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samasati  Sep 2012
girls
samasati Sep 2012
we always want to re-invent ourselves when we feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side.
we dye our hair or cut our hair or style our hair
so differently, so drastically, so unrecognizable.
we pack on make-up or strip our make-up
or pierce our faces, belly buttons, get tattoos, choose a permanent mark
to remind us of something solid;
something that represents
self-sufficiency or this too shall pass,
because we know we are gonna feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side again
(and again, and again).
we buy new clothes, give away old ones to our friends,
new shoes, new bags, new look.
and we’re always picking up new vices, new habits, new addictions.
cigarettes, alcohol, razors,
all the late night reckless binges on wine, narcotics, food, cutting ourselves.
sometimes we pick up healthy ones too,
like running, swimming, dancing, yoga, meditating, resetting sleep patterns, taking vitamins, treating ourselves to the spa, eating regularly, getting out of the house to see friends.
we either avoid intimacy at all costs because we can’t fathom
the concept of trust anymore
or we dive into it with practically anyone, just to feel something real
because we are so ******* lonely,
but we never really feel anything real at all.
we make resolutions, goals, plans for our next relationships
so that they won’t follow the same patterns as our last crumbling ones
(they usually still do).
some of us change what we like, what we want, what we need
to impress people so that they
fall in love with us and will never leave us.
we begin disregarding ourselves for another person,
or disregarding everyone else for ourselves,
both because we don’t want to get hurt again.

and then somewhere, somehow after weeks, months, maybe even years of
the full fledged wavering of
destruction meeting recovering meeting ignorance meeting shyness meeting loneliness meeting accepting meeting fear,
we start to see the intricacies of the pattern much clearer -
we make all of these sudden changes because
we just want to feel better,
we just want to be better;
that’s all.
it’s taking charge, which is healthy.
it’s also making fact and point that we need to change to deserve love,
which is unhealthy.
all of it is like learning algebra for the first time,
some of us take a bit longer to understand it all; the formulas, the variables, the balance.
and once we understand the formula, the variables and the balance,
then we can welcome back the beautiful,
real version
of ourselves we’ve been trying to
cover up.
Lucy Tonic  Nov 2011
Turbine
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Van Gogh lost an ear
And ****** was born
Something tells me history
Will repeat itself
Is repeating
Roots to grow
Roots to pull up
Like the near future
My star-clock keeps resetting
Connect the dots
I don't believe in accidents
And I'm the most sane I'll ever get
Call it what you will
In the waves and on the ground
Is where I find myself
And yet that's where
The enemy lies
Or say they tell me
Another truth turned on its head
The weight of my decisions
You can't handle
Yet it's not your heart
Frozen to the mantle
In the clouds
Eyes peer down
A ***** on a mechanical bull
A cup transformed into a robot
They sure have eyes everywhere
Turning big sister into a threat
And if we're all headed underground
Why the mixed bait of suicide and peace
Danger or sleep
And if it all happens for good reason
Why the dependency on TV skies
Hearts or eyes
Read the diagram of a head
If it makes you sleep sounder in bed
But the anatomy of a mind
Will put your concrete beliefs in double-bind
Roots to grow
Roots to pull up
The future is here
Our star-clock keeps resetting
Lane Bohman Sep 2015
A moment frozen in time;
Sublime and reclining
Speckled clouds in the sky.

A moment to reflect on
My minds eye divining

My mood weaves the meadows
in which I do graze,

Breeze on my face,

The echo
of natures innocence resounding.

What is this place?
Why is it so hard to reach?
Still to my bones.
So aware
so aware of it all.

This altered conscious hears my plea.

