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Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2018
In most instances
I don't have
Any question

Yet have
Lot of answers
Genre: Spiritual
Theme:Self discovery
Tyler Smiley Oct 2018
Vulnerability is a funny thing. Everyday people urge us to be authentic- with ourselves, our peers, our passions. Yet when we cut ourselves open for the world to see, they run from us as if we are violent rip currents waiting to take them under. When in reality we are nothing but individual tide pools sometimes puddled into something so much bigger than what others want to openly accept.

But I refuse to not live a life of authenticity. So many souls become comfortable with safety, causing them to become deeply implanted in solely just the soil in which they have resided their entire time of growing. Genuine love for something other than yourself has become nothing but a fossil of a feeling. Streams of emotions have dissipated and turned into desert lands.

As for me, I took the time to disappear within myself. I discovered my flatlands and made them curved. Those rip currents everyone always runs from are big, but so am I. A vulnerable soul may be looked at as someone made up of only dainty fallen petals, but the truth is they're looking past someone with roots dug deeper than sunken teeth into bitten skin.

What's authentic to those who shelter themselves like boarded windows in the midst of a storm might as well be forgery to me. I urge you to not be afraid to put your innermost self into another pair of shaky hands. To not hesitate to whisper your deepest ridden thoughts into caverns of a mind that's not your own. To not second guess putting you're ragged edged heart into someone else's hollow chest.

Vulnerability and authenticity meet at an intersection that you must come to terms with stopping at. I hope to see you there.
If I met my soul, wandering…
Would I even know who it was?

What of me would I recognize?
The pimply skin of teenage years?
Who says it has my color eyes?
My wrinkled face so on in years?

Walking with my familiar gait?
Which of my many styles of hair?
Would my soul dress in clothes I hate?
Or look like me enough to stare?

I’m not familiar with my soul.
Life’s only constant that I get.
The very thing that makes me whole
I’d ignore if we ever met.

My soul’s the me that I can’t see.
Strange here but in Heaven clearer.
To know my soul with certainty,
Know myself without a mirror.
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At last we lay silent
under the bliss of Joy
Your body drifting off
into another realm
where calm blankets
your stillness
I watch your chest
rise and fall
listening to your breath
ebb and flow
like the gentle rhythmic tide
as you retreat and return
to the moon sprawled
across your bed
Without interruption
my eyes take in
every aspect of you
I find my fingers
brushing your hair
away from your face
kissing the crevice
between your nose and cheek
settling on your warm mouth
as your out breath emerges
from your lips to mine
I watch as you fall
further and further away
knowing we are separate souls
unable to save each other
from the dark night
but for now we have found a place
for our bodies to rest
in embracing arms
Syncing our heart beats
until day breaks
where we part again
She sat on the shelf
Admiring the other dolls,
She'd been there for some time.
Watching the other dolls come & go.
The only one not wrapped in plastic.
She thought her self ugly
The other dolls never staying long.
The kids & their parents quickly by passing her.
Grabbing the dolls wrapped in box & plastic.
Although very beautiful she'd sit and contemplate the worst.
Watching the other dolls come & go.
The little black doll not wrapped in plastic.
She grew resentment.
Finding the only difference was in how she was made.
Her brown skin, her black hair.
She so longed to be taken to a loving home.
She didn't come with any accessories.
The vanity that came with the other dolls.
Her smile printed across her face.
Over time it became hard for that smile to stay.
Often crying when the lights turned off and the store closed.
She wanted a home just like the other dolls.
Quickly picked up,
Hurried over to the register.
She longed to be like all the other dolls.
Watching them all come and go.
Their hair tied behind their head.
All the make up and accessories sealed in their package.
It wasn't until one of the other dolls was returned.
Damaged.
Half stuffed into the package.
When she spoke to the other doll,
She discovered that not all homes are what you think.
Seeing how rough she was played with.
The rough marks across her face, her hair no longer tied in the package ponytail.
It wasn't until then that she realized that the best things come with time.
Finding the best home in herself
Beautiful black doll
Taken home to meet the girl she'd be with forever
Amanda  Nov 2018
What I Lack
Amanda Nov 2018
Sometimes think of happier days
How the sun shines brighter with your touch
All the desire sworn to me
Within confines of your clutch

As brain climbs up and down memories
Performing astounding acrobatics midair
What I want above anything else
For you to prove you care

This is my mind's obsession
Realize there's no turning back
Pills improve mood until effects fade
Then I am forced to deal with what I lack
I hate looking into mirrors...
Dredd  Dec 2018
Passenger
Dredd Dec 2018
i am tired of being the passenger in my life
watching it happen while not being present.

i want to steer my own destiny towards a happier and blissful place.

taking action instead of waiting for nothing to happen
waiting and waiting
then complaining
why nothing is right.

you do not wait.
you should not wait.
you should take action.

-D.L.
Just sitting alone, thinking about how life is dictated to you. No self expression. Should always follow the norm. I am tired. I want to be me. I want to explore how I want to. Be who I want to. Do what I have to do!
Shin Ha Mi  Nov 10
Prologue
Shin Ha Mi Nov 10
Standing on the edge,
A woman, about  to fall,
Trough a rabbit hole.

How she got there?
One may ask.
She was led,
through a maze at dusk.

A long lost friend,
Held out a hand,
Inviting smile,
racing heart,
To walk into dreamy land,
Of ageless bliss and fairy dust.

Neither woman,
nor a child,
Rather both,
She once again, learns to play.
And as she plays, her worries fade,
Fears forgotten, left behind,
She, now Alice, in a Wonderland

— The End —