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silvervi Oct 25
Where is the romance?
How to give myself a chance
To experience real love?
Is it really just about "feeling enough"?

Is it all about dopamine?
Adrenaline? Serotonin?
Aren't we overanalyzing
And with that - aren't we paralyzing
Ourselves?

I feel like love lost all sense of romance.
Like nobody ever is Mr. Right
Like I deliberately choose
If I might...

Win or lose -
Doesn't really matter,
I could change partners
According to weather.

Isn't it strange?
Or is it just me?
Wondering about
What love is meant to be?

I'm kind of sick,
Feeling aloof,
Confused, sad, alone,
As though I was sitting on some
Iron throne.

As though all those tales
Are simple creations,
All magic seems lost,
The special vibrations...

The butterflies?
Just cause I am empty inside,
Feeling as though,
I simply needed "a hormonal ride".

I hope there's more
Than addiction to it,
I hope all these things truly exist:
Romance and roses,
Love at first sight,
Being more than a casual delight,
A tender and beautiful touch of a hand
And a soft kiss as though we just met.

I want to believe in marriage even.
I want to be able to choose someone, too.
I long for such special and deep connection,
I want it to stay meaningful until the end.

So do people in marriages simply pretend?
Or are they just used to each other?
Or even a substitute for a father or mother?
It's sad!

My mind is racing
And I realize,
I need to let go
Of this need to know.

The desperate search
Won't take me much farther,
I realize it's a perfect distraction.

There are certain fields in my life
Which wait for my reaction.

But I am rather in my mind,
Wanting to hide
From
Those messages... ... ... ... ... ...
Those steps for my future profession...
And other big decisions,
Which need me to take action.
Pondering on what love is. No answer yet. Seemingly understanding myself and avoidant behavior better. But still lost and confused.
Ylzm Oct 11
Don't quote but be

Don't preach but do

Don't teach but live

Be a book unwritten but read

Be a word silent but heard

Be the spirit unseen but known

The fool parrots as the parrot speaks

The wise walks and grasps the unspeakable

And art crafts the void and silence to affirm
Jon Sawyer Jul 10
You won't get to where you're going,
if you don't actually go.
2024-07-10 - Action requires action.
Bowedbranches Apr 20
Closure
Is an illusion
Science shows us
Life is constantly
In flux

Cant keep waiting
On a certain moment, event,
Or epiphany
To button up our suffering
In a neat little package

We've hung on to this hope of
AFTER
Only "AFTER" is when I'll be healed
Enduring days won't be devastating
And suddenly I'll be this beacon
Of strength, I'll be able to endure anything

In truth,
Grief's a heartache
That never really goes away
The brain starts to play
With what's "fact"and whats "fake"

If this is the way
Then where am I going?
Ken Pepiton Jun 25
Excuses interupt a selfish impression.
Confessed heretic.
Professionally facing ghastly willpower,
initialized inculcated faith
to spark self will,

meditate that.

Well, now, old man
in a whole new economy, abusing
traditional terms of polite exchange, such
suffer less under tyrannies
of knowledge, closely held.

A republic, a public mind form used to regulate a we,
in grown up agreeableness to disagree with the idea
that kings and other divined leaders lead servants,
to follow, with due respect to the laws, any may read,
but those too given to comfortable versions, may watch

yes, see another, as one so familiar, I know
that character, yes, the idea so represented in minds
ready with full tank of recent conversation, defining
finity with ifity thanks begiven, definite fun allude allusive

slip into a textually correct fantacyzysy we make up,
as a painter paints a textured swath of inky wishery,
calligraphic hexable ideographs splash and swirl with
intensifying suction through a we tiny orifice
in interesting times.

For instance, what the Dicken's.
Was polite what the… Euphilitin.

I find the phrase less likely to envoke preprogrammed reactions.
*** and FTA ok,
There are minds, so broken, the makers of them, never reuse
the idea that formed the need to put on a certain kind's mind.
A torq around a loyal protoeuro menial's neck, that idea,

role play deluded ludicrous fun items famous for failure.
Dare dance a taker's chance, fun items insert a wicked twist,

and existence forms a thought, out of mind, an impossible but
thought,
none the less, possibly a fleeting maybeso, Nietsche and Jeffers,
sitting on my front porch, smile and admit they never saw it so.
A piece in another slog through philosophy of religions proven false by increasing knowledge resulting from magical mechanical servants of minds.
Zywa May 2023
The people here
are not quite grown up
They live past inconveniences

So I'm gonna settle it
Like a parent for their own good
Comment is all in the game

I don't mind, we have to move on
Who does not act, is manipulated
and my own preferences
don't appear out of the blue
I have experience

I chip and wipe away the chips
I am a doer, a maker
No expensive gestures
no desperate remedies
to reassure desperate patients

I know what I'm doing, there are goals
to achieve and worlds to win
with ambition

the seed of my misdeeds
my taunted pride
to want to achieve something
Evill Intent: Misdeed (out of pride, subordinating fellow human beings "for their own good" to an interest that has your preference)

About pride: poem "Evil Eye" (see May 18th)

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa Feb 2023
It's always the same:

there must be a better way --


So, should I do it?
Collection "From Sacred Scriptures [1]"
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Scornful words; as a resting tongue reliant on lies.
Bitter sweet intentions, intentive of it being intentionally
sound. I'll be loud, overly of being too proud when
humbleness isn't found.

The wise know when to hold tongue, not being boastful
of knowledge's gain. They do not entertain the rantings of
fools. Those so few—do not conform to a standard of pitiful
stance. But instead stand out, as ones of content in their
struggles. As with feet with scars, but unafraid to dance.

So trade off those scornful words, but instead let be
encouragement, lest scorn. An encouraging poem.
                    Share your encouragement in action,
                    as much as you share them in words.
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