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afteryourimbaud Sep 2017
Look at the babies
they are sweet, free
and pure
everyone adores
them, yet you;

you
are everything
that contradicts them
when you were
just one of them,
not long
ago.
Viseract Sep 2017
You can take my life,
Or even give me death
You could be the knife
I'd gladly bare my chest

This mind of mine drives me landmine crazy
The hell yes, the hell no and the hell, perhaps and maybe
I manage to always be tired and upset
But better yet, happy and full of rest

Always but never cold and alone
Never but always warm and fully emptied of hope
This contrasting contradiction can predict and comment
Why i may just die on my own, surrounded by water,
Boots of cement

(But i don't really, but really do want to drown/breathe)
Lauren Aug 2017
Darling stay out of my war.
Continue believing I have a heart of ice.
Do not turn at the glimpses of warmth and wholeness you may stumble upon.

Darling stay out of my war.
Do not question what is behind the walls.
Stay satisfied with the flowering fields I have created for you.

Darling stay out of my war.
For as strong and fierce as my love is–
it is only aiding to make the darkness hurt more.

Darling stay out of my war.
I have lost myself to it far too long ago.
To become a ghost was the only way
to stop the whirling blades from taking my life.

Darling stay out of my war.
Stay on the outside.
Do not let me break you; in your desire to love me.

Darling,
Stay thinking I am helpless and cold.
Stay on the outside.

Darling please,
I beg you–
Stay out of my war...
LeBobbe Jul 2017
Normal isn't normal.
According to my daily journal.
For each unique day is abnormal
For being anomalously usual.

Boring isn't boring
It will get you thinking,
To get you to do something exciting,
and exciting is nowhere near boring.

Normal is boring.
For each usual day got me nothing.
Only to get me thinking till evening,
Then I write on my journal a short shift of something.

Boring is normal.
For everything can be sequential.
Meaning any complexcity can be simple.
But it might not be understood by any mortal.

Therefore, Normal is boring,
And Boring is normal.
But Boring isn't boring.
And Normal isn't normal.

In other words, Normal and Boring are enticing,
By Normal being abnormal,
and Boring being exciting.
I will now write this on my daily journal.
A friend and I had a conversation and discussing about Normality and what it means to be bored.
This is the product of that.
Sister of Curly... Kudos to you!
nina Jun 2017
i'm sorry that i'm not happy.
but all the lives i have lived,
all the heartache & pain
have caused my unhappiness.
it's nothing to do with you.
all it is, is the past.
telling me that love means pain
& that if they don't hurt you constantly
it's not love.
my past tells me that love
is always perfect & happy,
that there are no issues in love,
love is perfect.
all these ideals & perfectionism
sabotaging my relationships
sabotaging my happiness.
telling me that this is wrong
because i was raised in contradiction.
contradiction is my home.
i've seen the war between my parents
i've heard the screaming of insults
i've witnessed the anger
i've been the blank screen
on which to cast the anger on.
i was taught from a very young age
that my failures were catastrophic
instead of a normal process of life.
i was taught that my temper
was a way to gain the attention
i so desperately craved.
i was taught that my pain
was insignificant & invalid
that i was a brat for feeing anything
except grateful.
i grew up thinking that nice
was boring & unsatisfying
& that danger & manipulation
would fill the empty void.
i grew up with negativity, pain
& contradiction
clouding my every thought,
clouding my every judgement,
shaping my every decision.
so i'm sorry i'm not happy.
saying "it's not you; it's me"
sounds like such a cliché.
but it couldn't be more appropriate.
forgive me.
clearly i still have some inner issues to deal with.
Adam Kinsley May 2017
Pathological Liars, support buyers
Worthless medals on their chests
JP Morgan's Hand-puppet speaks:

They have you screaming, yea or nay
With their hands making your heart strings dance
As you throw your soul at the Golden Calf

Your fingers are on your phone screen
While their fingers are on the trigger
Trusting in your pin-pointed amnesia

Twenty-five times that badge takes your life
While you get 25-to-life for vending plants
Have you seen this backwards plan?

The Government among us is as skewed
As the lines in
this
poem...
K Balachandran Apr 2017
Virginal white dress,
Her colorblind obsession
Breeds jealous colors.
The Silence Apr 2017
All representations of life and death cross
To create a duel meaning
Holding the farthest folds of time together
Seam to seam.

A contradiction to being
The reality to burn through my own
My mind welded tight to refuse it.

A hole finds its way to my center
Eat away at me, will you?
My knowing and my conformity.

Take together the farthest folds of my mind
Tie them
Seam to seam.

As life is said to be too short
I cannot speak my complaints
Fore I have only experienced a fragment of 16
Cut from the whole of what I am to be.

The flower in me buds and wilts
Exposing a vibrancy of colours
But one force takes the importance of all.

Light
To signify the moment of opening my eyes
The first birth of my existence.

The fade is subdued until the light reaches its end
The end beyond death
Where the white of the lily glows bright
Because life lives beyond the physical deterioration
Commonly accepted by reason.

To break these boundaries of understanding
I stand with one foot in each ground
The light in my left side
Signifying my birth
Rebirth and rebirth.

The life constantly recycles itself in me
Coming to the surface in a new skin each time
The lily means Easter
A new beginning

Before my first fragment of living
I came to my first renewal of being
Halfway across the world
A resurrection to the arms of who I now call my family.

This sunday of Jesus' Easter
Was taken to the use of my own
This sunday
I took my first breath
As Lily.

The light opened my being to life
A new life
With each came a new contradiction.

The petals that once were lain so gently on my skin
Fell away
Laced together with fine strings of me
My growth, my knowledge, my understanding.

A continuum of time
Slowly taking its destructive path
Finding its way to my center.

The right side of me
Which I have not forgotten since spoken of
So many existences ago
Takes footing in reality.
The happenings of death
Necessary to take its toll before birth
Rebirth and rebirth
Leads the light in me to falter
To take cover amongst the shadows.

But as a renewal of life blooms the bud once wilted
These deaths call strongly to me
The lily of life
Represents equally a devotion to the departed.

Fragments of my being were experienced in deprivation
Losing the light a lily so desperately depends on
Moments taken advantage of
Where the death digs deeper into me
It closes in on my center.

Repeatedly the light recedes far enough
My left side falls weak
I grow in dependence of what little left of me stands tall
My right sides firmly planted in the grounds of death.

Seemingly an end to all I have once known
The lily drops its last petal
I close my eyes.

My center is open
Exposed
And in me
...

A new light is revealed
A new bud is in bloom
A new being of me has been born
Reborn and reborn.

The white light radiates new strength
New knowledge
New understanding.

As I am raised to stand tall
To set my left foot down
To take footing in the light
But I find balance.

I realize that I cannot stand at all
Without the right foot planted firmly in death
In what has led me
To all that I am
And am to be.

My mind expanded beyond any reason once reached
Filled with contradiction
And a new lily's light.

Finally,
I am able to see the farthest folds of my mind
To find them tied tight once again
Seam to seam.
Another assignment from English class. We were asked to write an inventory of being for ourselves after reading Walt Whitman's *Song of Myself*
Rafael Melendez Mar 2017
I have been thrown into a shell of a world to fit in. Hardening as clay in the heat of the summer daylight. Then pulled into an ocean of nothingness carried by the waves of the moon.
The nature of this dimension is like a neighborhood I never found, like a girl I never met, like a life I never lived. Incomprehensible, yet I can string these words together and call it something.
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