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Imagine trying to geminate in a stony land
Aiming for the sky to be part of the constellations too
Finding a way between the stones worshiping gravity.

Imagine becoming a star, burning with curiosity,
While the gods who brought you to this world keep shooting you everywhere like a confused lightning.

Imagine your parents mapping their afterlife through your skin
Poor parents marking treasure maps to an innocent soul “KUGATA”

Imagine being taken to doors of prophets, Pastors and Sangomas,
Only to grow up hating neither.

Imagine a pregnant teenager
Who is yet to find her direction
She travelled to heaven through my eyes
(Swati word)KUGATA is a ritual used to be practiced by most South African tribes, where they cut the skin of child to protect him from evil spirit as he grows.
Sangoma is a traditional healer (Zulu/Swati word)
Michael Oct 2018
Life in this day and age,
Just as it has always been,
Is filled with anxiety, stress, and pain.
Are we enough?
Should we change?
Or is it ok for us to stay the same?
Nobody knows and nobody cares.
Only you can decide,
It’s your life and your mind.
Stand on your own two,
Just like they always told you.
With no support can we really thrive?
With no lift from others can we truly fly?
Indecisive in our assertions,
Second guessing our actions.
Our entire existence based on others reactions.
We are an ever growing mess,
Tell me, how are we to make any progress?
Anxiety is part of what makes us pathetically human
Jo Swan Oct 2018
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The darkness of the night engulfs my spirit
Like the soddy soils covering the rock’s
Brilliant colour of ruby, red passion.
The daring dreams for the future
Has caused my soulful eyes to ashen-
Blinded by the present reality-
The dreams begin to fade.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The mind has lost its mentality
And strength to wade
Through the current bleakness of life.
The midnight shadows of the street
Have caused me to lose sight.
Can the faith of the heart bring light?

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The cicadas buzz bitterly in the quiet street,
Stirring memories of mundane voices
That has caused me to cheat
Myself from making personal choices.
I cry silently in despair
For fear has swept my sense of direction.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
A distant street lamp lit up the solemn street
Providing me with a sense of protection
The heart burns with a passionate heat
Providing strength for my body to move with affection
Towards the mystery of the shadowy, silent street.

(c)2018 Joanne Chang
Sometimes in life we can feel lost with the direction of life we must go. Life can be full of insecurities. I hope this pain can reflect these uncertainties.
Aidan Derocher Oct 2018
pick your poison, is how the adage goes
no one toxin is identical
they all accomplish the same deed

ground by each decision
you wither away to no more than a fine dust
worn from the stress of painful repercussions
those of work and relaxation
those of love and isolation
those of life and death

i gaze into the wandering eyes of others, and wonder
how hollow are they
do they have substance or
are they solely a shell
held together by the laws of conformity
never daring to commit that felony

i guess that makes me criminal
as I choose to crumble visibly,
at least without a guise
i can be reborn into
myself
Gabriel Bonney Oct 2018
I can't see where I'm going,
but like a blind man's hearing is heightened,
I will listen for the Lord's direction.
jerely Oct 2018
teen age, young adults
how’d you make choices in life
go straight or u-turn.
Jerelii
Copyright
Sept, 2018
Nemo V Sep 2018
When the longings of sleep are impossible to be satiated, trudging through the depths of another beings personal hell.

I hunger incessantly with the sweetest food surrounding me, marbelized and succulent, I cannot eat.

A monstrous dose of poison, council of unbridled emotions, flows from my entrails.

I no longer own my body. A specter has torn it from the sole  anchor mooring me to an existence.

Cast out alone. I am afraid.

I reach out into the void, piercing night’s sacred veil. Clawing through madness with frenzied hands of the Centimane.

To rediscover your porcelain skin, replete with its precious cracks in form. The antidote to save me from myself.
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