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Andy Denson Mar 20
sator
i am still here—
the eternal spark, the constant presence
amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and dreams.
i manifest success, forging my destiny
brick by brick with every cosmic “yes.”

arepo
in the mirror of raw ego and honest reflection,
i transmute every reeking flaw into fragrant power.
from the ashes of past mistakes
i sculpt myself—a masterpiece of perseverance,
refined like the best soaps, emerging renewed.

tenet
i hold fast to my celestial blueprint,
a generator with a capricorn flame,
a leo moon roaring for its rightful spotlight,
each heartbeat an invocation of divine order,
each breath a promise to the stars.

opera
in the theater of creation, i am both director and actor—
my life a symphony of passion and precision.
with every action, every well-earned victory,
i spin the wheel of destiny,
turning obstacles into stepping stones
that lead to realms of boundless light.

rotas
and as the cosmic cycle revolves,
i embrace the sator square’s eternal secret:
what is sown in the heart returns in glory.
i manifest success with every radiant step,
every choice a spiral that brings me closer
to the infinite horizon of my dreams.

i stand as a living constellation,
an alchemist of fate and fervor,
a poet of the universe—
and in this sacred square,
i claim my success,
now and forever.
sator
arepo
tenet
opera
rotas
Aaron Beedle Mar 17
Tuesday: **** was black and smelled of sulphur.

oh wait, this is my **** diary.

For those of you interested,
I'm indigested. Well, I suppose we're all indigested.

I'm off the water, on lemon and lime
and wouldn't you know it combined
with my strange state of internal affairs
to create a concoction that's up in flares.

They found undigested
gum and erasers
an unopened packet of quavers
several loose fillings
and an unopened pack of heavy duty nasal razors.

Alright I might be embellishing the truth a little
the situation's been fickle,
but my research mostly finds that
eating is the issue.
About: Lifelong irritable bowl syndrome. Yup.
Tyr Johns Feb 15
I gave you truth-
You sent me silence.
I gave you peace-
You returned it with violence.

I shot my heart to you.
You-Neo, Matrix-
Bent over backwards
Just so you wouldn’t claim it.

I gave you secrets,
You were the pages in my diary,
Like keys played by all -
You gave everyone my diary.

I’m war-torn, scarred.
No peace where I lay my head.
My heart-Boomerang-
Like Eddie Murphy said.

A tragedy in these words,
My love shut behind a closed door.
Echoes of smiles, of laughter-
My heart, a chalk line on the floor.

“It is what it is,” they say.
“Leave. Let love go.”
But my foundation is cracked,
And love still seeps through the wounds.

It will not go.
jesse f kowalski Dec 2024
Don't know if I want to
drink this coffee or smash
the cup on my head.

Maybe it would look great
with coffee staining my face
like the pages from an old diary.

Maybe I am just a bunch of words
but you can't read all of them
because of the coffee staining
the pages and the words and my life.

The only thing that separates me
from Plath is that my words are
either written by a child or by someone
illiterate or by someone sad or by me.
Zywa Dec 2024
It didn't count for much,

I know in hindsight, thanks to --


my account of it.
"On the Road" - "The Original Scroll" (1951, Jack Kerouac), about his activities in 1947-1950, published in 1957/2007, chapter Book One

Collection "Mist-I"
I S A A C Jun 2024
each cycle ends but i cannot pretend
a part of me doesn’t pray to see your hand at the end
create spaces for you to soak in my head
misrepresenting everything in hopes of the best
keep it quiet and only unravel in my diary
keep it silent and pray nobody can see
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