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Eric Feb 9
Let me support you , while you hang from the cliff edge .
                   Let me congratulate you on destroying
                                      every past thing said .
                      As if it meant nothing from the start .
                  Creating misery across life, like it was art .
                               Who knew you'd go that far .
                             But guess what , I'm still here .
                        How do you explain away the scars ?
                     Do your stories , only match the ones
                                 You deemed greater then us ?
                Do you give their life pain with the feelings of
                                                                      distrust?
                                            So why only me Love ?
Van Xuan Jan 12
No matter how many lies you said
You can't lie to your heart
For lying to your heart
Leads to pain and destruction

No matter how many people you care
You must never think of something in return
For when you look for something in return
You will gain betrayal and distrust
JR Rose Jan 4
It begins with a whisper.
One thought,
one voice,
one blow upon the dam
to a restless river.

Silence.

This dark duet
of doubt
of uncertainty;
two thoughts to feed
two voices to fetter
two fiends to fuel
an unruly fire,
stronger.
louder,
bigger yet.

Silence.

No, it crescendoes!
Voices rising,
rising,
rising,
like mephitic vapors—
I inhale.
I choke.
I scream.
But no one hears me.
No one hears what's inside my head.

Silence.

Please, be quiet
lest I ruin me,
you,
and all that I love;
draw a line in the sand,
sift out these voices of right
and wrong
of good
and bad
of truth
and lies
because these voices lie
oh yes, they do.
And if I know me—
every crevice
every crack
every word written in my heart
by my God, O my God, who made
every crevice
every crack
every word written in my heart—
how can they know me too?

Silence.

You wicked voices!
Yes, I know what you do to
stir fear
distrust
anxiety
until I have no choice
but to listen to the voices.

Silence.

No more.
No more voices,
or restless rivers,
or unruly fires,
or mephitic vapors.
Just—

Silence.

Blissful silence.
I can breathe
and close my eyes
to the black symphonies of
silence.

Yet, in the absence
in the void
a single note echoes
indiscernible in the buzz
but this is silence
and in the silence
things become louder
until I crave the noise again.
Gasping
for your words
has left
me
breathless.

Searching
for your lies
that only
tell
me truths.

And holding
onto truths
that only
spill
your lies,
leave me wondering
why;
I was never
good enough.
Daniel Cuzzo Dec 2020
MY PROBLEM
is that EACH time
I HAVE a problem
to work out
I can measure the pain
by how MANY tissues
I use to fill my garbage.

LET’S FORGET
about how few
garbage bags
there are
to empty
into
the big garbage.

LET’S FORGET
environmental waste
my father’s race
to be first on line
to get tissues, TP
and paper-towel
at the store.

LET’S FOCUS
on the continuation
of these patterns
for the LONG TERM.

Someone hurts me,
I internalize it,
I work it out
but not without
rebelling, swelling
feeling woe-is-me
WHY DO I have to:
cry all the time?

And then life breaks
THE PATTERN.
An older neighbor,
is lying facedown
on his driveway.
I HAD WANTED
to sleep, to dream,
to forget about
this new pain
but NOW,
he is in more.

I awkwardly help
him get on his feet,
and sit by himself
in front of the door.
Ask him if he needs
me to help make any calls.

I leave for a few minutes,
but look back to see
he successfully got back
in the house.

My part is done.
No “battle-is-won” mentality.
At risk of being cheesy,
I’m helping him
because he is me.

Behind everyone’s posturing
age, stance, orientation,
different people, situations,
at the end of the day
we’re a myriad of variations
of me and my old neighbor.

It’s RARELY ever cut and clear.
Someone might need help
and will only accept it,
if you convince them
they’re helping you more.

Yet another scoreboard
I should throw in the trash,
instead of all the tissues
dehydration, dry skin
and mental math I keep
to measure how deep
my poems can rip.

MY PROBLEM,
is my solution.
I feel so deeply,
might as well wade,
then dry off
instead of wearing it.

STUDIES HAVE SHOWN
problems keep arising
as long as I keep thinking
I’m alone in this.
As alone as I feel,
I have to be real enough
to see there’s no end to this.

I try to help, I hide,
I get riled up by
every reason we make up
that says I’m full of crap
for wanting lives to improve
and life on Earth to get better.

I have to swallow the bitter pill
as my way to deal with grief
is unsustainable.

IT HARDLY MATTERS
if you’re right or wrong,
good or bad,
relatable or hard to stand.
Jesus often held out a hand
and that ****** me off to
no end.

Jesus might not be ANY of us,
but he does have merits.
Let’s put away words
like criticism and injustice
that fly around to make us
amount to less help
when the time comes.

Let us wade through
intangible negativity
in a swim or the air
and still dare to be
the love that we are.
LET it pass through,
because I am a seer
but NOT a carrier.

If I can help, I will help.
If I can’t, I won’t.
NO NEED to complain
about misunderstandings
that reinforce the barriers.

It was not wrong
to be crying.
But the next step
is letting sadness
fly through us
reach the soul
of the earth, to allow us
to increase our worth.

