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who does not like the feeling
that we are all protected
by our guardian angels

however

as the ancient Greeks
    and after them
Benjamin Franklin & others
maintained

God helps those
who help themselves
 Aug 2016 Sophie
Rick Warr
Lately I feel
I am being crushed
between tectonic plates
of Impossibility

The advice of those around
contradictory and senseless
The constraints offered
leave no possible solution

Then I see
that it's not me
The game they gave
has no salve

I'm in the wrong game
This game is actually
Theirs
A work sentiment
 Apr 2016 Sophie
mike dm
and bright orange
clementine,
peeled,
for your open
mouth. i adore the **** out of you,

queen of my
imagined scene,
finally traversing this

digital space

to eat
each other
up.
 Apr 2016 Sophie
Peter Balkus
Poet
 Apr 2016 Sophie
Peter Balkus
Poet lives amongst people,
in the land of sadness and happiness, where they live,
he dresses up like them, speaks like them,
in their language he had to learn.
But when he is on his own, he speaks in own tongue
to not to forget it.
He speaks with the dead, he keeps in touch with them,
to make sure everything goes according to plan.

He is afraid to tell what he sees,
in case people put him down and disbelieve.
He forces himself to keep his mouth shut,
he knows the price. He can't just die,
he's on a mission. So carefully
he smuggles in the truth in his poetry.
 Apr 2016 Sophie
m i a
AND OH HOW I THOUGHT THAT WE WERE TRULY IN LOVE,
BUT THEN LIFE COME ALONG,
RUDLY GIVING ME A SHOVE,
I THEN REALIZED
THAT I WAS WRONG,
I GUESS IT WAS JUST THE STARS IN YOUR EYES,
THAT HAD ME HYPNOTIZED
FOR
SO
LONG,
AND OH HOW I THOUGHT WE WERE TRULY IN LOVE.
"we're just kids, lookin' for love"
 Mar 2016 Sophie
river
i do everything i can to feel alive. i’ve ran until my knees felt weak. i’ve jumped into the cold ocean waters. i’ve gotten high. i’ve gone on the wildest of roller coasters. i’ve canopied before. i’ve eaten crazy spicy foods. i breathed. and i don’t know how to explain. i think it’s just all the headaches, sleepless nights, and lies i’ve told. i think it's just all the times i’ve cried and tried to die. maybe that overcomes the things i’ve done to forget time. maybe that overcomes the cheer of when the sun rises in the sky and the wind that caresses the trees under the bright moonlight.
i'm trying my best but i don't feel okay i really don't
 Mar 2016 Sophie
embla
irony
 Mar 2016 Sophie
embla
How dare you laugh at my faults when you're the epitome of human failure?
 Mar 2016 Sophie
jack of spades
IT WAS 1712 IN THE PEAK OF JULY HEAT AND I WAS VOMITING INTO YOUR KITCHEN SINK THE BLOOD OF A SINGLE MOTHER. YOU LAUGHED LIKE I SHOULD HAVE ALREADY LEARNED ALL THE ROPES THAT YOU NEVER BOTHERED TO SHOW ME. “I THOUGHT YOU SAID IT WOULDN’T HURT,” I SAID. YOU LOOKED ME IN THE EYE AND ANSWERED, “WELL YOU’RE NOT IN ANY PHYSICAL PAIN.” AS IF IT’S SOMEHOW ANY DIFFERENT THAN THE CATASTROPHE BUBBLING AND BREWING IN MY DECONSTRUCTED BRAIN.

IT WAS DECEMBER OF 1827 AND I  HELD YOU IN SHATTERED HANDS AS I SNAPPED YOUR NECK AS IF IT WOULD MAKE A DIFFERENCE. I WASN’T THE ONE WHO KILLED YOU BUT I WISH I HAD BEEN. YOU WERE WORTHLESS TO ME.

IT WAS THE FIRST REAL DAY OF SPRING IN 1922 AND YOU WERE EVERYTHING TO ME.

IT WAS 2016 WITH SUN-KISSED SEPTEMBER SKIN AND I WAS SWALLOWING BUGS IN OCTOBER PRETENDING LIKE I COULD POISON MYSELF WITH SPIDER LEGS AND MOTHS. YOU’VE BEEN DEAD FOR TWO CENTURIES BUT YOUR GHOST STILL HAUNTS ME. I’M WAITING FOR YOU TO BE REBORN AGAIN.

IT’S 3275 AND FOR THE SECOND TIME YOU’RE THE LAST THING I SEE BEFORE I DIE, AN OLD SOUL IN A NEW BODY, ALL THE MORE DEADLY. YOU WERE WORTH THE MILLENNIUM AND A HALF OF WAITING. I’LL KISS YOUR KNUCKLES BEFORE YOU BASH MY TEETH IN, AND THEN I’LL SAY THANK YOU. MY BLOOD HAS ALWAYS TASTED BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE’S ANYWAY.
for the vampires in love
You’re your own idea
written in blood and electricity.
You’re Pulcinella. You’re judy.
You’re someone else’s description
of light
imagined alive.
You’re temporary.
You’re the dream in a Jivaro head.
There’s the ceiling of a skull
just above your clouds
and even further out
there's another.
You’re pock-marked, wood-wormed
with thoughts,
words,
that you’ve been taught
on you, like tattoos
and shared birthmarks.

You’re picture-framed
in my eye sockets
flipped and made
understandable
and only some of you
oozes
through
like the sun
below the surface of the sea.
You’re me
and i’m you
swirling in each other’s boundaries
like the Tao and oily water
and the point between the colours in rainbows.
You’re infinite to mayflies.
You’re an explosion’s leftovers.
You died last time I saw you
and reformed in the doorframe
when I came around again.
You’re the world’s re-used love letter
from ****** to organised organism
incubated in original sin
the kiln
making Russian dolls from living things.
You’re the seed of a ghost.
You only existed since this morning
and yesterday’s you woke up
and is now out haunting.
You’re both here, and there, and here
a string vibrating
a seismograph
a tree ring
Earth’s music
playing
and playing
and playing.
All the things I know about people I don't know.
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