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Stu Feb 2019
Who do you call when your brain is on fire?
When sunshine strips
begin to fade from the bed sheets,
And you find, yet again,
That you've allowed a day's worth of stability
To deconstruct itself.
For a while, a silhouette you will remain,
Chasing the origin of light,
Only to fall into the one thing blocking it.

What happens when a brain is burnt out?
Drawing out breaths that latch to the cold air,
When you stand with weary muscles,
A title wrapped around your forehead,
And a frustration festering.
Holding close to the last remaining memories,
Of security, of solidarity, of purity.
Losing yourself to yourself,
Costs less and less each time.

When do you decide a brain needs fixing?
When the ride home is full of regret,
And your legs cannot stop shaking.
A miserable night will be swept under the rug,
So dogear the scripture you spoke belligerently,
And the world will suddenly seem small.
A breakdown happens when most needed.
A breakthrough happens when least expected.

How do you fix a brain?
Probably, the day without questioning it all,
Will be the day you figure the most out.
If we can get a mixed up mind to settle,
Then the first thing to learn would
Be the acknowledgment of a new, better life.
We will all survive our demanding brains,
if only someone will show us the way,
Will someone please show us the way,
Before another brain is ignited?
For an old friend.
David Bojay Jan 2019
Talking to my GoPro as if it were you
Current truths
Diminish the whirling blues
inside my head where you don’t have a clue

out the zoo with my emotions
In the beginning eased it with some sleep
Because I couldn’t see the reasons for my grief
Out the shadows and the light is brief
What to think?
What to know?

The tension is rigorous
Kept inside a pin
Let it sit and sizzle until it’s smoke

Open the vents, and let it go

To seize a chance for peace
Dismantle the layers of myself
Find you in a strip
A memory I’ll always love
My love just don’t lose grip

But to love is to see you free
A peak I couldn’t see
Relief indeed
Let it bleed
Let it bleed

Let it bleed

Consume the dooms
Swallow the distrust
The other side of the moon

The ending will come soon

Sitting in my room

About to make some chicken....
ross larson Jan 2019
I lived in a prison
my whole life
a prison made of invisible walls
they imprisoned
parts of me
so early that I did not notice it
until I was almost thirty
it is a prison that
has been handed down
generations
it is the prison that
is created when one believes
one must hide everything
because everything is flawed
and thus everything becomes flawed
nothing remains real
you loose yourself
in the process
of gaining recognition
by being whoever
they want you to be
until you can’t deliver
anymore
this is the day you break
and either dissolve
or pick up the pieces
and slowly become
who you were meant
to be
Stu Jan 2019
In translucent hands
he reads a scripture belonging only to him,
and from memory, he'll rebuild his own illumination.
I feel my bones growing! I feel the warm sun! I am finally satisfied with my own reflection!
Raymmar Jan 2019
I'm dying inside
lying inside
pretending I'm not just along for the ride.

I'm smiling outside
I'm faking my pride
walking around like there's nothing to hide.

And there's so much more to tell too.
I'm just not sure how to be honest with you.

My heart breaks
my body shakes
and when I try to tell you
my voice quakes.

My eyes can see that it's really just me
unable to let go and actually be free.

Trapped inside of this beautiful mind
trying to pretend I'm not one of a kind.

And I know the things I want from you
I just can't have them until I face what's true.

Until I'm actually ready to start over some day.

Which all sounds good until it's time to pay.

Then it's easy to go back.

It's easy to backtrack.

As if I weren't able to fight off my own attack.

A one man self destruction crew
same old story
just made to feel new.

Same guy
still trying to fly.
Still running in circles
still stuck in a lie.

Still a dreamer
still a believer
still holding on
still born to be a leader.

Yearning to be free.
Of the pain
of my brain
of everyday feeling the same.

Looking for escape
for a small break
searching for something
other than heartache.

Starving for attention
lost in contention
hoping and praying
for a sliver of redemption.

When will it all stop?

When will my life change?

And why does facing the truth always feel so strange?

But it's not all a lie.

I've given at least half a try.

And you know,
it kind of feels good inside when I cry.