Once victim
mentality is gone
perhaps something
dawns on another horizon.
In realizing I’m above
withholding love due to
lack-thereof
I release myself
from the control
of all the negativity
I’d never come to grips
with existing.

Is this “fair?”
Perhaps not
looking from below
but the less we do that
could be, the more we grow.
Conditional love is safer
we can rely on ourselves
our intuition and judgment.
But if we state:
we are the same,
drawing lines to love
divvying up the blame
is a punitive game
from an antiquated system.

I’ll try to stop counting.
Or else, THE TISSUES
WILL NOT stop mounting.
All the TIME, I spend
blowing my nose
can now be opened
to helping myself
or those who desire it.

I’m sorry, it’s NOT
much of an advertisement,
for Kleenex, or PUFFS ultra.
But we’ve had our moments,
I’ve had three battlements
stationed across my room.

It’s finally time to make room
for something else to enter.
Though unlikely, to be a fantasy
it’s surely, much-needed understanding.
Maybe then, the word “fantasy,”
won’t be needed.

I’m running out of tissues.
So, I will use them much less.
One fewer concern of consumerism
and a lighter feeling on my chest.

You are a seer, so see.
See past the posturing
insecure judgements
aimed at everybody.
Whether they are true or false
it’s a Waltz with something
I have little affection for.

So open the door tomorrow,
let in the rain OR sun
let in the hope or pain,
the happiness or disdain
but don’t dwell on
the wrong ones:
or we’ll miss opportunities,
what HAS to be done
for true understanding.
The helper and the helped
the victim and victimizer
the hurt and the healer
altogether MIGHT not make
only: the broken society
currently shaking.

We’re being led to believe,
it’s part of the fuel of awakening.
Wouldn’t that be something?
“Hey, Mr. Guy I couldn’t stand,
let’s hold hands.”
-Nope, didn’t think so.
But then again, in time,
I don’t claim to know all.

Just solved my tissue problem
let me sleep,
I’ll be back to break new,
yet fairly trodden ground.

But definitely more jokes
are necessary going forward.
I said I wouldn’t cry,
but I refuse to believe
my destiny is to be:
that straight face I’ve trained
throughout my history,
to be the only one,
not laughing when
this new sun comes around.

I joked, “a few Motrin,”
when he got in the house
might help my older neighbor
feel a little better.

But my aches and pains
from ACTUALLY lifting
someone heavy (no offense)
are definitely wearing
on already tense nerves.
If I GO to bed
and intuition says
“write another poem,”
here’s what I’ll do:
no tissues.
I will swim and flail
through that emotional
attempt at a chokehold,
shake that hook on my body
where THEY ALWAYS
get me:  because I believe
I have a destiny.

I haven’t READ
the contract on destiny.
But I believe it has some bylaws.
While I said, I’d not engage
in this judicial exchange
the usual caveats
should have been provided.
I have a right to workers comp.
(Even though I have no job (or money)
I have a right to bathroom breaks.
I have a right to petition for leniency
in other words, to make some mistakes.

Come on “system,”
you had me “throw the book away”
for all, but you didn’t say: “me too.”
I won’t call you heartless
as an Amazon wish-fulfillment center
but there will be some serious banter
among the employees
if you don’t close up shop
when I’m ready to drop.

By the way, how many
are still ordering tissues?
Did I ***** your business?
Do we have to utilize “the news,”
to PUT them back on the map
advertising on Facebook, WhatsApp?

Yep, I got it, system unlocks the door.
Don’t take no for an answer folks,
take what’s yours.
Van Xuan Dec 2020
"I won't give up on you"

The words I sincerely said to her
A man's promise I solemnly abide

Yet I receive distrust

From the woman whom I trust
The same woman who gave me
The pain of reality
Rae Oct 2020
Momentless
If the blur of colors never stops how do I tell where the rainbow ends and the rain begins
If you pull hard enough maybe the stuffing will come out, if you tear strong enough maybe I will split open and pour out onto the pavement
Stretching, always stretching
Time is a melted clock, puddles puddles on the floor at your mangled feet, I broke them, I crushed them in my haste to leave
You say forever is false and that the ending will one day come
But how can I trust you to be present-ever when you plan for death
When you tell me the apocalypse is near and you are leaving without me, no, that I will leave you to love another, leave you and never return
How do I trust the middle when you denied the beginning
How do I trust the middle when you swim to the cliff, see the depth of the water, and tell me we'll drown.
annh Oct 2020
They speak to the madman,
Suppression, subversion, detraction,
A vocabulary of ‘less than’.

They speak to the madman,
To the loveless and the wounded,
The self-doubting ego.

They speak to the madman,
A consort of shadows,
Recurrent with paradox.

Until, uncertain as to the integrity of my own thoughts,
Understudied by self-censure and distrust,
I pause to listen in silence...to the silence which listens back.

‘My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear — a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence. The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.’
- Khalil Gibran, The Madman
Anais Vionet Oct 2020
I drive me crazy
- there's no hiding or help
for dark self distrust.

Frightening whispers
are like a levied tax of
doubt about my choices.

Anticipations
dulled on anxieties rough shore
- best to keep them deep.
self doubt is an internal cloud on a sunny day
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