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Us as cracked pots,
with a possibility to be fixed
as fine and flawed

The geology of our clay:
dirt will behave as dirt,
rare earth as rare earth

With time it transmutes
to something new,
shot with old veins when fired

The new *** fragile,
prone to drops and knocks,
desperate to hold known water
You told me the other day that I should wait for my turn,
my turn to be in your position and understand your role.
but since I was younger and started opening eyes, I already knew what I want and what I don't want. I am sure not to be like 'you'.

You told me I was just being 'impetuous' in the way I talk,
but I say I just know exactly what I mean.
I saw you from her and her to you,
that why I despise being like the both of you, not now, not ever.

But I know regret is part of life, yet I refuse to have it...
so, if ever I'll be a 'MaterMatriarch' inevitably...
I choose to be discrete, discrete from the process you both followed.
I have lived for 17 years in your house and soon I'll find my home.

I mean no offense to those who knew what I mean by my poetry, but to understand the difference is to be different. We all knew and experienced what we want and what we hate, we saw how the world works. Not every one is the same, but similar things are inevitable, yet the works are in our hands, the choice is in our minds, the miracles are his to grant. As humans we are stuck in the reality of life, but we live everyday so let us fight. to everyone stand up and fight for what you think is right!!! (the title is my own, a word merged to create a new one)
William Jul 15
Treasure I was given
None could take its place
Nothing I've received
Could ever match its grace
Elegant, intelligent,
So bright and always kind.
Given was another gift
Bedazzled was my mind.
Always thankful,
Forever indebted.
Valued over all.
Purpose it had given me,
Heeded was the call.
Loved above the highest wealth.
It made me rich in heart.
Never could I leave it lonely,
For I'd be ripped apart.
Part of me it had become,
Binding me to it.
A possession?
No. I think not.
To name it so would be a sin.
I call it by identity,
A teasure from within.
Came with it serenity.
And trouble all the same.
Treasure it will always be,
Hence why it's the name.
So heavenly its been to me,
To possess such a gift.
Torn asunder when I lost it,
Within me such a rift.
Lee Jackman Oct 12
Why do nice guys always come last?
Iv got so much love to give.
I would do everything in my power to give you the best life.
I would be loyal.
You would be loved.
You could trust me with everything.
Our children would know a loving father.
But it feels like you dont want that.
It feels like you would rather be with a player.
It feels like you would rather be cheated on.
It feels like you would rather you children didnt know there father.
Maybe you dont really want the nice guy?
Please excuse any spelling, Im dyslexic. I have not had the confidence to share any of my poems until very recently. So kind words please
Carlo C Gomez Oct 11
Here come the confectionary clouds
Packed like powdered sugar


Little quicksilver has
A bit of a sweet tooth
And grubby hands well into
A box of Quality Street
I heard the chimes
of iniquitous wind
rush in upon
familial branches bent
in the middle
it sent the smallest stems
to spiral
as lost sons and daughters
captured in darkness
and forced to bow before
the lightning strikes
of tyranny
For the Mothers of the Disappeared
Wanna rescue earthworms
All about on the drive?
Throw ‘em back on the grass
To try keep them alive

The rain has come down hard
And flooded their worm home
Beneath where they all live
We can’t leave them alone

Before the hot sun welds
Them all to the cement
And long before their last
Squirm and wriggle are spent

Hurry and grab a twig
We’ll save ‘em, you and I
We won’t get them all
But be sure we will try
Palak Datta Oct 7
But brought-up.
They are the adopted children of boredom and free time.
Carlo C Gomez Sep 25
Her constellations move differently

She no longer controls star systems

Only one remaining cluster
now orbits her

But it is more than enough

For they need and love her as their light-giving empyrean
Title inspired by the poem "Benign" by fellow HP writer Puds:
Jonathan Sep 20
”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To a child who only knows life
And distant lessons of death.
A boy learning to builds walls
Out of plastic bricks—
Defending against feelings.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To the one who falls asleep
Next to the voiceless dog
As it's quiet breath whispers
Instinct and unknowing—
Young ears open to all things.

”I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
To the son who knows no difference.
Climbing to the tendriled top
Of his trusted tree friend.
Swaying in what was real—
Falling and the warm Midwest wind.
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