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Eloisa Sep 23
I earned your contempt just
because I did not march to your music.
You sentenced me to hell
because I did not sing with you.
You even questioned my social philosophy
and even my religious conviction.
I will not ever return the hate and the contempt.
But however many holy words you speak, read, write and believe; it is useless unless you value human service and kindness.

To teach, to help a stray animal, to smile and assist a stranger, to work for your family, to plant trees, to give to the needy—these activities do not need explanation about theology.
Every one of these just needs anyone of us,
as humans—to reach out, to give a lending hand,
to care and to believe in the existence of faith and humanity.

I had mistakes, wrong choices, troubles, failures, losses and fears in the past that taught me lessons and flared my passion
to seek spiritual guidance.
I went astray but I listened to my inner voice that helped me back on track.
I’d still probably be in the darkness had I not known how to cultivate my emotional side.
The guides, the path, the doors
will be different for all of us.
But a lot of our spiritual encounters happen in the ordinariness of our daily life.

My spiritual moments have not just happened when I closed my eyes.
They happened when I cuddled my kindergarten students in school and when I watched the water flows in the river
and the birds sing.
They continue to happen when I do long distance parenting and do  
my duty as a mother,
when I smile and greet my neighbors
and even when I admire colors everywhere.

The world has many colors my dear,
beautiful colors and I have the profoundest respect to even the bleakest and the lightless.
Let us be inspired by the plants who come together and thrive peacefully in a garden.
Let’s see beyond our beliefs and differences and embrace each other’s colors and uniqueness to add beauty to our existence.
My friend, the way we give the gifts of faith, humanity, kindness, friendship and love to the people around us is how we save the world.
This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
Dalai Lama

It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting the devil. If they would only expend the same amount of energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own tracks of ennui.
Helen Keller
Di Verce Sep 20
Yeah I know, you care
I appreciate it
But you don't fully understand me
You're not capable
That's not a slight on you
It's a fact
I don't blame you
For what you give is special
But I'm more than any one can handle
And you've a lot of learning to do
To perceive as I do
You probably don't want to
Who would?
But you're as necessary as me
That doesn't mean we should marry
Nothing's so simple
That's the point - I'm complex
But you call it unstable
No - I have mastered me
And you're still just a baby
Don't ask me to goo when I Gah
I don't ever want to go back down
The pain remembers
So venture forth
But don't rely on me
I'm not your baby
But I still love you
I just don't mistake attachment for love
Let's hope
Not anymore
Love is higher, farther
I pray for the future
Not just the now
I have needs
Who can fulfill them?
Not-a-me, Not-a-yoo!
Fear of lack / FOMO limits us more than not accepting limits does.
Jay M Sep 19
He's got blue eyes
***** blonde hair
Sweetest little smile
That lasts a while

I've got brown eyes
Brown hair
Weird little smile
That easily slips away...

Is it too much to ask
To just be thought of?
To feel the fondness
In return?
I guess the problem is;
I'm not the girl
Anyone would dream of.

- Jay M
September 18th, 2019
Ki Danshaku Sep 17
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.

They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.

Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.

She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.

He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.

His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.

She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.

She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.

His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.

He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.

Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.

His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.

Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.

He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.

She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.

They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?

Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.

One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Written by request for an anthology of like-topic stories.
This poem is dedicated to the molar mass of 18, and is 18 syllables wide and 18 sentences tall.
This is my one and only poem.

'One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one'
Quinn Adaire Sep 16
We got the same heart
Beating the same blood
Into the same veins.

We got the same dreams
The same goals
And the same feelings.

We got the same anger
And the same sadness
All from the same fear.

What’s the difference
Between you and me?
Color of skin?
What does that mean to you?
It means absolutely nothing to me.
An old draft.
"You can join our group," he says,
"But only if you look everyone in the eyes."
I freeze.
Surely he is aware by now that the words
Autism Spectrum Disorder
In my chart were not placed there for fun?
Surely he is aware by now that finger twitching, body rocking,
     gaze avoiding
Are not for my frivolous pleasure?
Surely he is aware by now the absurdity of what he asks?
I am autistic.
Burning irritation of the eyes and panic aside,
Staring creepily into another human's eyeballs
Would render group a waste of time, no possibility to listen.
He knows this.
It is his prejudice that keeps him rooted to the spot.
I can feel the weight of his expectations boring into my forehead.
Explaining what it is to ask this of me,
I remind him that drawing this line would be excluding me because
Of my autism.
I tell him he would be losing a valuable participant,
A deep thinker, a creator, an avid listener.
I tell him he would be discriminating,
That I am protected by law.
Oh, no.
He budges not,
For he does not dislike autistic humans
So long as they act like they are Neurotypical,
So long as I pretend to be
Someone I am not.
Nadia Sep 10
You release your words
Measuring each syllable,
Carrying all the consonants,
Gathering up the vowels,
And waiting for the light
Before you cross.
Certain words put a curve
To the shape of your mouth
And your eyes, confidence.

My words are forced unwilling
out the door; each one
pushing on the one ahead,
an unbalanced mass;
tipping forward until they fall
Out in a rush, elbows out,
Knees weaponized;
Falling over each other, still
breathlessly barrelling on.

NCL September 2019
It said hello.
I said: good bye.
I asked whats up?
It said: Oh never mind!
We didn't hear eachother.
I said:,, I love you!"
It didnt hear.
It wispering:,, Me too."
I rise my eyes like didn't see it.
It's walk away, I miss it.
It looking back.
I didn't notice. I said: go away. But I was mean I need you.
Eloisa Jul 27
Yes, you are indeed right.
I’m weird and a bit strange
unconventional, odd, different.
But no,
I do not want to cut myself into pieces to suit
to your approval of what’s normal
and what’s needed.
I do not need to edit myself to fit in.
I do not need to apologize for what
and who I am.
I am strong enough to live my life in my own terms.
I dance to the beat of my own music.
It doesn’t matter if nobody understands me.
I am just being me.
I am real.
I am beautiful.
I am unique.
I am a proud misfit.
~ A co-worker asked me a week ago of what I usually do during my free time and I  answered that I read poetry and scribble some pieces most of the time. Shaking his head, my reply invited a chuckle and an eye roll  from the others as well.
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