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Zack Ripley Nov 2020
Yes, we are part of the united States of America.
And yes, it is important to be proud
Of where you live and come from.
But it doesn't matter
how united we are.
We will always be divided some way.
But that's okay.
Because we still work together.
We're still human.
I know you're probably sick of me
Saying that word.
But the fact is, we can't be proud
Of where we live, where we come from.
We can't make social change
Until we're proud to be what we are.
Beautiful, fallible humans.
Faith Jun 2020
Two women
One sobbing, one singing
Two women in one body
My body

Two women
Separate in emotion and desire
Separate by what they see
Out their windows

One woman
Sees nothing but good. She
Is kind and open and she loves continuously
She never stops giving and she does
Not regret it. Not a bit at all
She is a river

One woman
Sees the mundane and is reminded
Of he, the fire, who hurts her, he who
Kills her with his not caring
She does not distance herself, fearing she
Will lose herself too when she does
She is oil-
And she hates herself for it

Two women
One aching, one at rest
United in one vessel of flesh
A vessel at war with itself
My flesh
SA Szumloz Apr 2020
You remind me of someone
I've met a long time ago
I can't put my finger on it
But the longer I sit
And look into your eyes
The present day dies
And I am taken back
To a distant past
Divided by love and war
I swear, on my dead corpse,
We were together
Maybe we're meant for each other
Until the end of time?
Thoughts?
Grey Dec 2019
Fractured light gleams off the walls
Reflecting off the Rolex strewn casually across his immaculate desk
Its platinum plating smirking at the watchers
From under the diamond rock.

He wanders through the halls
Stares at the struggles of those below him
Through the translucent walls.

Reaches out a hand
But can never touch the world
Obscured by the diamond windows
That are his prison.

Tilted, rounded walls make caricatures
Of lives, of livelihoods, of people
Like funhouse mirrors in the playground
Of life.

He winds his way through the streets
Of those outside his cell.
Staring through the milky panels
That bar him from his subjects.

Though he can never touch, never truly see
It is he who holds the power
above the watchers below.
WIP
Äŧül Aug 2019
They exploited our traditions,
Divided us on caste lines,
We never wanted those renditions,
They did the dreadful partitions.

The second one was on the map,
Immediate bloodshed had hap,
People woke up from a nap,
They woke up to a gap.

The repercussions’re not eternal,
Time healed the physical wounds,
They somehow got over with it,
Yeah, we moved on over it.

We can’t forget how Sindh was ours,
How the entire Kashmir was ours,
But that was before they came,
Pouring down the mountains like an evil scourge.
My HP Poem #1764
©Atul Kaushal
Poetic T Aug 2019
Each word is a sandpaper syllable,
    And ever breath Is a knife sharpened.



                     Between both all are cleaved,
                                and each part is divided



and consumed when spoken.


                      we will never heal when both
                    


  are motioned upon us at once.


                                       We are cut

endlessly between ourselves and
                           only time can heal us.
MicMag Feb 2019
Let's sit down together
And have a discussion
And by that I mean
Lots of yelling and cussin

To your own opinion
You're entitled - that's fine
But your view is wrong
If it's different from mine

If you don't echo my thoughts
I don't care what you think
You're bad for our country
Taking us to the brink

Here's the way it is
No room for debate
And if you don't agree
You're deserving of hate

Evil, conniving,
Dumb or deplorable
Lazy, elitist,
Whatever - you're horrible

Our problems all stem
From the other side
So much for United
We'd rather divide
But don't worry, our side definitely isn't like that at all
Chantell Wild Feb 2019
I wait for you
As I walk with you
Some great divide holds you
To the other side
And I watch, holding my breath
While holding your hand.
J B Moore Jan 2019
I am torn in two, divided yet whole.
Split in half, I hold both parts of my soul.
I thought I knew the answer— I don't know.
Don’t count on it— It’s decidedly so.

I should make the choice— we can never choose
Let’s flip a coin, heads they win, tails we loose.
—We lost— Let’s shake the ball for counsel
With out a doubt! —Or is it quite doubtful?

Yes or no, or maybe so, we will see.
Yes, I know, just let it go, we are free.
Are we wrong, or right, is it day or night, tell me.

Am I torn, divided, or split in two?
There’s a difference?— Oh if only I knew.
The voices in my head say they know what to do.

1/28/19
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