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 Jul 2015 stéphane noir
ZWS
I'm not even sure that I can be fixed anymore.
 Jul 2015 stéphane noir
Celeste
im stuck between what my mind and heart wants
nothing seems to be in its right place
or maybe im just never meant to be anywhere that i happen to be
my mind is always caressed by clouds and burned by the vocalists of the earth
words are as scorching as the rays of the sun and my writs are itching once again

and im scared im scared im scared this world is not for me
Left elbow first, left ear next, thanks for your touch
It finally starts getting better. Context : when i left my resting place at the station i was grabbing my backpack and noticed 3 small spiders/ants on the top of the bag, immediate decision making time, brush them off (possibly injuring them and thus myself in the process), get a page from my notebook and try to lift them off the bag back onto the home ground (i felt lazy so didnt do this either) let it flow and let them live their own risks for getting in contact with me (this is the option i took). Tried to be careful when putting the bag on. got on train and recorded my previous poems from that day. Eyes closed thinking paranoid ego thoughts while trying to listen to music when all of a sudden i feel the touch on my left elbow, open eyes and look down, guess what it was one of the spiders/ants, it felt lovely and the physical sensation was totally unexpected and beautiful and snapped me out of my thought pattern, i mindfully didnt brush him off but saw him on my tshirt and the point where it intersected with my headphones wire, closed my eyes and tried to relax, was working, next thing he was just behind my left ear, raised my fingers to it but he didnt jump on board, then felt him again and did the same, then he went somewhere else and i lost contact (later i would wonder where his friends were and if all 3 sacrificed their home and maybe lives for me just because i was lazy? or would the one who survived in the new home of the train or where ever be ok?) Anyways i made it to my destination and met my friends who are getting married and their family and am happy to say have only had one or two paranoid thoughts since arriving so things are busy but ok, things are looking up and i havent been able to write any poetry since so might be quiet for a few days, cheers for reading
Remember to take away the small things// the times you laughed along side loved ones// the times loved ones held a hand or gave a shoulder to lean on// remember to jump with the rain and smile with the clouds// night can be just as beautiful as it is when opened loud// the sun can't smile without offering heat//
Your hands may be gentle,
Your eyes may be kind,
But lurking beneath,
Is a sick, twisted mind.
please
don't touch me, okay?
please
stand back at least 3 feet
in a perfect circle,
missile range.
please
keep your distance, okay?
please
don't attach yourself to
my brittle bones
and aching soul.
please
don't leave me, okay?
just
don't touch me
stand back at least 3 feet
keep your distance
(missile range)
and attempt to avoid attaching
to my brittle bones
and weary soul.
another oldie, but hello once again, HP!
<quote>
I bought a red bra, she said.
I knew you'd like it.
The only problem was I didn't
have a red blouse to wear with it.
...
<quote />
Read the rest of this cute and funny poem @//writersalmanac dot org//. Search for "red red bra"
They link arms and walk in solidarity
for those that have died for our freedom.
They sell arms to the lunatics,
to the future, blind assassins,
and the terrorists they will come to condemn.

They cross words with each other
in a room of hot air and bucked teeth,
then pull together if they feel
any shift of power
like a rug beneath their feet;

experienced tongues
are well versed in deceit-
call it reptilian,
call it good diction,
call it a swig of fiction
to chase down
the spirit of Fact;
we live in a pack of lives,
ruled by a pack of wolves
in a sheep's disguise;
we herd ourselves
with sensory distraction;
in fear of dissolution,
in want of a real kind of reaction-
But the charity shops are piling off
and we're all too broke to give,
so we live in guilt as the flowers wilt
on the roadside; another number
for the headlines,
another ****** on the land.

How long must we be ruled
by those who cannot understand
what it takes to be a woman,
what it takes to be a man.
C
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