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Fridays were always fun.

Jack was always the bold one, but once you knew him, it wasn’t that bad. You be surprised, once he got going, he became the life of the party.

Jerry was sweet and got along with everyone, though if you cornered him, he has one hell-of-a-punch.

Tito was smooth too, and like Jerry, got along with everyone. But became a bit bitter later in life.

Jim, Jose and Bulleit—man those three guys always got into trouble. They were ok at first, but we had a falling out as they fought with themselves and everyone else. Probably for the best not to worry about them.

And Mary. I don’t know how to explain it. She had a certain allure, an air about her. She is sweet, good looking, and super funny. No matter who she is with she can have a good time, down to party whenever.  

I suppose we all have lives now.
Too responsible.
But we deserve to have a good time, right?
It is a Friday.
I’ll be honest out of everyone I’d contact, it would be Mary. Maybe Jack and Jerry, only if Mary said she was cool with them as well. Anyone else though and the good times will not roll.
Aware of our poisons, we weigh responsibility as an adult, a want vs need or nothing in between. Reliance and aware of over-indulging. If you know what the names mean, let me know your poison is.
Traveler Jan 6
Love unspoken
Tends to waver
A few warm moments
A few special favors
Even as the good friend
Or the teacher's pet
Acceptance may be
All you get
So when and if
I decide to show it
Unspoken or not
   Now you know it...
Traveler Tim

It just kind of falls out the bottom..
Damaris ZA Mar 2021
I am an over-ambitious achiever
Who holds the highest of high standards
Even though I come from a family
Who holds nothing to their name

When you look at me you see
unruly coarse hair
With rough skin
And a small body

What you don’t see
are the constant sleepless nights
And the long work hours
so that I may obtain
A normal life.

This work is important to me because
I don’t want others like me
To waste their lives
So that they may get
the same privileges
As their peers

Equity will begin with acknowledgment.
LC Sep 2020
he wanted to see if we were on the same page.
meanwhile, I was reading a different book.
its past chapters made me wince in pain,
which lived - unhealed - within me.
as his fingers lightly caressed the pages,
he whispered, "acknowledge the pain,
then close the book. you can't live like this.
we can get through this and read the same page."
I turned to the past chapters, heart pounding in fear.
instead of wincing and hurrying to the end,
I read those pages, absorbed every word,
understood the story, acknowledged its lessons,
and released it to make room for a new story.
then - and only then - I closed the book.
I kept the lessons and sat next to him.
he showed me the book he was reading from,
and now we're finally reading from the same page.
Izlecan Jul 2019
Attires of a closer regime,
Closed in on the muddling assets
of a light,
Flickering.
On a dead end street,
Through a meandering
There’s an eventful animus.
Past eleven,
P.M.
“To lobby is to redeem,
Apparently(!)
For I sin and repeatedly sin.”
Only by 1 and only through one
Single flock of wind-blown sediment,
man acknowledges life and
It’s dreadful stripe,
Laid upon a landscape;
Full of faux images of random schemes.
Well, there the ongoingness goes
Of moments that are no way chronologic
Where one plaster over another
Seems like a perfect match.
When the clock strikes to 3
A.M
Merely a sigh passes along,
Yet another minute,
On the cold street
The light knows no acuity at all.
It means for another tick,
Yet does not wait for the tock;
Tick-tock(!)
Tick-tock.
There lies 3 hour worth concurrence,
Confronted for each tock, for half a minute,
But only the seconds pass.
And with each skip that matters,
and only that matters nevertheless,
The clock goes back to
Eleven
P.M.
There(!) the gutter calls for another drink,
For another trace
On another strike.
However mournfully,
Escort of a humanly maze,
The muddling sort,
Births confusion.
The attires seem gone by now.
The heaves; quite impeccable,
The path adopts another protest,
For a much tackled breathing
Time overlaps,dreamily,
On a spectrum,
Laying as a single faceted imposture;
Mocking a postering of shed upon the pavement.
For another street that seemingly differs;
where the marching will always depend
(Regardless)
Solely on the counts of seconds
By the potency of motives
That merges as to defy
The years accounted
On the flesh and bone.
Now there goes another strike,
Audible over the plane
And
It carries on as
“To lobby is to redeem
For I sin
And sin
And sin
On a 3-hour worth strike,
Starting at 11
P.M,
Over another man’s bearing.”
Sea's End Oct 2018
When you look a poet in the eyes for long enough
Eventually, you'll know what they are
Without a shadow of doubt.

Some poets,
However,
Will never be acknowledged.

Because people are too scared to take the time
To see them.

Unfortunately, the cream does not always rise to the top.
At times, it will sink
Below a product
Much
More
Dense.

Ironic.
Takes one to know one. haha~ Not super proud of this one, but it's a concept that I've been thinking about a lot lately.
Raquel Butler Aug 2018
I find it oddly reassuring,
to consume art that consists of sorrow.
The ability to create from a place of
deep distress,
to put words to feelings that go unnoticed.

There is comfort in knowing that
you are not alone in this,
that there are some who feel
the plight in your bones.
To not shy away from the hurt
that you feel,
To look inside yourself and
find that you are
not always happy to be here.

There is comfort in acknowledging
that you have been broken,
in understanding all the ways in
which you have been seared into.

Once you have felt comfort in
your darkest depths,
Once you have faced what has
pained your soul,
This is when you can finally
begin to heal.
YieShawn Scutt Mar 2016
Can you see me?
Can you hear me?

It's like I scream on the daily
Crying out for a savior to save me
Deep down knowin they're carefree
Done acting like it doesn't faze me
Sometimes it hits me
Hits me so hard it knocks the wind straight out of me
Literally
But still my dreaming is continuing
Searching for hope
"maybe"


Can you see me?
Can you hear me?

— The End —