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I know I make you suffer because you remind me all the time
As if yelling words helps me over this mountain that I climb
For a moment why don't you put yourself in my shoes?
Sure if roles were reversed it'd be a different life you'd choose
I want you to be satisfied with me the way I am
And wish you could see that I actually do give a ****
I care about opinion more than you realize
Not able to escape the crushing disappointment in your eyes
Well at least you have made your point crystal clear
Cut ego down daily then have the nerve to say I'm wanted here
I would walk out
Have nowhere else to go
I get high yet somehow still feel just as low
My pillow wet from tears almost every night
Zero point in arguing because you believe you are always right
I wake every morning hating myself more
Isn't your fault but you escalate the war
Internal conflict my ever present curse
Battling with you only makes everything worse
Chasing unrealistic dreams like dog after their tail
Subconsciously aware I am doomed to fail
I wish for once you could take a chance and put some faith in me
Allow room to make mistakes even if you disagree
I know how you feel so there's no need to rub it in
Deragatory remarks remain etched into my skin
I hope someday I will find the strength to rise above
Conquer demons
Discover the parts of me you unconditionally love
Trust when I say I wish I was different just as much as you
It's not that easy to change simply because you want me to
I love you when you make me feel so very bad
And apologize for the countless times I have caused you to be sad
No matter what we go through you will forever be my mom
In the future we can both work on staying calm
I'd corrall moon and stars for you if I thought it would make your smile last
You can't enjoy the present when you're caught up in the past
We wear the same size
Ken Pepiton Mar 2021
The event, perhaps
advent, first ever any thing,
where nothing had  been, not a thought.

I think.
Then, when nothing was over
and everything we know now,
began, light
was not the first thing, the idea was.
Be for
Word one. Hmmmmm or um or am
it may have been, I heard from
a transcribbled  myth
or a legend as old as any
meme-level memory mortals have
made-up from remaining
tidbits taught to any next gen thing.
Assume light is as fast as the expansion,
couple of Planksecs,
and it is at the edge of ever,
never before,
never busting beyond the bubble we be in,
dead center,
the physical middle of ever,
continuous now,
nothing to stop us imagining we,

disagree, now, after all's been said and done,
and things run on,
de iffing chaos as the live evil force itself,
ever teaching any mind co-operation
in time… swirling beauty in bands of invisible
galaxies, barely seen even now, we
see what we are told we see,
and expanded to
original intent, at the scale of precision, which
now requires
of those who wish
to know truth init's entirety,
faith in the wits who invented the lenses
we imagine we see through into-ity ever
This day began this way. Everything already,
readable, as it were, once, with us,
before our story folded,
stapled and refolded and bent to allow
the data-based
mass enlightenment I deal with now,
mere data,
knowledge, knowns known more
than I may think or ask,
available on our distant viewing apparatchik
network of nova sensorium's newest equations
that balance at perfectly predictable
infinity… or do not work.
Pop. Bubble after bubble falling
through the quantum foam.
Come on home.
Live and learn, do the math.
Or wait to see
somethings never mattered
up to now, and now, you know,
you did, some how. That's good.


here we are, after all.
On course, of course;
here has more spectrums to be on.
here has more curves to miss,
here has
turns that twist us back to
sudden- seeming
now, still
is near the only value add
we ever hope to hear.
Cold or hot or just
right, fine
sifted patterns from the echo, wa wa wa

did we get so serious we lost the place
we held
positive on a negative pole,
an aberrant position
erring ever from
the straight point to point pattern
of pro gression to non
aggressive agreement in the we we were
- per haps, as babies we were thought
coyotes, little devils of trickery wu,
so we were swaddled in goat' wool,
to provoke this itching and pre
vent this whole idea, you
thinking wild,
unglossed abnormal canine thought…

like a dog, dreaming of the chase.


Only chase real rabbits, that's
Greyhound wisdom.

