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Poetic T Apr 13
I was never the one,

            I wasn't even the second
of what ever you thought you
wanted from us.

I was never going to be yours,

           I wasn't even mine,
I resisted the urge to look
at the scars
                  of
       where I'd been.

            I'd not been to
that place for a while.

But how can I be what others push,
        like I'm an addiction
waiting to be cured.
   There the needle pushing in my skin.
   breaking my resolution to not be
                           like I was before this.


Sorry, I couldn't give you a smile,
           I couldn't give you time,
           I couldn't even give you us.



                                      I'm not even mine..
Poetic T Feb 7
Melancholy undercurrents trapping
me within this stream of repressive
                                        desperation.

On the surface I was flowing like
         nothing was misconstrued.
but on the river bed the turbulence
was stripping me clean.

Undercurrents of adjective references,
           that were slowly polishing
my need to let myself be swallowed.

Never come up for air again..

My riverbed is the silence,
   but I don't want to slumber..
             I'm going to swim,

even though the shoreline keeps
                                  moving away.
Poetic T Nov 2017
We each have found
                     that hole,
that keeps us under our own
           perspective of life.

Till that one who grabs
            that handle,
and digs for you.
    digging deeper, wider.


On the precipice of falling
into this void of there making,
              they stare deeply.
Looking at him asking.  
                                
          "Why,

"What is a hole, if its sides
                         are not vertical.


Looking perplexed at the words
                of this stranger...

"Not every hole has to be yours,
            "But when we work together,
"We create the steps to walk upon.

"You have to dig deep to find the way out,

Were all have our own holes,
               sometimes burying us deep.
But when a voice of another speaks of
                                         there moments,
and how they fell deeper.
It only takes those steps of thought
               to eventually realize
that not ever hole buries us.

But we can eventually step out.

— The End —