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Let me submit some thoughts to the public:

If one novel can
Overturn your worldview, then
Maybe the view's wrong

If one poem can
Make you turn to suicide
Then you're not happy

If a few berries
Can overthrow your empire
Then it's bound to fall

If one whistleblower
Can discredit you, then your
Actions might be wrong

If one blogger can
Threaten your morals, then the
Morals are too strict

If one flaw can break
The entire system, it's
already broken

That's all.
Inspired by the creative people I admire, including John Green, Suzanne Collins, and Ray Bradbury.
I don't know why I feel this way,
when things should all just feel okay.
Maybe it's my battles with mistrust,
or my constant fight with my own lust.
All these problems I just can't ignore.
My mind's not large enough for them to be stored.
Alone I feel I have to work this out,
nobody here to save me from my own doubt,
again.
I feel so alone again.
I feel as if I have no friend,
where are they now?
I've come to my end again,
this whole time have I been playing pretend, with myself.
And all of you, I think about you all the time,
But when I'm lost and icy you escape my mind.
When the color fades to black and white.
I don't hear any voice from the outside,
nobody with me on such lonely nights,
please take the wrong away from all the right,.
Tears only come out in the dark,
and they're coming straight from my own heart,
They were probably there all from the start,
just hidden away to never show part, of me, again.
I've lost touch with my friends,
at least that's how it feels again,
and I know this ain't the end.
But it smothers me again.
And to all my friend's faces, I miss you.
It's not that I try to forget you,
but it seems that no one want to be around someone so blue.
Though that's never the way I think about all of you,
me and the rest of the world so differently choose, again.
The doubt eats at me again,
attempts to consume me at no end.
And I cannot just pretend I don't miss you.
Bring me back to life, away from this.
To escape from my seemingly perpetual abyss.
I was happy, what had happened.
My mood has changed and all turned saddened.
Probably a lack of human interaction,
Loneliness just don't go well with my satisfaction.
Cause what's the point of walking life if it's a path traveled alone,
yet all the time I know this Earth will never be my home.
Maybe I'm always acting in the shadows of something else,
deep in my mind, afraid to show myself.
If there's nothing else, I'd like to say,
once again I feel like such a cast away.
Left in my own mind, such a vastly place.
And like any room it's much more comfortable to share it,
problem is, it's apparently difficult to comprehend it.
And when you say I'm deep, I'm probably tired of shallow.
And nobody else will, so you're welcome to follow.
I can't be the only one with this design of mind,
and yet I hear of everyone being unique so much of the time.
Yet so much of the response I see is so much the same,
but who am I to be the one to put on a blame.
My heart is the cradle,
for all you give,
oh the love you have,
it makes me live!

My heart is the cradle,
rocking back and forth,
as you pour more
of your passion in.

My heart is your heart,
and doesn't it trip,
the cradle tips,
and your love seeps in.
for myles
Confusion stems from infatuation
Depression spills over happiness sometimes
Ponder over said events
Why am I so disconsolate?

A chill makes one tremble and my hand refuses to write
Should one put up a fight?
This being is aching
From within breaking
Emotional bonds-block all?
Let everything fall.
This pitch black crippled the good in me.
Can't you see?

Too consumed in tears, shrieking and bleeding
The ones who surround vanish from sight
Life is a gift-I cannot obtain
Pain is the punishment I gain
Written in 2008, 5/12/11 and 10/10/16
so the house turns to ash,
the old boards to embers and smoke,
aged and grey, tasting the air after arson -
billowing from burning carpets and curtains
and drifting from windows, doors cast open.
the book-page butterflies spill out
from shelves and cabinets
on black-stained breeze
while pieces of flare stuck in mirrors
think, give light conversation
about the past to the opposite wall -
to old paint peeling off
so delicately as to be a flower
in its likeness of a gasp,
crying instinct - impulse:
a single bloom born to a gesturing wind
which whistles under new petals
singed, wearing wallpaper patterns
packed dark with little bicycle men
wearing top hats and suit jackets
and women all done up in dresses,
dancing like flames.
i'm not sure why but i love this piece
 Oct 2016 Stefan Michener
r
Come on girl
it's time to fly

Don't let this gray sky
hold us down

The water may swirl
but we won't drown

Ain't nothing but the wind
and the rain keeping us in

Let's get on out of here
and get some air

Driving sideways
through this storm

Running its fingers
through our hair

Like a swarm
of honeybees came

Singing Love is like a hurricane
and Here comes those tears again

Writing words
upon my window pane

Come on girl,
it's just the wind and the rain.
A nod to Neil Young and Jackson Browne,
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