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Safana Sep 16
The growth of the
tree, stems and
leaves grew up
together, they
breath and dwell
together, between
space and earth
they sing and danced
together, in the night
they fall asleep
together, in the
morning they awake
together, taking
lunch and dinner
together, they
glueing always
together, the
onset, is an old
ages, forces of
cohesion weakened
and the leaves
jaundiced, the stems
just dried up
Lex Oct 2017
So often we sit and wait
we cry ourselves to sleep
hope for the best
we are fake being happy
till we are really put to the test

we sob violently
under the sheets
afraid that someone may hear
because God only knows
that we as humans may shed a tear

so often we are just okay
afraid to speak up
to stay and say

we whine and trash talk
about our sisters alike
saying if only she was prettier
she wouldn't just be riding her bike

we call each other ***** and ******
teaching our daughters to grow up
thinking being a women is more of a chore

so often boys are treated like monsters
told they are nasty
til finally they match up
and get told they are ghastly
till finally they just give up

they say, "we don't want to be part of the standard anymore
we just want to be enough
why does my gender have to define me as all these things
I wish I wouldn't have grown up."

we treat them like trash
we throw everyone into last
don't you think
they may not all be the same

So often we see people walk past us
we never stop to ask what
we never even think maybe they had a rough day
we just keep walking,pushing
to stuck in our own ways

So next time you see someone
small and frail
female or male
not some but all
to look at them and say

"You my friend are beautiful in every single way."
Not all of it may have rhymed but this is something we should be doing whether we like it or not all the time.
Thanks for reading if you did.
God bless you! :)
Tahirih Manoo Aug 2017
Awakened by her vibrations

His molten rocks sputter,

Preferring to remain undisturbed.

Boiling, brewing, he begun erruption.

Amused by volcano's reaction

she listens and watches,no retaliation.

Considering her own stormy nights

when her lightning bolts strike thrice;

When her clapping of thunder

revolts even the sages

(both above and under).

She places a palm outwards,

blows kisses of cool wind,

To greet his fury,

His sweet love remembered.

His embers, with a smile, are pardoned.

She showers his projecting magma-

With droplets of chilled agua.

Awaited patiently for his red to cool,

to be brown, with help from yellow sun;

So that his lava could reconnect with outer earth-green.

Using a drifting veer she carries a charming flower seed and lays it beside him,

Soft petals soon blossom, rosy and pink.

They both smile gently,
now glowing for each other.

The volcano and Storm are forever in love, in flare and submerged;

Growing compassion and understanding of each other's plates and waves.

Yet neither may burn nor drown

but somehow remain facing the other-

At the very tip of their forbidden lips' kiss- for this day, tomorrow and in endlessness.

1:55am . Thurs, 24th, August, 2017.
charmaine Sep 2016
often i am asked,
why i don't smile.
i can laugh, i can show my teeth, but i can't smile.

taking photos of myself i can't muster up the courage to show all 32.

but with a group or
taken by someone other than myself,
i smile.

it's easier to smile when you can't see yourself.

most of the time,
i am asked
why don't i smile.

i am not happy.

i cry more than i laugh.
crows feet with puffy eyes are how i wake up.
worrying about laugh lines is not a priority.

"you should smile more often"
"i liked you because of your smile"
"you have a beautiful smile"

i wish i could smile,
but i can't
it hurts too much.
just thoughts,
gray rain Jun 2016
unity          of id
eas                       link
ing p                               eople
toge                          ther
to f              orm
DaSH the Hopeful May 2016
If I could find the connection between each raindrop,
     No matter how infinitesimal,
I know I'd be *OK
irinia Feb 2015
"God is Alive, Magic is Afoot."*

Who are you? Who am I?
the light  in February can be self-sufficient,
sharp as deafness in the middle of the sentence
heavy as denial,
rapturous as a fusion
in the wind, in the air
forces of cohesion and destruction
play well together
in the arena of ribs, guts, lungs,
perhaps the silent liver
something is shivering inside
the light of a blade
an efortless wave of desire
a tired boundary left alone in the afternoon
the contours of my limits, your limits,
their limits so bright in this
constructivist fabric
Picasso was just foretelling us
forcing the doors
to expose the cover-up
dreaming his internal objects

then we start all over
with every breath
I want to give myself to me
as a new toy, as a gift
I want to love him with overt passion
I want you/him to break and store me
in between your thoughts
the body is full of eyes, of ears, of lips
I’ll survive in a whisper

They just want to flow into each other
clapping, holding on to the fluid of life
engulfing everything, defying all
censorship, authorship,

the light in February
is newly born with desire
to embrace itself, its darkness
in the vibrant body
I am, you are are sliding back with the air
finding rest in the vital void

the song remains the same
I am you, and you are me
the enchanted blade
is ready to cut
a new body for misunderstanding
we need to survive each other
something is tickling my feet
some wordless revolt
some rage of the living
to impersonate death
to posses their breath

I feel my boundaries
watched over by desire
but you are always invited here
to sing your sea of blood
turquoise or as you like

I am my desire
my desire is searching for myself
in the incomprehensible light
in the lightness of his hair
in their hunger, courage and despair
for tomorrow
"Desire appears in the rift which separates need and demand; it cannot be reduced to need since, by definition, it is not a relation to a real object independent of the subject but a relation to phantasy; nor can it be reduced to demand, in that it seeks to to impose itself without taking the language of the unconscious of the other into account, and insists upon absolute recognition from him".
Jean  Laplanche & Jean-Baptiste Pontalis

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