Pookas are always worth the chase,
real or otherwise, if you see one,
chase it.
On the bus,
or off, Cassidy was a character,
sure as any in literature,
an archetypical untamed man,
by most accounts, possessed
with a wish to die young,
and be famous for ever having been
a penniless drunkard's form of a man,
an unnatural scion of lost and beaten men.
So, that spirit lingered… in my past that
ran to catch me here
today, in the pattern recognizant

aha, I know
this voice… I knew that spirit,
merry prankster splashing in Burro Creek,
before the bridge existed,
oblivious to quick sand my mother
warned me to be aware of,
as she had learned the hard way,
there is solid rock below the mud,
hold your breath.
--- a new me --
Burro Creek, survivor of the crossing,
since ever was.

Survival is always good news.
Mission accomplished, it is finished, fini.
Peace on earth, good will
to ward men {wombed and un}.
That is a message, an angel, judge it.
They call that
The gospel, in my realm.
It is finished is considered grace.
The truth makes free, grace makes useful.
Infinite grace, with a bit of funny math
for making nextifiy tests, t'
keep the kids sharp.
-- slow lane -- this is…

The good spell, I tell my self I know.
from nearer than we can imagine
possible, posited
in a place called here, at that
point, nearer than we
thought, here
where I exist, the ego me, floating
on that same old ocean of opinions,
lapping at my shore.

This must be that sea, they think
is where all eventualities
congregate to wait
for everything
to finish the pattern, to the nick
in the stick that told us when
to begin, this
once, once more.

I was convinced.
I was never invincible, to my defense,
I built the wall that hides my best
from pride's envaluing scheme,
best of the lot,
without spot or blemish,
make this the one we take,
leave the ring-straked, spotted and speckled.

Holy is pure. Pure is white.
This is where we find the stragglers,
carrying the cross of Jesus,
while marching,
as to war.

We sang that song in public school,
when music was a given need
each allegiant took to heart,
Onward Christian Soldiers,
-- mind wanders
7  trombones, and 10 clarinets
led the big parade, with one bass drum
marching as to war,
to destroy what Jesus did not finish,
followed by the lesser corps,
of boy scouts,
with only fife and snare.

Then came the grand equestrians,
all who owned a silver saddle,
passed as knights from when
our fathers stole this land.

My family had the contract to follow up
with shovels and barrows on wheels.
We were the signal for
next phase, of hell's a-poppin-days…

the Burro Barbecue in Bullhead City.

Long ago, there was one red light across the river,
a porch light on a trailer, behind Laughlin's first bar.

---------- Faux Nostalgian
algia alegian re alegian  pain of-
pain felt,
fear of-
fear felt,

Great line in the movie, Boss Level…

geek says "Childless by choice."
Hero replies, "whose choice?"

--- Badfinger - half of them chose death over survival.
--- if it matters when you know
--- I skipped the 70's … so the soundtrack's new…
I heard about you…

looking back in time on a line I never walked,
as it were,
on first pass through the realm of ever afters
past lights shone, blinking,
settings seeming chaotic in tri-colored quarks
it all works out.
Rock 'n'roll f'ever, a post-pubescent poets dream.

First, learn the game,
then learn the rule it rode in on. Who is teaching
the next best
move. Ai do believe my loop expanded now
you are here with me
in the mix
confused as reason for knowing quarks come in colors.
Love comes in colors, too.
Could be coincidence.

--- Old Osiris, man, he hard t'****.
Ham 'n' Evans, not so hard. They lost the will to live.
The seventies ate many couldabins.
Freewill or fate, knowing was a factor.
Money had a finger init right, bad, the whole unbitten apple
idea attempting to tweak the future
from the past…

how long did those trips last? Radioman,
can you imagine,
all along its been this one song

Taste, and see. know you know.

sapient (adj.)"wise," late 15c.
(early 15c. as a surname)- {eh, a family name?},
from Latin sapere "to taste, have taste, be wise,"
from PIE root *sep- (1)
"to taste, perceive"
(source also of
Old Saxon an-sebban 
"to perceive, remark,"
Old High German antseffen,
Old English sefa 
"mind, understanding, insight").

