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The trick to self-analysis is self-alerting awareness.
Thus the cliché: know yo'own self.
Each you you ever be, see you be you.

Each self makes a bio, builds a being viable on earth.
Thus the click, on earth as…
always brings to mind in heaven, which is

--quotes are useless, it's like a choir of…
--- Hermes fans all fanning at once call for…

did Jesus say? The kingdom of truth is within you.
No way,
Jah, wei

we know, we tasted. Wanna bet, your interesting times?
ception receive the key from long before,
now is as we are
free to be anything imaginable
or if
we find whole lives memorizable, realizable
at the speed of thought, you live as long
as you wish,
to act as if you have the mind of any one mental
- mortal thing, we can't imagine immortality
- by law limiting speed of thought to
- the inner edge of the bell curve on
- mindless oblivion or nirvana, some call it.

imagine you are fed and clothed, because you survived,
no other measure of your worth,
or mine,
we survived, we can do good knowing,
knowing we know hell is a test all the best pass thru.
Fix your mind's hero story, you're it.
You are your mind's hero story hero, not mine.

I sold mine, did I not make that clear, when this game began,
I took you at you word, truth has a mind, so I sold the
mindless ***** NPC and blew my own bubble
to be in truth with a word accepted as true,
it cannot lie, I took it to heart,
like magic… new ifity

and I'm me. Not a fan of any name, tho' I do call Jesus friend.
{pre-facebook kinda friend, big deal in du-Sie times o'yor|

then you wish to die, and you do.
Before you do,

that's the trick. The other one.
Taste test. Mass appeal. Phemous Blahsay {The Immortality Key spilled over and likely set this in motion, it's a good book.}
She danced around like a butterfly,
sung her songs like the early bird.
She flapped her wings to the beat of the wind,
all to drown out the rushing in her head.

She talked at the speed of light
and when she thought, you could hear the gears.
She made her own music, she lived her own life,
all to ignore the pain of the past.

She walked the edge of razor blade,
but she acted like nothing was wrong.
She inched across, her blood dripping down,
all with no end in sight.
i don't know.
Per form
Per forming
Putting yourself into a form, forming
Putting your intangible, expansive, nebulous, spiraling, luminous being
Into a format
Expressing yourself in a way that transmits
A form that transmits
Per forming
Per form
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at
Thanks for reading!
Tora Jul 11
there she went,
back into her mind
the noiseless depths of anticipation.
her reactions?
Nylee Jul 10
The first thing
In my mind
When I wake up

It is my mind thing
Always thinking
In the world
It is bottled up

Is it a sign of something
A message, a kind
all about timing
And time again

It is recurring
Non leaving
Simply stuck in between

It is acting
Everyone practicing
Saying lines not to mess up.

What I am saying
In the end
I don't make sense to myself.
Ella Grace Jun 26
Close the curtains
Turn off the lights
Take off the make up
Hang up the costume

I’m done
Done being the girl you want
I’m done pretending
I don’t want to be an actress

This is me.
I’m imperfect
My skin isn’t flawless
And my body doesn’t look like hers.

I change everyday
Some days I can’t get out of bed
And others I feel like I can touch the sky
Sometimes I don’t know who I am.

Am I the girl who shows her colours with pride?
Or the girl who hides her scars?
Maybe I’m the girl who hides behind a book
But I’ll ever be the girl who hides behind a man.

I will find myself some day
I’ll show the colours that suit me
I’ll show the world my pain
I will be me.

But for now, I’m done
No more shame
No more fear
No more acting

I just want my liberty
I want to kiss her without fear
To wear my clothes without harassments
To be free.
Dante Rocío Jun 19
Every little moment,
or location
is a completely different presence
and stance of you,
no matter how similar it seems to any other,
for, like in alchemy,
existential fluids of Bowel Heart are endless,
new in every millisecond,
and make varieties of you.
There is never nothing going on.
We're every time a different flickering
Joe Siler Jun 18
I wished for sympathy from the crowd in some sense
A soliloquy would reveal my morbid intent
Then tear burned lenses would hold a reflection
Curving their contempt towards my affection

I sought after sympathy from the crowd in some way
That a minor character might die in my play
A supporting actress would cry her last chorus
And I readied to draw tears for the both of us

I coveted sympathy from the crowd in some fashion
But she dropped to the floor before assumed "action!"
Curtains now drawing, how should I act?
The audience sees clearly, dry eyes still intact

I demand sympathy from the crowd at last
Disbelief's broadcast came grouped in a gasp
"This is not the tragedy, her character did not die!
Only the mask that wears her, please stand by"
Any comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated
Dante Rocío Jun 14
Poems themselves are not directly Poetry yet a written, cognitive transcription of It. A beauteous Poet doesn’t need to speak or write
to be one;
It resonates through their either tender or pondering glances,
and kisses peppered on the universe’s matters
with eyes,
finger tips,
and thoughts of Heart too complex for the Mind.
If Heart Thoughts are even greater, they turn gibberish
and may seem silent or even non-existent to seekers of the verbal.
Poetry can be every thing,
a newspaper,
laboured breathing,
reflective walk among the trash bins, apprehension hidden behind a lonely phrase
or honourable existing
as a sole, proud activity.
uma metade da verdadeira língua materna,
a liberdade da Filosofia.
Inaceitável de separar-os,
Separar-nós dela
I wish I was someone else
A girl who isn't ordinary
An outcast who's dealt
With real heartbreak
A dreamer who's felt
The love that exists
Only in fairy tales

This is why I act
To be someone I am not.
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