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Ameliorate Nov 2020
You walk up to the porch, muddy boots disturbing settled dust
Looking down, you proceed to wipe boots off
I cringe slightly as muck settles into my crevices
You finish your task and step onward toward warmth, leaving your wake behind
***** and dripping wet
“Let me get the door for you”, I say happily  as I brush the dirt off my clothes following you inside.
Cptsd fawn. This is an analogy of people pleasing as a trauma response.

© JUPITERSPROUT_2020
Francie Lynch Oct 2020
Two ebon crows got drunk last night,
Pecked their way into a fight;
Feathers flew as they clawed and cawed,
Till the losing crow pulled a gun in spite.
The other bird flew off in fright,.
Returning with a murderous flock,
And circled the gunner, a fierce gamecock.
They fluttered and feathered in a spree,
Then flipped before two crows winged off.

They returned with hair from a dead man's chest,
And proposed the two should build their nest.

They fashioned tools from human fingers,
Framed the nest with human femurs;
Used two green eyes to glaze windows;
Make a two car garage from the nose.
Are these not two of the smartest crows.

Next they laid out the toes
As hinges to swing their doors closed.
Each crow brought back an ear,
To hang on hinges, front and rear.
They peeled off lips, once used to talk,
And paved a route as their sidewalk.
They  yanked out teeth like skilled SS,
To tile bathroom and kitchenette.
Lastly, they peeled back the skin,
And wallpapered their nest,
And lived within.

See what's achieved by two drunk crows,
Who settled their scores
After crow blows.
Dhia Awanis Aug 2020
As the wind unwinds the surface
The Savanna nods to The Shepherd gently
yet every steps he took left deeply-rooted footprints

He carelessly steps on her wildflowers,
and while he rest, he'd pluck some of hers
deep down he knows he's in dead end

The Savanna couldn't help her curiosity,
so she asked where is he heading off
and why he tossed his compass halfway to the ground

On the spur of a moment, The Shepherd fainted
his throat choked; like he wasn't allowed to say a word
little did The Savanna knows he was cursed

"I am no use of you," said The Shepherd.
"I am cursed to walk on my path with me alone;
I am cursed to left my soul in every steps I took
I am cursed to get lost in the midst of unknown!"

The Savanna embraces him tenderly
'tho every time he bawls out and enraged
for countless time she failed but she's persistent

"Let me take care of you," insists The Savanna
"Until your broken compass works again;
until you know where you are heading towards
—until then, let me help you."

And just like that,
The Shepherd found within her
his long-time quest; his very own oasis in the desert
Context: The Savanna is a transition between grassland and the desert, where actually The Shepherd is intended to head off towards the desert to search for the infamous oasis but his compass is broken along the way.
Kara Shirlene Aug 2020
Caterpillar cocoon
Swirling like a monsoon.
Spinning delicate threads
Wrong turn, they'll rip to shreds.

Caterpillar cocoon
Changes coming soon.
Winding round and round
Metamorphosis bound.

Caterpillar cocoon
Fragile like a balloon.
Hoping it won't pop
Before the change can stop.

Caterpillar cocoon
In the light of the moon.
Praying change within
Brings beauty in the end.

Caterpillar cocoon
Changes coming soon.
Metamorphosis bound
Look now, beauty's all around.
©KSS 8/2013
Isabella Aug 2020
They told me to pick up the knife
That with it I’d be able to cut the rope holding my throat to the ceiling
And break the chains keeping me to the ground
So I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal
Adrenaline as hot as fire pulsing in my veins
I didn’t let go
And I didn’t free myself
Instead I brought the silver blade to my heart
Carving the words I wanted to be engrained in me forever
scars heal until i cut myself again
Isabella Aug 2020
They told me to pick up the knife
That with it I’d be able to break the chains keeping me to the ground
And cut the rope holding my throat to the ceiling
So I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal
Only to feel a sharp sting as hot fire poured from my palm onto the concrete floor
But I didn’t let go
Even though I had grabbed hold
Ever so tightly
Of the wrong end
scars heal until i cut myself again
Isabella Aug 2020
I left to wash my hands today
And rid myself of the sun’s cruel rays
I walked into the strongest waves
No one saw, so I couldn’t be saved

The water rose up from my knees
Until it began to fill my cheeks
Salt in my lungs, I couldn’t breathe
And by then at last my hands were clean
Maybe after that they’d notice me
Isabella Aug 2020
The same song drones inside my mind
My nails digging into my head
And my eyes bleed until I’m blind
Til crying leaves me raw and dead
thoughts scatter my mind like lyrics to a dreadful tune
Isabella Jul 2020
like an acorn,
drifting down to a bed of emerald grass,
amidst a sea of crisp autumn leaves,
swirling like the color of flames,
crimson vermilion sunshine
scraping the dirt below.
but instead a breeze cuts off my course
and I come crashing down
onto concrete cold as ice,
only to crack
and eventually shatter.
Tom Salter Jul 2020
Through the drawn kitchen blind lurks a hand
Resting upon the island mantelpiece
Where a deserted ham resides.
The hand extends from the crippled man’s gaze
And he simply seizes the ham, traversing the kitchen maze.
He takes the ham to the second stair.
Here is where he retires - the second stair
Is where the deserted ham and crippled man shall expire.
Where man becomes ham but retains his crippling attire, and
Ham becomes man staying lost and yet still desired.

Heaven would be naive to willingly believe that this,
This strange analogy, is indeed about a ham and a mere man.
Rather, a man is nothing but a mere ham.
His life begins as someone else, perhaps a pink perfumed piglet.
Born into mud and stuffed to the brim with dirt laced love.
A ham, like man, comes from a humble and simple dawn but is
Swiftly thrown into a larger lie or a shortcrust pie.
A lie of paradise and quiet, a pie of mustard and thyme.
We, like the ham, are ripped from our genesis
And forced to be something sublime.
Something needed,
And something that never gets the time to bleed.

Man is to be consumed just like the solemn ham.
We are sold as ideas and ideals. And never separated
From those very same stale ideals and ideas.
We are what we conceive and we conceive what others
Wish us to be; never do we truly conceive our own reality.
And often we will wait aimlessly, not at the kitchen side,
But by the side of our lovers and others.
The resting ham sits in its juices, taking in the rosemary
And amber, sticky honey.
Man also sits in an array of flavour; tastes of dark thoughts,
Fleeting romance and persistent boredom.
We soak up our own shortcomings and we leak out all and any
Chances to not be eaten.

Man is devoured not by others but by reason.
The very tool we use to debate, learn and
Understand the ever changing seasons.
But what of the ham? The deserted tasty ham.
Well, it like man, is either shovelled into a waiting gut or
Left out to rot, and befriend dust.
Never to decide when they cease, but both
Are destined for the grave nonetheless.
What has left the man crippled and the ham deserted?
The realisation that man and ham are the same.
Man leaves the ham to rot
On the kitchen counter top, sending it to be removed
From the world. Never to be consumed. Never to be consumed.
Man’s neglect of the ham is a neglect of connection,
Man has crippled himself in hopes to remove association.

And so, the crippled man
Extends his hand in hopes
To regain the deserted ham.
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