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Sally S Ali Jan 23
And she used to stand at my door
To sing, as if she's the daylight;
To heal the flowers from the spikes
Heal the birds from the sorrow
Heal my soul from the night's colour

Sally S. Ali
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
I rode my bike to open mic  
to recite my latest poems.
What I did see so surprised me,
an audience full of gnomes!  

Gnomes are rough, dare I say tough,
gruff as an audience can be.
So I downed a cup, ****** it up,
channeling the builder in me

I built up layer by layer,
sly-rhymed layer with layer,
board to board, nail by nail, pen, sword,
hammer to grammar with ne’er  
a stammer or tangled mic cord.

My long bike ride and coffee glug
page by page by pain, not in vain!
T’was the night, MY night, with delight,
open mic builder in the rain,

that I became me at my best,
when most other poets couldn’t
Snow White poets could but shouldn’t,
maybe know they know they wouldn’t
have a gnome’s prayer.
Open mic test, me at my best,
A builder and a poet oh so blessed
The Legendary Gnome Poem Slayer!
> As published in The Pennsylvania Poet's Society magazine, PENNESSENCE
alex Sep 2018
my mother may not be perfect
but she is brave.
my best friend may not be perfect
but she is brave.
the ones who flinch away from touch may not be perfect
but they are brave.
they are brave without being questioned
in front of millions
they are brave without having their stories torn apart
and dug up
and denied
and perhaps even believed but still pushed aside
so as not to ruin the life
of the man who ruined theirs.
they are brave without an audience.

imagine how brave she must be
to relive her trauma
in every single question and torment and threat
plastered on television screens
and dissected by men who think
their careers carry more weight
than the abuse they have all inflicted before.

dr. ford is brave
and then some.
**** brett kavanaugh. i stand with dr. ford.
Autumn Fyre Jun 2018
I've never been great at poetry;
The process always fails for me.
While mister Poe and Shakespeare last,
My writing ends up in the trash.

Their writing style, lost with age,
Their wisdom hid in ev'ry page,
The glory given where it's due -
These are things I cannot do.

My writing's forced; theirs doth flow.
I say it blunt; they say it slow.
Those areas that bless and move
Are places where I can't improve.

So why, with my lack of skill,
Do I keep on writing still?
With such a hopeless case as this,
You'd think I would already quit!

There was a time when I did -
My desk was shut; my pen was hid.
Then something occurred to me
Which changed it all instantly.

If Dr. Seuss had Shakespeare tried,
And Mr. Poe glorified,
And given up in dismay,
We wouldn't have his books today.

So keep on writing how you do
With that style unique to you.
Put your mind into use
(You just might be another Seuss)!
mythie Jun 2018
Counting the steps you take.
Your fingers touching mine.
These walls I built up over time.
Slowly, you take them down.

This violent facade.
Eating me up inside.
I want to scream but I can't.
This is who I am now.

I distance myself.
Scared of getting hurt.
But you approached me.
And became my world.

I still detest how I acted back then.
I pushed you away.
When you tried to understand.
But the facade I made.

Crumbled down.

The only one I loved.
The only one I trusted.
You stood there, captivated by me.
Wishing I wouldn't go.

Everybody's words.
Like swords that cut deep.
I can't forgive them.
Can I even forgive myself?

So I let go of the anxieties.
Because despite my actions.
My true nature is love.
I love you, Shuichi - this is to be known.

These lies I built as walls of protection.
Break down and cover me.
Suffocate me.
I let myself be crushed under the weight.

Much like a hydraulic press.

Even after death, I will still love you.
You spoke to me, loathed me.
But I still love you.
And that will never change.

You ask why I lied.
I lie all the time.
It's my only defence.
From the people outside.

I know you don't understand.
Maybe you never will.
But that's okay.
My heart is open for you to accept.

After all,

"I" am just a "lie" that makes up "me."
Kim Essary Mar 2018
There's nothing more to overcome as this  battle from within,  pounds, burns, sharp as a knife then pounds, burns and tingles til numb. My nerves fighting my muscles,  as my bones are deteriating away ,
  How can it be the anatomy of my being is fighting to survive
The rate of my existence said to be extinguished seven years ago.
  Whom is it they think they are to set my death. Indeed I should have boundaries  The mind is a powerful thing
  I wake from my short slumber to roll from my bed, the pain unbearable but it's all in my head, or so I make myself believe
   I think and I ponder and speak to my mind so my body can hear.
  Questions without answers so why even inquire. Take this take that you need one no maybe five. Please put your pad away for I will take only my mind, no doubt in my mind it is the meaning and will as to why I'm still alive. So keep all your poison, for I will fight this battle from within and show them I will survive.
To wake is a blessing as is every step that I take
  I know my pain will never go away so what more can be done, sadly nothing so I deal with it and go on with the day

I am a survivor and not a victom, 20 prescriptions not to mention the dose,if I can overcome all of my illness I hope to inspire anyone that thinks that they can't. I'm living proof
Slightly Lovely Feb 2018
Be yourself
There is no one else
Be who you are
and say what you feel,
because those who mind don't matter,
and those who matter don't mind
And I don’t mind

I guess I Shouldn’t
cry because it's over,
But  smile because it happened
It might overcome the sadness,
But i never quite escape the nostalgia…

How do you live,
With these broken memories in your head,
And happy feelings in your heart?

No one ever listens
How do I move on with the weight of my past on my back,
The comfort so welcoming
I always cry
Over the things that don’t matter

Hiding the hurt,
hiding the pain,

Hiding the tears that fell like rain…
So long ago, and yet,
Time is weird in my head
Nostalgic feelings
shauna-leigh Jan 2018
I'm walking.
I can feel my feet touch the ground.
I am here.

I'm still walking.
I can barley tell if I'm on the ground.
Where am I.

My brain pulled the parachute,
told me to get out.
I had no say in this.

Noise is muffled,
As though I'm wearing headphones with no music playing.
Everything is a bit fuzzy.

I'm walking.
I can feel my feet on the ground.
Everything is back to how it was, and no one noticed I was gone.
She Writes Nov 2017
It’s invisible
But I see it every day
They say there’s no cure
It is here to stay

The symptoms are manageable
You’ll be just Fine
Just exercise more
And be careful when you dine

There’s nothing left to prescribe
The doctors are at a loss
Taking over my body
PCOS has become the boss

Managing symptoms has become my struggle
I don’t know how much more I can juggle

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