**A warm, deep breath
for my soul,
resetting life's toll on me.
lol marijuana
Catrina Sparrow Nov 2012
there's such a strange feeling brought in by sunday mornings.
it's as if you can feel the calender resetting,
a groggy haze of transition between one row of boxes and numbers
and the next.
the dates themselves adding line-breaks on type-writers,
molding the ever-changing scripts of our lives.
the day gets claimed for resting and resetting -
we recharge with early beers and late lunches
followed by a hefty dose of sweat-pants.
at least 'round here,
"sunday's best" has never been anything classy.
it's paint-stained denim, muddy boots, and over sized thrift store sweaters.
we don't own church shoes or pressed slacks,
because we've never needed ornate buildings to silently give thanks in.
we need the wind,
and the wild,
and the dirt.
we set out with the intention of getting lost,
for the simple joy of the instant that we find ourselves resurfacing on the face of the map.
we give thanks any time that there's nothing between us and the sky
and our wind-chapped faces are covered in smiles and sun.
desert dwellers need the sun.
we greet her daily,
wildly and emphatically as the frozen layers of earth.
sundays are for defrosting.
we bake beneath grandma's home-made quilts,
and in the arms of good love;
thawing enough to ensure growth without cracking our foundations.
"sunday's best" is just a good place to be.
it's a refreshing state of mind in an augmented pace of time,
where we slow down,
and step back just enough to see what really matters
and what never has.
and when the alarm clock howls like a rabid beast come monday morning,
we'll rise reflective and refreshed;
strengthened up to continue driving forth towards the lives we're living for.
Anna Dulaney Feb 2016
He was an alchemist,
Turning my lead tears to gold,
Because to him I was beautiful
To him I was worth more.

He was a metalsmith,
Fixing my broken copper wings
With tarnished feathers
Because to him, I could still fly.

He was a clockmaker
Resetting my fragmented cogs and beating pendulum
Spending hours and hours
Because to him I was fixable.  

But I am a just broken clockwork angel
With lead tears, broken wings, and severed insides
Rusted away by time and life
And no amount of mending can save me
Esther  Feb 2016
Hand of Warmth
Esther Feb 2016
Walking alone in the darkness
My world looks so different from yours
No one notices
No one takes my hand

Somebody please
Just notice my pain
I just want to reset
Want to return to my happy days
I want to reset
Just help me reset

I'm just stuck in this lonely darkness
Floating around, hopeless
Someone tell me why I'm lonely
Why is only my world stopping?

Walking with someone in the dark
is better than walking alone in the light
So please just offer your hand
One hand is enough to help

Help me go back to the beautiful days
I want to reset
Just help me reset

I need a hand of warmth
But why isn't anyone there?
All I get is weird looks
Don't we all deserve the help we need?
We can all breathe.....
Isn't it the same?

I pray for a society
Where we get the help we need
Without the discrimination
We all deserve that hand of warmth.

I just want to go back to those fun days
Just help me reset
Reset my whole life

Finally, I can breathe....
I actually have a reason to live,
Your smile that is very warm
Finds me before disappearing
In the darkness your smile
Shines brightly into my gloomy heart

I can finally reset
Reset my life
Into the light I come
My new life awaits
I'll be sure to give
A hand of warmth
To that person
Who needs help resetting
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
First see new photo, or else won't make sense.

Word is out
Animal kingdom on red alert,
No animus allowed near the chair,
Tween human and animal.

Good eats, good writes to be had,
Near that ye old adirondacke chair,
Where scribbles float in
L'air du temps,
Ripe for the plucking.

Arrived in the night dark,
Twelve eyes grinning, sheepish,
Wasn't tho no sheep, just a  veritable
**** deer herd munching the shrubs,
Who when head lighted, indifferently said,
Yo *******, it is September, remember,
Get the fk off **our
lawn!

Argh.

Morning.
Coffee-armed. Tablet shotguned,
Went to write in the fall sun,
When to my shock n' awe,
A gaggle of geese, awaiting.

And I mean a good-god-**** giggling-gaggle, no sht!
Probably resetting, resettling, looking for forgiveness,
For ******* all over the hard scrabbled grass.
Well no atonement boys, Yom Kippur notwithstanding,
I ain't the forgiving type!

No, no poet!
We stand before you on the Jewish Judgement Day,
Decorously waiting, in a row,
Before the throne, tho honking a little rudely,
Impatient for inscribing in Natalino's
Hall of Fame, Book of Life for the coming year.

Harrumph.

Well, in that case,
(Ego melting secretly inside),
Here is a poem just for you.

Fly south safe,
Inscribed and sealed you will be,
In both the Book of Life and Prosperity,
But only if you, stay off my grass in perpetuity!

Done and off they flew,
Me smiling, proud of my new fame,
Until I found their presents
Under my flip flops.

******* deer.
******* rabbits.
******* geese.

I wish they were not such
Poetry fanatics.

Ok.

Forgiven.


