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Thabang Moji Mar 15
Today might be a bad day
And I'm unprepared
Eating chips and drinking minute maid
Because something's making me not care

Looking out the window
To see leaves falling in my backyard
Along with drizzle in the air
Thinking about how life can be hard
In different ways

Deciding if I should stay in bed
And get destroyed by the storm
Because most times I wonder
Why I was born

- 7/25/17 11:56a.m.
Sometimes it doesn't feel like me
What I'm living in is foreign
What I want versus what I need
In a way it feels distorted

I was use to deprivation
In a way it was my pride
I didn't need or wanted as much
Even now I still don't mind

Overwhelmed with newfound freedom
I am free. Still, I am lost
I'm no longer trapped or controlled
But that was all I was ever taught

I was raised by maps and manuals
Now you give me a pen to write my own
Opening various paths around me
Paralyzed in anxiety to take even one alone

If recovery meant burning all of my maps
And rewriting all of my manuals
Letting go of strict rules and superior words
To be mortal than something mechanical
Induced fixation has engulfed us

Fixation of indoctrinated normality,
and the pursuit of said specification.

Who's, characteristics are repugnant to individuality.

We all believe we are different, but we fallow the same shepherd who has snowed us with such lies.

The hypocrisy of, "average is unique", has been whittled into our minds. We bear this scar for the rest of our lives.

To reject the ideology would be to condemn yourself to purgatory. All previous beliefs and known fact would vanish, you would be alone, adrift in nothingness and ultimate confusion.

However, our distraction caused by our fixation on subjective "normality" has blinded us. We find that we are in a crowd, and are unable to see above the billions of heads.

One thing we can see, is a ginormous stage. From which our indoctrination calls its origin.

The microphone upon the origin blocks self reflection and critical thinking through pushing us toward endless **** for their normality.

A normality of political agenda, social agenda, and cultural agenda all forced upon us through "authority".

Evil is one who questions any teachings that originate from the stage. Suppressed is their voice.

Discourse is hate speech.

But we are unique. But we are also normal because we are unique.

Wait

What a paradox

That's just what we are taught

Now that We've questioned our restraints of self exploration and personal growth. We can begin the beginning.

Free of our chains. What is our purpose now?
Sutherland Dec 2018
I walk blindly through beauty.
I numbly touch its fur.
I exhale its fragrance.

To drift is to be sure.

My vision is cut short,
that of a pin,
sculpted,
chiseled,
cut down.
Brown is my vision,
defined by the words within.

between the two,
I am.

Stability in the binding,
the spine, I bend.

The cover, my beginning.
The back, my end.
I wrote this poem from my perspective of a person in a religion. How they limit their interaction with the world around them because their bible doesn't allow them to see it.
With the frailty of a butterfly

Books for warmth, fading out like old photographs

Antique white skin

Brassy bloodied cheeks

A swarm of dragonflies laces  my face

Ancestry nightfall, ghosts of the drowned

Faded gnarled patchwork, eating away my  mind

Limbs of the tree growing out of me

Divided from everyone else

Inside the pinwheel blindfolded
  
Wading through hours and days

A ***** to this disease

It's the only one that I breathe
trf Nov 2018
The junction where smoke and fog reside,
gliding with western winds beneath these clouds,
the moon fades perilously from sight
and it rains ash.
A thousand candle wicks are pinched
as the scent of acres burn,
lit like the flames we blow out so easy.
Control is a funny word,
like when a doctor says, "She'll be fine, I've got this",
the arborist cries observing only skeletal remains,
as his patient has deceased having control to blame.
Alexander T Sep 2018
A walk through life
left, 9/11
right, moon landing
above, Aliens
below, there's the devil

What is being said
we are a simulation
our lives are being controlled
our phones have been tapped

in this world
I have one question,
what isnt a theory

can you hear me
I said what isnt a theory

so speak to me
are you being told to say that?
am I programmed to write this?
whats your theory
Sehar Aug 2018
concealed chains bind me
prance through surreality
i marionette
its time we follow our own dreams
Karisa Brown Jul 2018
These members are not my own
They seep through the rapids
As I drown

They ask me questions
They tell me what to do
How to feel
And then condrtridict their own

*** am I supposed to do
When I can't get through?
Leave comments
Feels like dimensions
Feels like I'm never on my own wave legnth
Its intrusive and controlling
Like messages being beamed into my subconscious
I can't hold a conversation with them
They spit each word with their own hurt
They come to me hurling my own agony
They are wicked and cruel
I will not shed a tear yet
The clock will strike midnight
I might shed a tear
I might just let my agony turn into anger
Cruel and wicked are their intentions
I bite my own tongue and keep quiet
If I become numb to my emotions
What will I become
When midnight comes
I'll be numb
-- this is a way for me to vent my emotions a few days ago I will not edit or change anything it's what I was thinking and going through in that moment
written on:14/03/18
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