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Asonna 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.
Alaina Moore May 2018
Blank screen staring...
Make it interesting.
Google it.
Remember it.
That rush;
The excitement;
The release.
That brief moment of peace.
I always did love the feeling,
But most of all
I love to watch.
The drops form like poetry,
They slip down to the pen.
Slinging words so fast
I can't think about it.
The razor refills sitting in the bathroom.
My heart pounding, I shouldn't think about it.
I can't,
I shouldn't!
Close my eyes and try to feel it,
a malicious fantasy.
Heart pounding still.
I can't,
I shouldn't!
But it's right there.
It's so easy.
It's so hard.
Old Addiction arise
like droplets congeal.
Google it.
Remember it.
Imagine it.
Breathing heavy.
It's so hard.
It's so easy.
It's right there.
When I was younger I didn't have the most self-positive coping mechanisms, and often reverted to self-harm. Later in life when things grow heavy, I find myself grasping for these old coping mechanisms for lack of a better idea. Though I have yet to break my sobriety (of sorts) on this vice, the thoughts haunt me. There have been countless times in the past where I have come so close to breaking, and falling back into the arms of this addiction. But thus far, I have remained strong enough to resist the blade.
Alaina Moore May 2018
Waking up 5 a.m.
Aching back.
Husband gets up
Makes sure your alright.
Sets up a pallet dubbed
"****** back set up supreme."
Rubs out the kinks,
From another exhausting week.
Talks about the shared woes,
And how hard things can be.
Mysterious figure-
Kids can be creepy!
Tuck in to our bed.
Lay on the sofa.
Continue talking demons,
Offer mutual support.
Dish out all the feelings,
We had to ignore at work.
May as well stay up now
Since the kid is sound asleep.
Turn on some video game...
Times all the same.
Sun up, Sun down.
Alaina Moore May 2018
If you think you're irreplaceable
You are sorely mistaken.
I can pay for a therapist
When I need someone to talk to.
I can pay for a masseuse
When my muscles scream.
You are nothing to me by blood,
You are among the family I chose.
And I can choose to separate from you.
I don't need you.
You need me.
Alaina Moore May 2018
Learn how to talk!
Type out a message
Erase it.
Chemically induced paranoia.
Marooned by burning bridges,
I fear starvation.

Just surviving life right now
minutes or hours at a time.
It's not pretty.
Poems don't lie.

Perhaps that's why
I can only gush feelings
in some rhyme or pentameter

Not really pentameter,
to much work and time.
This **** has no flow other than
how I think I'd speak it in my mind.

Can't call it slam.
It's just word *****
so I can read it over
and over and over.

Send it to a friend.
Narcissistic desire.
All positive reviews,
so it doesn't matter.

It's easier to remember the feeling this way. (I guess)
Jaded poems of a jaded mind.
My issues are simple
relapse, replay, rewind.

Chain smoking simply for the high,
Et Cetera, et cetera, along those same lines.
Got all this to live for
yet that **** still remains?

Are you ******* serious?
I thought I served my time!
Regressed back to a default state of mind.

I thought I was better than this,
control seemingly was mine.
Normally I'd meditate;
not in that house of horrors

I barely eat,
Not drinking water.
Nothing but making it worse.

Escape: all available options.
I joke about it.
Reminiscent of Lennon:
This poem was sparked by a chain of events that lead me to a state of total mental instability. Since I was 13 I have flirted with thoughts of suicide. When hard times come around, even decades later, I still revert back to those thoughts. This also goes into how I often write poems, send them to friends for their reviews and then the poem essentially dies. However, I find it hard to articulate myself in other forms. Text is where I find my solace.
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