10:11am Yom Kippur morning.
The photo of a dozen plus geese lined up to hear me recite has been changed.   Send me a message if u would like to see it post reading the poem. N.
Mandii Morbid Aug 2022
You know how Emily said Hope is a thing with wings?

Well mine is nosediving and I can't believe how much it stings.

Despair it grips my soul,
And all I hear is screams.
They always echo on repeat and swallow up my dreams.

I used to love your arms around me.
Now they are suffocating.

I used to believe in one and only-
Now it just feels lonely.

I used to imagine a white wedding,
Now that thinking is steady resetting.

I used to do anything just to see you smile,
Now I know I haven't made you happy in a long while.

I used to believe in magic. Now it's all just noise.
Once the static passes, it's the silence that destroys.

I used to be a hopeless romantic-
Now I am only just hopeless.
An earthquake passes
Beneath my toes
An unsettling notion
Is left in my heart
As thoughts of concern
Race by like 2 ton trucks
An empty freight train
May shake a small town
However the frenzied freight truck
Shakes my nerve
Serving up appetite for destruction
Watching with watchful eye
Seeing itty bitty houses fall to the ground
Like a house of cards being blown over
Once the appetite is fulfilled
My notions will be settled
Once and for all
Justice, Peace at last
Resetting happiness
To the beginning of
A brand new day
Where love settles in the hills
Looking over the tip top of the mound
You notice the sun shining
Brightly
©Aiden L K Riverstone
John McCafferty  Jun 2021
Thirst
John McCafferty Jun 2021
A singular urge is a first,
reach out and stretch to grasp what's ahead.
Craving the crest of a wave,
we're high on the day as it's made.

Each is a slave where emotions are led,
fixed with impatient aches when we age.
Hard to remember which intentions were sent,
resetting said objectives of late.

Targets in sight from the white of your eye, these short lived events curl up in death.
Less than a wisp as it fades into air,
rolling along to reclaim what we shared.
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Blind Aesthetic Mar 2015
It has been many moons since these translucent eyes set forth the bellowing cries of a whispered hymn. The cries of those long since forgotten, briefly heard, myopic, blind to the background sound of our nestled unruly world. The white noise that paints the landscape continually resetting itself in a desperate attempt to regain its foothold in our lives. It is this fight for free reign that forever brings me here. Brings me to each infinitesimal moment in life where we as the white noise fight for dominance over our subconscious realm.

Leery of what we experience with our senses and what we experience with the extensions of. Touching everything with our nothing making sure that the existence that we live is not just a state of mind but an actuality. We are self-altruistic, in this i am sure, for we care about the well being of ourselves. No state of mind left behind this is our status quo. Let it be that no mirror binds you to your own failures nor to those that look onto from a distance. Let you be your own shadow let your own shadow not be a former representation of what is but what's to come. Let your shadow be effectively that of which you strive. Let the shovels of ill will be fated to bury themselves hand in hand with those that foster it. Stand firm in your position overcome only by the mountains of your own design.

These peaks scream out echoes of your hate and shame not for you, nay. Not for I, nay. but for those that challenge what you stand for because the earth beneath our feet stands for everyone. stands stained with bloodied tears that rained down from our glorified manufactured heaven. This epoch marks the second coming of our custom, individualized, patent-pending, rights reserved, copyrighted Christ; our self-proclaimed god. self-proclaimed because we are the gods we seek, we ignore, and we pray for. the effervescent pool of life reads no running so we segue our way on this Segway to take advantage of the loopholes we ourselves placed as if only to cheat our fabricated reality because rebellion is refreshing and different but only when no one else is looking.
Abhinay Renny Jan 2016
Words wandered to express your charm
Poem could not portray your smile
Sonnet sauntered resetting the rhyme to your tune
Acrostics acquired feelings to fill out your name.
Free verse flied away fluttering it's words
Knowing it's about you. About you.
Ineffable beautiful soul.
Anthony Grant Feb 2018
I'm not a poet.
But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret,
and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell...
I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken
and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there.
Yeah.
I'm not a poet.
But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the
world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake...
she's...every hue of a pacific sunset.
I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me
that life is possible.
I'm no poet.
But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the
blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me
into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no
earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?
I've gotten so much great feedback/shares/reposts from this, I just wanted to say thank you all truly. This was a piece that I really dug deep for and i'm so glad I found a place to share it. <3

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