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Zywa Apr 1
Within every

story new stories, that's how --

the universe works.
Novel "Two Years Eight Months & Twenty-Eight Nights" (which is 1001 nights, 2015, Salman Rushdie), chapter 7 "Within the Chinese Box,"

Collection "Low gear"
A C Mar 22
When I’m in my solitude
Like when I’m in my room
And that’s why I choose
I love to enter my mind like it’s a separate room
Now when I’m forced to enter my brain
Cause what’s on the outside causes me pain
like when your friends do include you with their other friends
and it feels like i’m circling the drain
like when your high school and you the one that’s lame
and you don’t fit cause you dye your hair every color of the rainbow
and each month it’s never the same
or when your boyfriend breaks up with you
so you have to take a break from interacting with the world and every dude
I don’t have to imagine how it feels when shawty did the exact thing she said she wouldn’t do
and you say **** school
so you tell your mom and your mom tells your school counselor she pages you in her office so you can have someone to talk to
but when I choose to be alone
that’s something I own
that’s something that founded
now when you go to a predominantly white institution and get called ****** on the way to dorm on a college game day
you cant help but to feel other
to acknowledge your color
and feel like you cant relate to another who hasn’t had that experience
you just go to your room but not cause you choose
el Mar 20
I have a string of gold
It’s wrapped around me
Like a gentle whispers
Gliding upwards softly
Gold is malleable
i never finish my poems
Take with you my spirit.
I brought it with me when I visited;
Tasting of apples, smelling of cheap perfume:
Happy to see you.

With no key, no schedule,
I was the Prince, you were Repunzel:
Smiling at me out your window.
Your arms were my favourite place in the world.

Take with you the picture
Of my sad eyes: heavy and puffed.
Holding my own hand.
Happy that I now could.

I made my choices, lost my way.
You learned more about me then.
Frown lines cracked my porcelain face.
Your presence offered me solace.

Take with you my love;
It stayed around all these years.
Missing your hands, searching for your eyes.
Happy to have met them.

Time took with it the motions.
Though, inside me we both stand still.
I catch glimpses of your arms, and your delight,
But you are no longer in the crowd.
Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
Monet Echo Mar 14
It’s amazing how another human
Can change the way you see.
When you really know somebody else
You’ll find that they’re a “me.”

You find out that the thoughts they have
Are also never ceasing.
And the list of things you learn from them
Will always be increasing.

You learn their inner monologue
As if it were your own,
You hear the fine print of their brain
In their voices pitch and tone.

This person is as detailed
As you know yourself to be.
Their story is as known to them
As the wind is to a tree.

A being who can ponder
Who can think beyond the concrete.
The vast expanse of ideas in one mind
Makes the body seem obsolete.

The depth of all reality,
Something immeasurable,
Is captured in the inner workings
Of this thing that is a soul.

A person who was just someone
Can become much more than “he,” or “she.”
You’ve truly grasped some wisdom
When you see that person as a “me.”

And even more enlightening
Are the thoughts that might occur
When you contemplate that there are
8 billion “Me,”s on this earth.
neth jones Feb 22
. clean giddy winter day
  my five year old ;
“The moon’s following me !”
  ally with the world surround
  when did i unlearn this bond ?
tanka style version

notes :

'the moon's following me'
my five year olds delight
a clear winter day
an only child  stalked by the moon
the importance he feels
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