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E Nov 30
Driving on the road every day is how I connect and see those in my community. In a given month, I pass by thousands of cars. Why is it that I feel the most alone in transit to my destinations?

Driving recklessly, driving with suicidal intent, driving under the influence are all acts of violence. How can I make these same people care about themselves and the people in their life if they are unforgiving in weapons of destruction?

I ask those to take "sonder" into their commute. Do you see the man 300 feet away in the car with his wife and children? Do you see the breast cancer survivor in the pink car with their eldest daughter? Do you see the bicyclist doing their daily commute? Do you see their life outside of their commute— their love, their hobbies, their favorite books and songs, and their trauma?

We should all hold space and reflect when in passing. To be mindful and present, we are equally human, with drive and something that drives us. We need to start giving a ****.

How are we supposed to care for one another when all that surrounds us are displays of violence? It’s more than the overt displays—recklessness and abuse towards ourselves or others, hate crimes, police brutality, genocide, institutions of slavery.

When certain events enter into the collective consciousness, because we are forced to witness them; these acts tend to remind us we are disenfranchised. We are silenced. We are powerless. Until we mobilize and resist in acts of love.

Let me remind whoever is reading this: we criminalize and demonize those who give sanctuary, those who educate and speak their truth, those who feed the unhoused, those who do work on the ground, and those involved in policy.

We think little of those with degrees, fixations, and aspirations dealing in social justice, social studies, and sciences. To commemorate and value everyone as a human being is far more important than aspiring to become the next billionaire.

I don’t wake up and dream about wealth. I dream about people feeling safe and having resources on hand if they ever encounter a crisis. I dream about others committing to mutual aid and bartering practices as a way to help one another but also resist. I dream about shutting off our devices because we can call out unhelpful discourse and disinformation. I dream about others having a shared trait to discuss than to find every reason to think they’re so different.

I think I understand what finding community means. Though I haven’t talked to enough people, I can envision community as reaching over to the next person and actively hearing them, seeing them, and being there how you can. Community is being heard, community is finding love in places you thought you couldn’t, and it’s giving a ****.
we need solidarity right now for all disenfranchised and oppressed peoples on this world, and i don’t see how we can do that without caring at the local, state, or national level. i ask that you make a new friend, find genuine connections, and spread beam of lights into people. for those who are depressed or otherwise cannot do it’s easily, i see you and i hear you. i love you, even if you don’t know me. you matter and your life matters. from the river to the sea, palestine will be free.
Jellyfish Nov 8
I still can't talk about you in therapy
I hyperventilate, and it scares me.
I don't understand how us affects me
I always saw you as a safe place for me

I tried to be safe for you too,
But have realized how bad I am at
Comforting others, especially you.
I tried my hardest, but never felt correct

I'd cry and get frustrated
over the urge to protect.
I'm extremely empathetic,
I'll throw myself under the bus, it's pathetic

I feel everything you say,
I take on your emotions
and this seems to cause pain
But I don't know what to say

It just happens,
You share with me
And I feel everything
I try to convey my empathy

To help you feel okay,
All I wanted was to be there
Like you were always, for me
I think the best thing I can do is set you free.
I struggle with comforting but feel your feelings.
Jeremy Betts Jan 2021
The only role I ever land is "outcast tortured by the cruelty and pain of his past" I sure didn't choose this path, feels more as though I've been typecast, or maybe I am a *******, holding out for every last ounce of pain before I blast this trader living in my head for the last 30 years off my shoulders, through a window pane, then, just as fast, turn to the vast hole in my chest that once held my heart and press the cold steel to it with the mass of my dread firmly in my grasp, gun fire drowned out by echoing laughs, fulfilling a prophecy of my future while neglecting lessons from my past, the game of life feels less like a game of chance and more like a test that's harder to advance than all the rest and wouldn't you know it, I fell asleep in class and didn't pass, apparently I even tuned out the emergency broadcast. Went and amassed a losing record that'd be impressive if not for the direct contrast the win column presents and the enormous shadow my downfall casts. Harassed by the devil on each shoulder, I thought that maybe once I got older, if I could just stay on task and remain steadfast, I would be able to open a can of whoop a$$ and trespass the evil within this house of glass but alas I must telegraph my every move or they've seen a future telecast because they lambast each strike and I'm not sure I'll outlast these issues, I'm gassed, plus, problems have started showing up in mass from a much higher weight class, they must have bypassed the weigh in process but I've always known who the deck was stacked against, hence why I never win, I only survive and my methods would flabbergast most, the truth finds it's way to the surface and I find myself aghast, crying like I've been teargassed with no gas mask but I've surpassed the point where waterworks will bring forth empathy, gotta own my involvement in the crash, volunteer to take out my own trash and this time I'll throw my pain out with the bath water and be free at at last, free at last, no thanks to god almighty I'll be free at last

The Kimbeaux Oct 4
I'm not going to find my fantasy, because it's not real.

What's real is believing that I'm loved by my friends.

What's real is my determination.

What's real is my connectivity.

What's real is my compassion.

What's real is my love for life.

What's real is my good heart.

What's real is my endurance.

What's real is my creativity.

What's real is my empathy.

What's real is my strength.

What's real is my free will.

What's real is my courage.

What's real is my passion.

What's real is my reason.

What's real is my beauty.

What's real is my talent.

What's real is my effort.

What's real is my truth.

What's real is my joy.

What's real is me.
To know what's real.
A M Ryder Aug 25
I'm telling you
That it hurt
And you don't
Get to deny that

When a person
Tells you that
You hurt them
You don't get
To decide that
You didn't
Man Aug 10
I sit here in silence
No empathy knows my pain
Sit here alone
Reflecting on my shame
And smash
What stares back from the mirror
The glass
Cracks, ****** knuckles and
Zywa Jul 27
If I could gull, I

would comfortably eat fish --

near the herring stall.
Column "Meeuw" ("Gull", Georgina Verbaan, in NRC, June 17th, 2017)

Collection "No wonder"
you pull me through doorways
with cherry red charm
you fill me with whiskey
and hang on my arm

The clerk asks for blood
the stone has run dry
we promise ’tomorrow’
and feed him with wine

dark clouds now move faster
with voice of hard wind
it speaks to you only
as thunder moves in

you twist here beside me
and curl like a vine
your teeth in my shoulder
reliving some crime

you hold me so tightly
and whisper your vows
your secrets stay hidden
your tears are so loud
MARS Apr 25
On a busy day,
A floor unkept.
“What’s this woman doing?”
Said Mr. Baker Brett.

With no delay came she,
Hair running below her knees,
Cleant the place
And served him his morning tea.

The innocent kid
Stood in the aisle
With a face devoid of smiles
And fiery eyes.

The struggles of this woman,
He dare not say!
He made a fist.
When the clock struck eight,

He picked up his satchel
And looked at his sister play.
She received no formal education
And was to stay that way.

The struggles that she may face,
He dare not say!
He held his anger in,
And walked away.

Time will pass and
His beard will go grey.
To his curious daughter,
What will he say?

That she ought not
To get educated?
To be slave to an unknown man?
He contemplated.

Wild wild, rage. He must
Burst out today.
He shook off the bad dream
And so will they.
This poem is set in the long nineteenth century. An innocent boy, born in a male-chauvinistic society, feels the inequality around him. A child’s empathy towards women is dumbed by society when he turns into a man. The child in the poem wishes to change this scenario. He has high hopes that he will initiate change in the society and that the society will change.
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