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hybridstorm May 13
Try, try, try,
till you exhaust yourself.
And when you think you are tired,
try again.
Keep trying. Be patient. Realize the soft and serene and the hard and chaotic around you. Stay inquisitive. Stay loud.
Arshia Qasim Apr 28
I’ve lost count of the weeks.
Grief has made its own calendar.
The pandemic stopped what ambition started
I surrender.

4th March 2020:

My mother has died
I can't close my eyes tonight
not because I am afraid of falling asleep
but of waking up in a tomorrow
where she does not exist.
Behold, the audacity!
I never accepted night,
and still, the sun creeps up
across the jagged Tokyo skyline
ascending the tower ladder,
bouncing off windows,
pushing apart curtains
pouring in from all crevices
as the city flips up
person by person,
onto its stuporous hustle,
as if nothing happened.

Amazing Grace:

A million poems came to hold up my heart
as it fell apart
in my mother's death
I had prepared for this moment,
but what preparations suffice,
when air is wrenched away from breath?
I could write the saddest lines,
sadder than Neruda's
but the tales of her glory
have a more engaging story
to tell.
What would she have said
when she saw herself tagged
in her obituary?
she always counted the likes
and read the comments I receive,
rejoicing momentarily,
in what, she claimed, was borrowed fame.
And now I grieve.
My frantic efforts to capture screenshots
whenever we face-timed,
so I could hoard
her presence.
Oh, bless her essence!
even though her skin-clad bones
had lost the cushion of flesh,
even though the bruit
of the fistula in her left arm terrified me
like a constant 'low-battery' signal,
when she managed to hug me, breathlessly,
that last time,
it was an exchange
of the most amazing grace:
her pain wrapped in patience,
mine in gratitude.

Retrospecti­ve Realizations:

And suddenly,
I remember all the condolence messages I have ever written
and retrospectively fill them
with feel, only now revealed to me.
My best compassion and empathy paled in comparison
to this reality.
Death is inevitable; mortality, inescapable.
but life,
with its enticing persistence to carry on,
is cruel.

The poem ends but the pain doesn't:

The real mourning starts
when the visitors leave
and the phone calls end
and the messages stop pouring in,
when you have to resume living
but the dead can't un-die.


Boss Wretch Apr 24
Vultures salivate, poison to exterminate
It's the dawn of the Renaissance
Emancipation, cattle on displacement, you want
To reason but there is no response

I won't allow this to happen

Another situation I feel like I'm trapped in
Nothing is my business and business is gone
I wish you all could *******
And go back to hell where you belong
Are you my enemy???
Ketanya Rose Feb 10
                                                   no home
                                Restless                            stomp life into me
                                                                        grey sky

                              l    i    b   e   r   a   t   i   o   n
Skip Cope Feb 3
I have to come out.. I won't offer lies..
there's something I just can't disguise,
my tastes are different than other guys..
I'm simply in love with chicken *** pies!

It started when I was quite small in size,
when mom shopped for her weekly supplies.
She worked all day and thought it'd be wise
to make *** pies one of her regular buys.

Loved 'em then, and this truth still applies-
Don't give me fried chicken wings or thighs,
don't serve a burger with greasy old fries,
don't cook fancy foods and don't improvise..

There's one taste sensation I dearly prize!
The best frozen meal you could ever devise!
If you want to impress or want to surprise,
just cook up a couple of chicken *** pies!

Now that this poem has reached its demise,
I'll pre-heat the oven and say my goodbyes.
Familiar faces in a different space
Times fabric pulled
now feeling flat
Trudging through the unknown
as fear creeps in to inhibit growth
Idle eyed to my surprise
I am not who I thought I was
A year spent in demise?
How did it become just that
The light still shines bright
even if still out of sight
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Amanda Dec 2019
Keep puffing poisonous clouds
I feel stress decrease
Lost like my former self
Keep searching for inner peace

Things are so out of place
Been ****** up for awhile
Try to keep my mind right
Hosting self-blame and denial

I obstruct noise with music
Block distractions with volume
Worries barge in large groups
Interrupting speakers loud tune

Nothing quiets my ever-screaming thoughts
No sound drowns my troubled brain out
Tried but am incapable of
Changing what I think about

Sometimes I lose control and cry
It's the only thing I can
In bed dreaming happy futures
Hope to get there but have no plan

Fall asleep before pillows dry
Fall apart when dusk creeps in
Negativity held in place by lies
Like laundry hung on clothespins

Love is our ultimate weakness
Only great fools believe otherwise
We escape life through others
That is our true demise
If we cannot escape death, let us at least escape life; through love.
co'brien Sep 2019
That all hath fall'n away impure;
That all we thought is now unsure—
This is the final cause of it,
That which we know has gone to ****—
Yet here we stay, throughout the days,
Staring into a foggy maze.
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