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Left for dead May 2019
cos when i get mad i get big mad,
should have never did that get back,
bout to feel the wrath of a menace ,
in my bag, in my feelings,
im a bad lil ***** ya know....

Jhene Aiko
annh Jan 2019
skidding down the slopes
of a Friday afternoon
deadlines looming fast
my rickety toboggan
- clattering alarmingly -
navigates the final run
and with a sharp turn
delivers me sweaty-arsed
but still in one piece
to the door of my weekend
at six on the dot
A Simillacrum Jan 2019
I got dem B-Side blues,
perforated shoes
of my own design,
off color flag of mine.
I got dem prescriptions,
I'm passively shunned
by the typical,
like it matters at all.
I got dat bizarre brain,
patterns I contain
run 'crash.exe'.
I got dat problem child
run rampant wild
here within my ranks -
what deserves thanks?
Nothing at all.
And everything.
I know this well, now.
Srijani Sarkar Aug 2018
I'm so small
maybe smaller.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2017
Looking at the
         satellite picture
                    it looks clear.
                       The earth is a blue
                                  drop of water!

                                    Did the sun paint
                 the shades of this blue dew
            dot years.
       Still, the ****** shines
   in same old
unfading colour!
Čortoloman Feb 2018
Nice. Dot you are mine. Or maybe not.

Why do you do or why do I?

No matter if or not, you are dot,

Dot, the dot.
AM May 2016
billion blinks with each breathing,
thousand crossroads to nothing
are the dots of questions in my life
and with just one millisecond
of your voice saying "hi"
in that cafe on Tuesday night
I am able to create one beautiful line
Dot Dec 2014
The space between each breath and beat,
is vacant now, a hollowed nest.
Where once wings fluttered soft and meek,
dust now settles down to rest.

The raider knew not of my plight.
With twisted key, she opened wide
the place where butterflies take flight;
the cage in which my heart resides.

The butterflies they danced and flew.
Some filled the mouth with words unsaid.
But lips were sealed, so numbers grew;
the crowding forced them out instead.

The ripple of their wings fell still,
their sprightly quiver fled my chest.
She drew them out, with time and skill.
I spat out love; truth wrapped in jest.        
When all was said, the flutter waned
From love to hate, the din grew weak.
Though her hold lessened, her face remained
in the space between each breath and beat.
Ben Ditmars Jul 2014
In Memory of Carl Sagan

his pale blue
sense of wonder
in a sunbeam

taught beauty in
the faint sensation
of our atoms
put together.

a legacy of
dust and stars
billions upon billions
of stars

I saw the sky and
endless possibility
stretch over me like
broken shackles
form the past

and we remain the
momentary masters
of a fraction
of a dot.

© Ben Ditmars 2014
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