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Em MacKenzie Apr 8
Maybe you were never ready
to carry a weight that’s so heavy.
If you can’t set the course,
you’re going to need to follow.
You can bring water to a horse
but you can’t make it swallow.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
From the city back to town,
from space bound to homeward.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
You scream your lungs out but even near her,
you’re always ignored;under detection.

Maybe you were never prepared
to share a burden that should never be shared.
It’s been a few years; it’s been some time
since you lodged your last complaint.
I’d like to believe you’re now doing fine,
and you’d like to believe you’re just a saint.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
Follow the air bubbles to not drown
don’t turn a drama into a horror.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
If she can’t move will you still fear her,
and her manipulation and deflection?

I sometimes forget Medusa was victim to a curse,
and I never tried to make it better but I sure as hell made it worse.
Maybe Athena could’ve been more forgiving and kind,
she didn’t have to leave her living, or she could’ve made her blind.
She could’ve plugged her ears
so she wouldn’t have to hear the screams
of the men who holds fears
of a woman who dreams.
She could’ve ripped off her nose
or just taken her voice,
sometimes that the way it goes
you just don’t get a choice.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
Even if she could scream no one would hear her,
and long ago got used to the rejection.
Even snakes have their beauty.
Gideon Mar 8
Comforted by the bitter.
When your heart twitters,
You pull back and shiver.
Realize that you are a liver.
Not an ***** meant to filter,
But a human just off-kilter.
Realign your soul to peace.
Adjust your path, jump in the leaves.
Berlin, Berlin, just what art thou?
A cake of layers baked from fates
by many bakers, cold and proud,
who filled it with chunks of bitter dates.

The cream on top is cloying, sweet,
to compensate for the stale flour
and brownish yeast of marching feet
with bruised crabapples, soft and sour.

To try a slice of this complex taste
isn’t easy: It’s baked in haste.
Inspired by this photo I took of a traditional Berlin pub: https://bsky.app/profile/jackgroundhog.bsky.social/post/3lh4trjdxnk2d
Sudzedrebel Jan 30
Violence is never the answer,
But the implication of that quote
Is that violence is an answer
Even if it isn't ever optimal.

As someone once deaf,
And because of it once mute,
Such a quiet but thoughtful demeanor
Usually stirs one from their bitter attitude.

The slumber of anger,
Like that of sadness;
The tiredness is a dear friend,
The emptiness of them.

In that absence of contentment
Missing too is common sense.
The confusion of all emotions,
Their transient nature and overlap.

The first thoughts in the morning,
Filled with tension and anxious,
Mirror those like at night;
The nest of pests parasitic.

Anger, like sadness, is too broad.
Am I enraged by indignation?
Am I grieving from someone gone?
They have their places.

But violence is never an answer.
Peace, no matter what,
Is ever hardly secured
Even if it is always optimal.
Elijah Hewson Jan 29
I can't stand these lonley nights.
I try not to be bitter for it is blight.
It consumes me whole how i lost a future so bright;
The girl, my friends, my dignity gone like waning light.
How can any of this truly be right?
But no matter how hard i stress my plight,
I still come to realise it was never really  right,
For they never cared for me their love was tight,
And in their depature i found the light.
Lonely yes, but now i can stand these nights,
And yes for company i still do fight.
But i know it will come when the time is right.
I guess for now its just another lonley night.
blank Jan 26
just like that the pretty girl in my dreams
disappeared freed my sheets to let them
suffocate as usual and i stayed there
facing the ceiling with cymbals’ collisions under my pillow

and for a haze i stayed
still and subsisting on spit and spider mites
like the sea wasn’t swallowing anything
till i was ninety percent salt and crystallized
breathing out dusty alphabet soup into the aether

like anyone with a disdain for capital letters
my circle sends its love along with mutual virtue parasitism
in distress beacons pinged through a dead battery and twitching fingers
and you know it’s for the best

no falling out of bed or breakfasts till the oasis is complete
under construction in the dusty pillowcase i call home
down the street from the abandoned asylum where i learned
mouth too dry and lungs too sharp

a shriveled cactus with paper spines
--written april 27, 2020 (and boy does it show)--
dead poet Dec 2024
in lonely disdain,
a pulsating bitterness;
utters a bad word.
Bekah Sep 2024
At 16, I was a shadow of myself
A reflection of all my doubts and fears
But now, when I look in the mirror
I see resistance
And a person who faced their demons
I am no longer bound by the bitterness
Fueled by my own insecurity
Gone is the girl who questioned her worth
And in her place stands the woman
Who knows the value of herself
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