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Desire 2d
You don't love poetry.
You love being depressed.
Your writings are true and have influence,
but they're only depression expressed.

I respect how you feel,
and please continue to write,
but may we realize poetry's purpose
revealed, in its history, is to shine light,
on your entire story -
not just the ones that hurt.

Tell the world of who you are
and how you strive to shake off your dirt.
Highlight what helps bring healing,
because others are also depressed.
No one needs to be reminded of
their damaging stress that they've suppressed.

"Happiness is a choice"
I challenge you to loudly make that expression.
Poetry makes people happy;
Its an art collection of life-lessons.

Poetry is an art.
Its ideas, creativity, and feelings,
social and racial issues unveiled,
Poetry is revealing.
Its also reflection,
of past and present events.
Poetry instills future hope,
painting pictures,
It represents...
Its a praise report for the week.
Its the abstraction of ambiguous things.
Poetry can be figurative,
or an escape from our realities.
Poetry has history.
Poetry serves a purpose.
To single it in one direction
is a disrespectful disservice...
Do you really love poetry?
[Respect it]

Plot twist: You are poetry. Replace "poetry" with your name in the poem above and reread it.
[Respect yourself]
This poem is not intended to degrade depression. Depression is real. Depression exists. Depression is deep. And so this poem challenges all people to see life in a different way or different light, the same way poetry can be seen differently, and with a change in perspective, may one choose happiness. Depression is real, and so is happiness; happiness is a choice. When people move away from all the pain in their lives, and think about moments of joy, they can experience, again, the feeling of being uplifted...
Desire 4d
a nd  with my   e yes
i  widely   o pen,
I see yo u
like consonants
needing their vowels,
I need Y ou
V. Word
-
Originally written/posted: 20181121
Desire 4d
I'm just an average guy...
I've got normal problems and a normal life
I've also got a voice inside
silently speaking - sounds of my mind
I wonder, does it have a mind of its own?
Always flooding like a river formed by a hurricane,
if my head gets too cloudy,
there'll be a high chance of rain and scattered brainstorms

It might short-fuse my hippocampus
unable to remember how to see;
a blacked-out occipital lobe
I still don't see how the backs of our brains allow us to see
through the front our faces and out of our eyes,
where most of the water falls
despite the brain's overflowing, muddy river,
or the temporary lack of sight,
I still have a voice.

And with it, I will share all of the stories stored within this blackbox,
and only this light can find them and shine on them.
My voice, a wave riding my mind's ocean's surface
This voice, this wave, this sound,
a complicatedly, clear conscious,
called into focus...
[a sound of (my) mind]
II. Saying What's on My Mind
-
Originally written/posted on: 20181120
Desire 4d
We all got stories.
Stories are life's language;
language impacts perception - our
own, others, and nations.
"Stories dispossess, stories malign,
stories empower, stories humanize,
stories rob and break dignity,
stories repair whats broken..."
Single stories are scanty.
All stories, stitched together,
complete the composition of you.
Many stories matter - yours.
If your life were a book,
what would people read about?
We all got stories.
Share them. All of them.
[they MATTER]
XIII. Making History
-
Inspired by Chimamanda Adichie's speech, "The Danger of a Single Story."
-
Originally written/posted: 20181202
Julian Delia Oct 20
Haunted, yet I am undaunted;
Infuriated by this world we created.
One drink turns into seven,
On the brink as the world burns,
Denied entrance at the gates of Heaven.

I close my eyes, but my mind’s eye still sees –
I chose to stifle my cries, part the seas of tears,
To stand when I wanted to fall on my knees.
‘You’ left a poisonous aftertaste,
Truly, a treasonous exit, made in haste.
I was in pain, with nothing to gain,
Like a dragon in chains waiting to be slain.

Now, as I spread my scaly wings,
As I light a fire in my belly,
Blow out smoke in rings,
There still are a few things I want to say.
Every thought of ‘You’ brings dismay,
A memory that still rots and decays.

Ingrained inside my library of perceptions,
Stained all over my heart,
A long catalogue of assorted deceptions.
I know every new day is easier,
For life is but a spark and a show,
And a fresh dawn just marks the next tier;
Yet, sorrow on every morrow follows like a pet.
One day…
One day, I will forget.
I’ll fill my cup with joy,
And drain it of regret.
One day...in the mean time, I'll play with the ghosts.
Hg Oct 18
bouquets of powder
as white as flowers of zinc

skating thin ice
cutting thin lines on the sink

sniffing inhaling
until his nostrils would bleed

skip to the morning
they find his pale white body

and he was so nice
in junior high when we met

and his younger brother
smiled exactly like him

and it tore the team
they were closer than magnets

the worst sort of death
is no goodbyes to your friends

but that’s what we get
when we encourage the dope

tuition’s forgiven
and still his parents can’t cope

and can you imagine
how awful it feels to hold

a part of your brother
right underneath your own nose
Amanda Oct 15
We fell in love, life was perfect for awhile,
Each touch was concentrated sunlight,
We'd kiss, I'd taste whichever flavor
***** we drank earlier that night.

Turned to you, I needed a friend,
Called to vent every day,
Time passed by us swiftly,
Had my heart, things finally felt okay.

Was the perfect romance for awhile
But as the summers and winters went by
Began to notice the thick haze we lived in,
Something different in your eyes.

Didn't know what was amiss,
Keep me waiting up all night,
Though I wasn't sure exactly what it was
Knew you were hiding something out of sight.

Uncovered more and more incessant lies,
Started small then grew, neverending,
We sadly floated further apart
With each secret text you were sending.

Was obvious there was someone else,
She took all of your time,
I figured you were buying her lots of gifts
Because you never seemed to have a dime.

Truth is, it was painfully clear,
Should have seen it at the start,
I was not the only one
Owning a piece of your heart.

The day I finally discovered who she was,
Identity of your seductive sin,
Is the day our world changed forever,
Your mistresses name was ******.
What do you think? I thought it was a pretty good idea. Does anyone else have any metaphors or similes they'd like to contribute for cheating compared to drug addiction? If that makes sense..
Amanda Sep 18
I wish you'd put as
Much effort into getting
Clean as getting dope
When I lost my excuses I gained results
Anish Saurav Aug 14
How more lavish can our lives be??
Smoking dope, lying in sand enjoying the cool ocean breeze;
Not a care in the world; no deadlines to meet;
Who can stop me?  I’m the king of my own imaginary fleet.

As the time passed by and my cravings started to grow;
I was an addict in a tiny spark of time
And that is the only thing I know;
They showed me how to blow rings;
They showed me how to get high;
But they never told me that this habit will hit me like a rip tide.

I was just a young soul, with dreams in my mind;
Look what you’ve done to me, now I don’t even have time.
This journey has been short and easy,
Just like the first Kush you take;
Smoking was all that I did.
Please;
Now let me take a break!.
That first Kush you take, it's a beginning to your short end. As addictive as smoking can be, we all just start it under depression or with the influence of some friends, but soon it becomes a life style and in the end it kills us.
crate's gold,
pure luscious
dark smooth,
burying and digging.

what is the art?
young chest
rock hard,
slick steel.

the smooth
peel the heart sharp,
like elegant Queens,
bow knees or mind

and think on,
the gold crate,
and gold chain
on dark frame.
I admit that this poem is complex.
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