you use tap water, grab the hot chocolate and spoon and begin the process down below

step one: pour the tap water into your mug, nearing to the top of the mug and place it in the microwave

STEP ONE: you're scrolling on facebook and you see the most handsome man you've ever seen and you automatically hit the friend button and start messaging him. he responds back, almost as quickly.

step two: press the general two minutes into your microwave and "patiently" wait for your hot chocolate

STEP TWO: you've been talking to her for a good month online now, you both mutually decide to meet up and instantaneously become very close. you start dating him.

step three: take out the flaming hot mug of water and proceed to put it on the counter. grabbing the spoon, put two to four spoonfuls of hot chocolate mix into the mug. begin to stir until there are not any "chocolate dust bunnies" floating around, dissolved.

STEP THREE: a month into the relationship, you're both very much in love. you've had your fourth kiss recently-but who's counting?

step four: immediately go to a comfy spot near you, pull up YouTube and watch people sexually assault women on the street and pass it off as a prank. as you are giggling along, take a sip of your dri-gasp! ouch, that really hurt.

STEP FOUR: three months in. he takes your virginity. it really hurt. you weren't ready but you didn't want to disappoint him.

step five: continue slowly drinking your hot chocolate, it's good to savor it. you notice it starts to get cold. you swish it around in your mouth and let it rest for a minute... it doesn't taste like hot chocolate anymore. it's cold, bitter and the mix from the bottom is floating around giving it the taste of dirt.

STEP FIVE: five months in. he started hitting you two weeks and three days ago. you said you wanted to stop having *** so often because it hurt and you weren't having a good time anymore. he said, "you're asking for it, looking so **** hot all of the time" and proceeds to force himself on you for the first time.

step six: you decide, **** this, im done with my hot chocolate and begin to wash it out in your sink.

STEP SIX: seven months in. you break up with him, he tells you he's sorry and you get back together with him. this has been a reoccurring pattern for a month now. but this time, you're done, for good. and turns out, you are.

step seven: you finish off cleaning the mug and spoon that was used to mix the powder and the weight on your shoulders is free. no more ******, cold hot chocolate for you.

STEP SEVEN: you are free, out of a treacherous relationship. "you were too good for him" your friends tell you, "he's disgusting and wasn't even that attractive". you feel unwanted, until one day you see someone staring at you while you're walking into a coffee shop. you begin to get creeped out after an hour and go to talk to him. you exchange numbers with this older man.

step one on: the process of making and drinking apple cider.
·currently drinking hot cocoa while writing this· slam poem· BY LILY ESPY·
Ariel Baptista Nov 2015
Hair burned into beautiful submission
Face acrylically defined and chemically composed
Adornments meticulously chosen
Scent tested and approved
Smile practiced and performed
I am a porcelain doll
Sipping tea, at 6 am in the quiet of a sleepy-city apartment
Porcelain doll dainty wrists
Washing dishes, feeding cats
Folding linens, singing hymnals
Praying for peace and safety
Porcelain doll knitting sweaters
And folding paper cranes
Reading poems, setting tables
Wearing cardigans and pearls
Porcelain doll decorating cupcakes
Lighting scented candles
Watering potted plants and humming childhood lullabies
With my porcelain painted lipstick mouth


But lipstick can be dark
Eyes lined black as city alley ways
There is anger at injustice
The world outside the confines of a pastel doll house
It’s messy
It’s hard
It’s iron and concrete and coal
And I am too
Biking through the brick metropolis
Sunglasses and headphones
And anarchist literature
Evenings spent sprinting through the smog
Heartbeats synchronized to the crude drumming of the city
So hard to impress
I’m on the metro
Eyebrows structured and defined
And adorned with a calculated air of apathy
See me social justice march
Down highways with fervently entitled youths
See me armed against misogyny
Until my peers learn to better conceal it
See me smoking cigarillos
Drinking black coffee
Breathing the tainted air of the city that birthed me
And chanting manifestoes.

But my manifesto can be love
And love can conquer anger and fear
And hatred
Love can reconcile, it can erase timidity
And it can abolish resentment
Let it wash my face and take the need for vengeance from my spirit
Let it replace the thirst for power with thirst for truth.
I burn incense
And wear long skirts
Naked face and braless lazy days
Reading pacifism in the park
I walk far to find pure air to breathe
I sit and deconstruct my dichotomy
Under a wise and ancient tree
I trace myself backwards and forwards
I meditate on the paths I have traveled
I cry for the things I have seen
And for the things I have done
I contemplate transcendence
I drink wine and listen to folk music
On the terrace of my home
I bike barefoot to buy Indian takeout
And eat it in silence on the floor of an empty room

