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M Vogel Jul 11

Within the horrendous act  of letting go
lies the gift of Life..  to life, itself

It is  within their  honoring,
that the dead, are brought back to life.

I killed you off  in my head,
when I made you mine, beautiful girl.

   You were never mine.

The crave for Love's Freedom   fights
with broken-nailed claws

And I become a young little boy,  again
surviving,  inside of my own head--

Inside of this man's  body
now, hardened

letting go
by never truly letting go

I can let go  of it
Saudia R Jun 10
I feel like I have to steal myself from you

but it doesn't even matter
because you make me believe that
that's all I need

stolen pieces you've given 'permission' for me to steal

like I don't still have me

an impossibility
a dream

does it even matter
I will always have me
does it even matter
silvervi Mar 9
It's all about the choices
You're in a tornado of voices
And still the power is yours:
Feel free and simply choose.
M Vogel Dec 2020
D Vanlandingham

A close friendship--
so close,  that  we could;
we could touch the undersides of our
forearms together ,

One skin-- one opening up  to the other--
the blood from you, flowing in to me,
and mine into you..

       but within me :

Your blood would remain complete,  whole..
as would mine,  inside of you .

And at the end of our long moment  of
coming together
as close friends that way,  your blood
would return back to you--   whole, and complete..

Your very DNA imprint:  fully intact,  
as would mine, also..  your skin, fully
closing back up..   but still,  always remembering..

A closeness, so pure,  that there is
never a loss of who it is that you are..
  only gain.    

  Yes..  that is what I want.

If I gave you everything that I owned
and asked for nothing in return
would you do the same for me
as I would for you..
or take me for a ride, and strip me of everything
including my pride.

But spirit is something that no one destroys
and the sound that I'm hearing is only the sound

of the low spark  of high-heeled boys.

Jet Dec 2020
and in the 12th my teacher grade tenderly grabbed my wrist
and said
what is this
I said
that was the wrong answer
he wanted me to say
my —-wrist
he wanted me to say my

He wanted me to take ownership
of my body
he wanted to acknowledge
He wanted me to acknowledge
that I was
An inside
of a body
Not a body
He wanted
Me to think what I just
called “me” was just a vessel
To hold “me”
That is it was lent to me and would return
from whence it came
that I was barely or merely or some other kind of “erely” visiting
that me and mine were different when it came to body

Such a kindness and autono-motive restoration to remind a person that they are
That they are not their looks
or their actions
Or even potential ambulation
I know what he offered me was a kindness

I declined
I said no in my own way
If you’re wondering
What I said was “you are what you eat”

I still don’t know what I meant
If I meant

and I’ll ozymandius myself
If I claim to be more than this

I am crumbling, but I will stand tall on these broken feet

As soon as I can fix my posture
Originally performed at iFell Gallery on November 30, 2019
preston Dec 2020
D Vanlandingham

Boundless, in its ability to extend beyond all forms of containment;
the big circle contains within it, the little one
and if it is true relationship through genuine volition of the beloved
that is to be desired most of all,
then spirit, wrapped in flesh is the autonomy most needed
in order for the dream to become true.
Spirit is being.
Spirit cloaked in flesh is being--
feeling its relationship with its own self.
Spirit, mastering its own flesh by reigning in  its emotions  along
with the synaptic-firing of every one of its nerve endings into full
submission of the spirit's own core nature, is the root-basis of all true volition.
Spirit, in its raw form is perfect-- wholly unable to undergo
corruption, or decay..

but the flesh..
the flesh,
Always needing to substantiate itself through its never-ending layers
of self-promotion  apart from the realities of its own spirit's  core.

Yet,  pure love--
wholly unable to see itself as that which is to be rejected,
enters in to the very act of the rejection, itself;
that autonomy may  continue to contain the uncorrupted core--
     and the smaller circle becomes established:
     smaller.. yes.. but in truth,
its parameters self stretch all the way out to those of the bigger one
And so, with the necessary advent of autonomy
into the relational equation,    comes also
The necessary advent of God's wholly-volitional
self-depletion of God.. entering,  in to it all
so that, in time, God alone might take the full brunt
of rejection's unjust hit--

in its autonomous movement  away
from its own incorruptible core..
away,  from its own true self.

So, follow the smaller circle, if you will, my beautiful--
either way, you are still following God.

"where can I go from your spirit?
or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Hades, behold, you are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
even there your hand will lead me,
and your right hand will lay hold of me.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
and the light around me will be night,”
Even the darkness is not dark to you,
and the night is as bright as the day..

Darkness and light are alike to you."
~The kingdom of Dave
James Dec 2020
I stood up and left the fire that burnt my touch,
though as night falls I grow to miss its warmth.
Saudia R Nov 2020
I decided to give you back

I know now

I thrive with those who see
where I begin
Brian Yule Oct 2020
You found me at the point
Where resignation had shaded,
Quite when I don't remember,
Into contempt
The spiteful joy of being that bit better
Standing just a little higher

& contempt was in your eyes too
The urge to rise above me
Cradle yourself in haloes

Yet you smoothed your face out
Your I could never go there's
& started asking questions
& truly wanting answers

I stood against
Denial was my brother
Knowing I simply had to

Still you persevered
A prison door ajar
A fulcrum steady levered
Help me guide my own hand
Logic to the dissonant, confetti into flames
watch it turn to ash.
The disquieted don’t want comfort,
they want to protect their definition of purity
and simply, for the complexities of the universe
to serve them solely.

Dissatisfaction becomes identity,
a vice to sate,
just one more redemptive hit
and they’ll sleep
dreaming of their idyllic reconstruction of reality.

Everyone’s a visionary
blind to the piteous state
of their mass-conformist unity fantasy,
forgetting that autonomy isn’t only in the mind of the beholder.
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