From <>

Nothing eastern in the idea. Makes me think
what if,
long ago, knowing was a given, not a taken thing?

Isha, you may call her Eve,
or Mito-mom;
she's our most recent common ancestor,
after her,
as a species, we
came to be namers who knew, sapient sapient,
the dominant multicellular life force
on earth. We are her mitochondrial line,
there are no others.
Users of new knowns,
conscience guided
**** Sapien squared, that's us,
tuned to a thought that better
is never worse,
try… learning to talk with no one to talk to.
Imagine that.
… back in garden after the trick,
she knew…
--- C'mon, taste, you've no idea what death is.
She persuaded him to taste.
And there the story verges from the one you know.
It is a book, it wont shut up. No, it's a river. No, a plane word realm...
Birds of December,
carrying memories of you,
I don't need reminders,
instead send by wings, God's angels, so I can be there with you,
I'm a nobody to anybody,
I'm forgotten, already gone,
down on the floor, face down,
crying out to the Lord,
to make their reality the truth,
I'm a nobody to everybody, in this place,
beggin' you Lord to take me soon,
no need to end this with, 'amen', because it won't end, until the Faithful Amen sends me through.
This is part 1 based on a real experience. A true story of how I got hurt in a place you'd never expect to get hurt. In my whole life I've never been broken in this way. Blessings to you. I hope that you never have to go thorough this. Author Ven J Arnold
Find me on you tube under Jencie Arnold
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020
Tell me,

what are the things that fascinate you most?

Things that make your eyes sparkle aglow,

that soothe your awry, unrest, stirred soul.

Some are fascinated with their fiery, burning passion of life,

and some others are fascinated with their own death.

I am one of the latter.
Since you're too heavy, it's almost a joke to hang yourself, Shannon. Find another alternative.
Lara Apr 2020
Today is such a difficult word.

For some people today describes the future.
For some people today is the present.
And for some people today represents the future.

Things could have already happened today, today you might laugh at this moment and today you might fall in love.

Today is not easy to describe and it represents so much.
kyle dionysus Apr 2020
Where have I been? I’ve been climbing mountains, not metaphoric mountains, but real ground, rocky, tree and shrub bearing mountains. I’ve been sitting in the middle of forests, listening to what my senses tell me. For nature is all I need.

Why don’t I write anymore?
Let me ask you this, what is the point in writing?

Whatever I write has already been written. There are so many different languages and writings in this world already. So is there really a point in writing, when these words will be redundant and forgotten?

Instead I’m more fascinated by reading these different writings across the world that I can relate to. At times translations can be troublesome but it is worth the knowledge gained.

Maybe if I have something to share with the world that hasn’t already been shared, I’ll write again.
For Eshan ;)
Maja Mar 2020
"I need you", you said,
"Without you, I’d be dead."

I locked my eyes into yours with a gaze steady.
I said, "If you can’t live without me,
why aren’t you dead already?"
don't lie to me
rgz Jul 2019
Maybe I should be blunt
as a blood-stained club

but I've never been so strong,
I doubt I could lift it up

let alone swing it
at least,
not hard enough

Maybe I should write a note
a sonnet, or a song

show you the view from my boat,
have the sea sing along

still, I doubt the sea would,
she sees I'm no prince,
my words aren't wet enough

Maybe I should painstakingly, purposefully and adamantly drown
each torpid, tactless, lurid verse, each vile, venomous, lustful line

in a soup of sumptuous, superfluous superlatives
designed to move you as intervention from divine

bleed an inky parade of adoration
from vein, to pen, to page.
I could never shed enough.
The promise of maybe is one I hold dear
“Be yourself; everyone else is already themselves.”
From the Book © Quote +/-
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