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Nothing Jun 10
.
nod
        n o d
                 n. o. d
                          n.  o.  d
                                    n.   o.   d    d.   i.   n.   g
                                                      



                                                'till the end
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1IbRujko-***
hiraeth Nov 2019
i have spent my whole life following close behind
matching my prints to the ones laid out in front of me
following them blindly without questioning where they lead
i try to keep my feet inside the the lines
like i’ve always done with coloring
but i’ve never fit perfectly
my feet never fit
because these prints are not mine
Justin Aptaker Aug 2019
go to school
obey authority
follow tradition
join society

go to church
worship god
get married
get a job

pay rent
be responsible
have children
stay faithful

work harder
be productive
rest and silence
are ******, seductive

wear clothes
don’t offend
don’t care
just pretend

act normal
stand in line
grow old
now you die
Written ca. 2016
Toxic yeti Feb 2019
If I was
A ghost
I would be free
To be me

If I was a ghost
I would be free
Desire
And possible romance
That causes suffering

If I were a ghost
I would be free
From my
Background
Even though I was good looking

I would become
An exotic butterfly
Appreciated for its
Beauty.
Danielle Apr 2018
There’s a marred reflection staring back at me.
I wish I could tell you what was wrong with it.
Its blank gaze and happy expression say everything’s alright.
The pressure builds and sweat beings to seep
The mask begins to slip, but I dare not show the underneath.
I need this face to present to others
For I need their acceptance to feel some worth.
But it’s only what they considered worthy in their eyes
So I’m beholden to their stares as I shift to conform.
Since writing this I have had it said that I can't control how other's see me, I can only control myself. It's hard to undo all the training that I've put myself through these years, but ****** if I won't work to be free myself from these feelings.
Monotone Dec 2017
Words are twisted,
screamed, and mutilated.
Fists are flying,
bloodied, and disastrous.
Children are listening,
watching, and learning.

I have to step away,
Why help your children's brains decay?
Why let them listen to your arguing?
Why let their personalities begin melting?

Why would you help them conform to society?
Why help strip away their confidence?
Why help them learn to follow in your putrid ways?
Born into an ancient legacy
Of an endless war between wrong with right.
Holding Olympic flames under father's mantels,
Arms shortened to the desired height.

The scrub of history,
Cuts to the heart of me.
Sounds have been made since, yet
Unable to see, the heart of me.

They say it's all an illusion,
And Clever thoughts, they rule the day.
My breath sighs into stale air.
For and against must have their say.

In short, Oliver's’ hands wrap around fatmens scraps.
It's all you've got I suppose?
Yet that's the thing about integrity,
It's not a game.
Dice lay silent in cups
And love is once again allowed to move.
Ralph Bobian Aug 2015
Evil is viewed as innocence
Beauty's become a deformity
It's too uncommon to have common sense
And being different is a mass conformity.

An undermined yet overwhelming paradox
Is that it's somehow become orthodox
...To be unorthodox

Agreeing to disagree
Is now agreeable
But seeing what wasn't seen,
Still isn't seeable.
Our view of what it is to be different,
Is holding us back
from making progression
It's becoming too inconsistent
That we admit its consistency
With retrogression

We view the strong as helpless,
And think its rightful to defend them
We view the weak as selfish,
As we so wrongfully apprehend them
We feel such a need to non-conform
And yet our opinions seem rehearsed
It's so expected for us to retort
That our oppositions' begin to reverse
We purposely change where we show our support
On a position, just to be heard
Our human empathy, so much we distort
That our cognition's becoming blurred.

...And we don't even notice.

The only thing our generation
Seems to have in common is
We think that being different, and disagreeing,
Somehow are synonymous
How distant do we have to really be from ever seeing how antonymous
We really are from being different
And making a difference
Towards empathetical prominence?

We have no problem being verbal
When our popularity's concerning
Our voice and words can be heard for more
Than just to stir up controversy
...But that might be too controversial in itself..
And therefore viewed as undeserving.

Why can't we gain confidence that we can change the way we change our minds?

Don't just try, but BE insistent
On being different to make a difference
And show resistance from a system
That wants you to be conditioned.
Use your voice to make things better, equal, and coexistent
And hopefully give everyone a reason to listen

See that you don't have to be afraid,
To progress towards making a change..
So be genuine in trying to see things differently
And you'll start to know and comprehend
That being different doesn't always mean
That you have to disagree
But to actually show you understand...
A newer and "revamped" version of my poem "In Difference." After some feedback I thought I might shorten it up and steer away from ranting. I believe poetry is a lot like this poem itself, it can always change and shift depending on how you and you're emotions have changed.
As I stated before, this poem is geared towards people always arguing just to argue. Like the confederate flag controversy or defending bill Cosby. It just all seems so backwards.
Vivek Mukherjee Jul 2015
Writing heads, stooping down,
On desks made to conform
While water plays outside
Free, no form.

A wandering mind,
With Innocence is filled,
A question of marriage,
Drops running down the sill.

In uniforms so close,
People come and go,
Forget the magic rumble
Of the world in tow.

The need to wake up,
To sights like these,
We forget and sink,
In the streams with unease.
I felt so sad to see students having to sit inside a classroom and take a test when the heavens were rumbling and pouring down such melodious music.
Auss Jul 2014
Alas magic is not true
Once, it was to me
But then I met you
And you stole the magic so quickly

Put high on a shelf
Behind steel bars
Trapped in a jar
The magic left myself
Magic is our individuality. And the you is Society.  It takes our special magic and makes us plain and normal. Trapping those who refuse to conform in institutions as "insane"
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