To feel that release.

To let it all go.

But I always wonder,
is it all just for show?

Pretending to be,
anything but me.

Holding on to a vision
of what used to be.

Holding on
to what I want to see,

because without the pain,
then who would I be?

What then
would be my inspiration
if I was no longer drowning in desperation?

What would I blame if I freed myself from all of this frustration?

And how am I supposed to just pick up the pieces after all this devastation?

What would I write about
if I finally found a way to let go of all this self doubt?

What would I use as a muse if I was no longer perpetually confused?

And what if I fall again?

Am I finally willing to see this thing through to the end?  

How does a man continue to stand in the face of a self imposed backhand.

Trying so hard not to drown in a crowd of people who only know how to back down.

Trying to stand up with a weight on my neck that feels like a thousand pounds.

And what do any of these words even mean?

Should I keep them hidden, never to be seen?

After all, I wrote them for me

But maybe it's something you need to read?

Maybe my pain is intended to show, that deep down inside you already know.

That pretending to be perfect is never the way to go.

That broken is better.

That not fitting in is the new trend setter.

To show off the insides of my brain while proving to the world that I am actually still sane.

And then… just for fun…

I’d bet that you feel the same.
Shlomo Oct 2018
Emerging economies.

What they’re emerging from I don’t know.

My guess, the depths of hell.

From the frying pan, right into the fire, or worse; a well.

A deep hole stronger than gravity, the force.

To be forever under the thumb of remorse.



A modern era of endless acts, policies and bla bla bla.

Shut up with all your platitudes.

I see what’s really going on. Aha!

You speak of sustainable development.

Nice to know that you’ve led by example.

Carried the mantle for all these years.



Centuries of ruthlessness, now veiled in sheep’s clothing.

But you won’t shut up. Because you don’t speak.

You never have. You just do.

Each day that goes by, you carry on anew.

Behind all the talk of hope, equality and more progress,

it seems the wolves are lurking.



Cooking up the next tool to subdue countless.

This time, not behind closed doors. But in plain sight.

It’s scary to imagine such spite.

Each year that goes by it becomes clearer that you never cared.

You sold guns, drugs and all kinds of war.

And each time, you kept coming back for more.



You’ve built up antibodies that ensure your survival.

But sometimes I wonder if you’re alive at all.

But what do I know?

Maybe you’re more alive than ever.

Doing what you do best but always more clever.

That not even the most stable of geniuses can evade your pressure.



A strong enough foundation that each break makes you stronger,

So strong that not even the Gremlin can take you under.  

Against this dreary background, foregrounded is nothing short of magical.

Beyond hope, prayers or a thoughtless radical.

Or maybe this is all just fake outrage.

An attempt to evade the boredom of this endless monotony and baggage.



Or maybe, the term is out of date.

Like every other, that makes me increasingly more irate.

In which case, this poem is at least ten years late.

Or maybe there are too many maybes’.

And I’m perfectly suited for this time of vague uneasiness and indifference.

In which case, my imagination probably needs more sociology and less a lesson in rhymes.
Piano backed narration @ https://anchor.fm/shlomotion/episodes/Emerging-Economies-e1s1a6
Breanna evans Dec 2018
I am at peace
I can finally say
there’s no more storm clouds
bound my way
my body’s sore,
my muscles ache
but I’m stronger now
than yesterday

an easy life
I’ll never find
but that’s okay
no, nevermind
it does no good
to ***** and whine
just take my days
one at a time

I’m getting stronger
every day
my muscles sore,
my body aches
but I’m prepared,
let come what may
I am complete, now
I can say
Every day is another battle, another challenge. yet here I stand, victorious
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Stu Nov 2018
Someday soon,
under a new sun,
We will sing a bird's song of white and gold hues.
Of beaming light.
Of warmth encompassing all that we love.
And it will be magnificent.
Natasha Oct 2018
Each unhappy in their own worlds
They were driven together.

Then desperate for each other
They clung to their unhappiness

But now apart they soar:

Their weightless bodies drift
And when they pass
These two old friends–
Ghosts locking eyes–
Glide without a smile.
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