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Nicole Sep 27
Perhaps the greatest gifts

Everyone has given me

Is the courage to love myself

A little bit more

Each day.
Seanathon Aug 7
You — And your quiet glow — Make me feel like a serene ripple. Like a blessed wish on a prior day.

You — And all that every human eye has seen — Scatter rippling white lights, all across this distant horizon of me.

May the shadow of the this glorious moon fall gently on a world of peace.
A poem I promised to write Helen In life that
I never got round to writting sadly till after
the poor girl had
That first poem I wrote which thought at the time to be my one and only
turned from poem to
My dream one day to have someone sing It as tribute to my wife the poem that turned song Is titled
The Last Christmas
this was the very last Christmas Helen would ever see as for me I can
never celebrate
ever again 23rd December
2017 where It all ended for me
24th December chucked out the tree lights and
Never again a Christmas tree lights or decorations
no Christmas collaboration
will I do anymore all ended for me 23rd Of December 2017
beatrice May 1
was going into that small Iceland diner
with only wool socks over black leggings
on my skinny tanned shins
(red Converse, soaked with saltwater,
still drying in the rental car,
sticky licorice jammed between seats).

Don't remember what I ordered,
only remember the way the waitress
smiled at me, in spite of my feet.
I felt so strongly that I was breaking
an unspoken rule—little did I know
how many I'd break in the months to come.
wrote this really fast
Asunna Feb 19
Fields of the evening, Long grass in the breeze
and a river down her face.
Dark flecks in the sky, it's all a blur,
the magpies all fly home.
Black trails linger down her arms,
Smudged and damp to the touch.
Hyperventilisation with every scarse breath,
And realisation begins to creep in.
She can't go home..
She can't go home...

         ... I can't go home.

Life that we know, is not, as we think it is  

In the present we miss at times, both
what could have been and what will be

as from the drawers of our lives we
pull out and savour memories while
riding the illusion of replacing time

but sometimes forgetting  that the past
drawn to the present will not sustain
and eventually recede to allow for the
flow of time future to find it’s age, and

life will remain a short tenancy with
a changing lease that time witnesses
without interference at every birth
and in the process we learn a few true
things as time tells your mind’s despair ----  

why lament,  life’s canvas was empty
at birth and will return to it’s state
when you leave, as you brought nothing
and will take nothing, but will leave
behind your life’s colours on my being
to hold  for posterity, as divined in time.

Rose Brown Nov 2018
the warm spring
dwindles into summer
into school
into Halloween


Marie-Lyne Aug 2018
It was an adoration of the body
the male body
It reminded me of statues
of desire
of a ****** gaze
and multiple pleasures
what an aesthetic way
to compare life
to water
the cycle of life
the maternal side of life
what a tragedy
Alaina Moore Jul 2018
Here it goes again,
trending on Insta and Facebook.
Where real awareness stems.
Mind the sarcasm,
social media’s a powerful tool
not knockin’ that.
I wonder though,
does the mind of the follower
understand the context of the hash?
Do they get it should be a call to action?
Not necessarily at the keyboard.
More like on the couch with their children,
Giving the conversation of consent.  
Most people do not even understand it by definition .
The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.  
Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame.
The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan,
quickly drying; leaving their mark.
Until the soap and warm water flows over them,
and the steam evaporates the confessions.
Until they are again whispers we all hear and know.
It’s whispers from the alley ways,
and from married couples bedroom doors.
The woman is the property,  
the man is the proprietor.  
We refuse to address the real problems,
the failures of our up-bringers.
We point fingers and slay names
yet the statistics provide the truth.  
One in four for females, one in sixteen for males.
We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say
Not going to say I did not share it,
I know the touch of unwanted hands,
the invasive *******.
All for the sake of the insanity,  
in repeating a useless gesture.
The only difference is
My hashtag went to my Senator.
Just found this, needs editing and punctuation but I liked it so I figured I would share it even as a draft.
Pao May 2018

There is something inside me
It all starts with a quiver
A shake, a breath
A swarm in the mind
About the past, the future
Never the present
Never the appreciation of living
Never the appreciation of vulnerability

It rumbles down my arms, my liver
My lungs, my legs
Inwards and outwards
Taking over my body
this was one of my journal entries in June 2017. I wanted to publish it. It was never finished.
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