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aj kamari Dec 2019
i want to let go
to jump into the void
and catch my wings on an updrift of wind
to feel the freedom of longing
but the resistance and gravity
of the thought of you is both holding me back
and pulling me down.
the thought of you restricts me from
starting my life how it's suppose to be,
becomes hope is demolition to a soul of love.
notice how i said the thought of you.
it isn't you,
but my mind's imagination of what could be.
the gravity of knowing i will never be enough for you
pulls me down and weighs on my heart.
i know it will shatter and i know i won't recover..
but it's a high that only your drug can give me.
and honestly, i'd face this overdose
over withdraw anyday.
not my best work but i'm sleep deprived and missing my ex. i'm sure we can all understand and relate in some sort of way.
i am a bulldozer,
and everyone is in my path of destruction,
and i cannot stop because there are no brakes,
and i cannot breathe because i am so weak,
and i cannot end the destruction,
it continues until i have ruined everything,
complete and utter demolition to smithereens.
sometimes i feel powerless
Fritzi Melendez Feb 2018
I still dream about the home my lifegivers nestled in in hopes to start life anew in a country that will once begin to tear
All over in the course of years,
They began to paint over the white walls with the yells that bounced from wall to wall.
Never realizing our big family will soon turn small.
Everything was blue, and only two spots became red.
That was the day my father realized he had the strength to break down this nest with his very hands.
I turned and saw mother, multicolored with blue red and purple. As expected, she always had an eye for colors.
I turned to see my siblings, cornered and shaking so hard, our blue began to stain the floor.
Seeping through the cracks and digging into the dirt which will eventually begin to tear down the house.
A grand finale of a door slammed shut.
No back turns, just left us in the rut.
I sleep and wake up into the mixture of birds singing,
and in the next room my mother is crying.
I open my door and it falls to my feet.
I look around, and I'm overwhelmed with defeat.
Our house is broken, it's all gone now.
The dwindling love that once blossomed is extinguished now.
I pick up the pieces and begin to rebuild.
Surround the walls around my mother, to keep her safety sealed.

Because sadness can’t be left alone, sadness stays and seeps into you in hopes to weather into your mind and heart until the process of deterioration begins.
... You see,

I didn't understand love for awhile since.
Hardship after hardship, it still never made sense.
I came to realize that love is painful.
Love is sorrowful.
Love is beautiful.
Love is blissful.
Love is the act of rebuilding a broken house.
It isn't just about your spouse.
Love is inviting forgiveness into your rebuilt house in order to keep moving.
Soon enough, those feelings can be packed into boxes and displayed in the new house you move in.
And although there are still many cracks and torn down roofs,
The strength of the wall shows that love is bulletproof.

I have yet to learn more about love, about forgiving, about betterment.
But for now, I'll keep rebuilding my own home with more bricks and cement.
Been postponing this poem for awhile now, I believe it's time to let it go.
Zero Nine Jun 2017
It's not enough
that I'm the one
player trying
I know
my worth
It's no less
than what I deserve
A secret,
It's one thing to play
confidence proficient
It's another to be confident
The heart that I invite
others to carve is closed,
demolition on hold,
but you've
got your
hold on me
I'm looking for a bold soul
to smooth over the hole
appreciate the bold in me
Active love is involuntary.
So be involuntary.  
It's not enough
that I'm the one
player trying
I know
my worth
It's no less
than what I deserve
That's the bitter truth,
that I reach for you
while you never see
Marye Minstrel Jun 2017
The dirt of dusty decades
Lies upon the lath
Beneath a piece of plaster
I found a photograph

They smiled from the centuries;
Those mysterious three
Sent the musty memories
A message meant for me

Sara’s grave is gone, I guess
So long since laid low,
Yet, despite her ancient death
She smiles and waves ‘hello’

I cannot tell Annie’s age,
The words do not say
The owner wrote only names
Her face has frayed away

The baby in the buggy
Lifts a lively hand
She sits between her sisters
Beside the shining sand

This will be the only piece
From the dust so brown
That preserves their memory
Once we tear this house down
The story of an old daguerreotype I found inside a wall. The house was being demolished.
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