I think only of death
And resurrection
Of betrayal and redemption
Of opposites and compliments
And how to progress in knowing how divergent pieces of myself can learn to harmonize
I think about minimalism and materialism
Sentimentalism
And swords and pens
And how this race I run was rigged from the start
I think about blackberries
And the complexity of their literary and symbolic significance
I think about the number seven as I see it reoccurring in every possible sequence and equation
I think about God,
And TS Eliot
And If I dare disturb the universe
I think about porcelain dolls and ****** activists and ***** hippies
I think about war and peace and politics
About corruption and poverty and imperialism
About western ideals and conspiracy theories
And communism
I think about being radical,
And how both sides of this ideological war are defined by fear
And I think about love, as radical but defined by the absence of fear
The absolution of fear
And how I am fairly certain it is the answer
I think about the inevitability of art and war
how they create each other
how they destroy each other
inspire each other and annihilate each other
and how there is nothing that is innocent.
I think about pain and privilege
And stacked decks of cards
I think about dreams and nightmares
And prophesy.
I think about the darkness within me
Tendencies to lie and manipulate and steal
The darkness that I know could make me very great
But alone in the ashes of the world
I think of the curse of wealth and power
And I try to evaluate my motives
And the driving force of my ambition
But I don’t know.
I think about grace and all the things I don’t understand
And toil and fate and destiny
The shape of these things, their origins and culminations
And what this black box of secrets contains.
I think about so many things,
Until everything I was on the outside is gone.
My body is gone
My painted face and sculpted hair
My varnished nails and pierced ears
All my clothes and appendages and freckles are gone
My blood evaporated
My brain an invisible energy in the wind.
My home and street
And city
Are gone.
And even in such complete concentration
When it is only my essence and nothing else
And I transcend throughout my past and future
When I am spread thin
And stretched into the corners
When I fill the cracks and crevices
And melt into the pores of everything
And my spirit is awaked to a dimensionless reality
Even then,
Scio Nihil

I know nothing. .
It's long but an accurate depiction of how my brain works. Written this summer back when I had to much time to think about everything.
Tahlia-rayne Jan 2021
Everything I touch seems to hold a memory of something I've done wrong
Keeping it locked inside until It sees an opportunity to punish me
I used to think maybe I was cursed
Cursed to live my life always fixing one problem or grieving or healing a forever broken heart
Exhausted I struggle to face the next month knowing another trauma is short awaited
I want to wrap myself in bubble wrap and wait out this wave but I know I can't
A night terror brought to life.

I fade into a room
Black
I hear the footsteps
Loud
I feel my skin
Naked

The door is yanked and left agape
I'm blinded by the light
He grabs me and I know there is no escape.

Suddenly he's in me, and I'm left voiceless
He says to open my eyes and I protest
A hard pound into my *** and a smack later
My eyes are open staring into a mirror

I look away and am yanked back
Forced to watch myself be treated like meat
He pounds away, a disgusting rhythm
As tear roll down my face, in defeat

Once he's finished he drops me to the floor
I sit like I'm supposed to,
Sitting on my knees, bowed and waiting for more.

He's back and I'm up in his arms
Holding my mine at my sides he whispers and nibbles at my shoulder
Telling me I'm his, that I'm so strong.
I fight to get away, he's so wrong.

He says he's sick of these games and straightens my face
Forces me to stare at my naked, bruised body
In the mirror that I can't take
I cry, and I cry

"Your mine"
A quick slap to the *** and I'm dropped again, to the floor.
Please note that this was a NIGHTMARE so it is not the exact real life account of what happened. Some parts are metaphors of how I was feeling at this time in my life. Thank you for reading.
Adellebee May 2012
The cocktail dress split hope down the screen
Letting that reoccurring dream compel me
Into memories of you
The clink of my cup
Shattered sobriety with the pain of daybreak
The ice looks like crystal but only something that will disappear and overflow your glass is standing at attention
The bar stool cracked, empty and the faux leather ripped, and torn
Cougars and MILFs strut down the bar top
Scanning tonight’s bachelors
I sit behind, for my dress is long and flannel
Heavy, hot making me sweat and stink
I run faster than a cheetah in my mind
Tearing doors and bridges apart
Speeding towards the sunrise
Attempting for the *** of gold
The cocktail drips from the table on to the floor
A puddle I will eventually slip from
Hair in my face
My ankle sundress reaped with alcohol
I stand up, look around
Towel?
But all I see is you
Walking back slowly retreating to the door
Leaving me to deal and regret the decisions
I so poorly execute
yokomolotov Mar 2014
pulling you through the needle eye of time

over my shoulder the dawn,
and the city’s scrapers sky glass have turned pastel

the sun has had a great time
being an agitated red eye
infected and watering, pooling and flooding and
drowning

blinding
indifferent
life-giving
same-time

the people asleep and the memories stain
with spells
promises and prayers

all infinite, and finite
wary of sentient
and one

drowsy hive mind
reoccurring dreams- a drive thru memory
passing through with
intermittent lucidity
BoF  May 2015
Happy Birthday
BoF May 2015
I remember as a child being overly excited for my birthday
every year I wouldn't be able to sleep just counting down the hours
When I did eventually fall asleep
I was quick to rise the next day
My mom who worked over nights
Would call me in the morning to send me blessings and good fortune
She was always the first person to say "happy birthday"
I've always loved my birthday
Because it was the one day I truly felt special
Felt wanted...
Now it's my birthday and I can't sleep
But not from excitement
But from reoccurring insomnia
My mom called at 12:02am
But she wasn't the first this year
a boy named "A"
Sent me a picture of his *****
And said it was my "gift"
(Isn't that sweet)
The Moment she said "happy birthday" I bust into tears
I'm glad she didn't hear me cause
I wouldn't know how to explain to her
How broken I feel
How I've thought of
death a million times
in the last hour..
This year I don't feel so special
I don't feel wanted
I feel drained
Fed up
tired
When the sun rises
I plan on buying enough drugs to numb my pain
Listen to the same song on reply
And hope that the day fades quickly
Happy Birthday to me.

B.oF
Sleep can't come soon enough

— The End —