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Sean Achilleos Jun 2023
The world is not divided between black or white

The world is not divided between gay or straight

The world is not divided between rich or poor

The world is not divided between male or female

The world is simply divided between the good and the bad

And you can, and you will find them

On both sides of the fence
Sean Achilleos
17 June '23
I smiled
And you smiled back
At times
We laughed hard

As Usual
But hope this feeling is mutual

We chatted
Like we used to
Seem acted
You're in the movie too

But hope this feeling is mutual

You speak
With your eyes in silence
While I breath
Yet my heart is quiet

But hope this feeling is mutual

You loved
In privy
I love to be loved
More lively

To be factual
Hoping this feeling is mutual
Common is uncommon nowadays
#mutual or #one-sided
Alienpoet May 2022
In the nightmare
we lose ourselves
not wishing to look in each other’s eyes
left versus right
only millionaires and billionaires can afford to fight
male versus female
drop the hate to relate
life sold cheaply over internet wars
our nation
a nation of locked doors
and hate driven speaking drivel
I love you all but your minds locked into
Facebook culture wars
media ******
ratings soar
go viral be the virus
or inspire us
it’s your choice
war is afforded to the rich
if your poor dig your grave or ditch.
Dave Robertson Jul 2021
One side obscene in ignorance,
the other sanctimonious
to emetic effect

In the mid ground we most of us sit
whiplashed necks crying
as each rabid side bays allegiance

shut up, breathe clear air
drink tea
be fair
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.
feh 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
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.
Àŧùl 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.
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