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Bekah Halle Jul 7
I don’t feel seen,
which he doesn’t mean,
he just doesn’t know,
how his pain affects me so.
Nurtured by a narcissist, he bleeds
his pain all over us without knowing his greed.
As his air dries up, he uses it not to love,
but to slip subliminal slime:
I am never enough.
Ken Pepiton Jul 6
If life had made up a mind,
in the neighborhood I formed from
communally, we might all notice, we'ld agree,
we might not be the first to say, we know.

But you know, life, or the active agents of it,
makes up our minds willingness to look, see if it

might be meaningful when seen another way.

The flipside of freedom to choose, what may
be taught
to children, and what must not,
under any circumstances, be allowed known,

before a child has reached the bloom of youth,
the useful strength age, draft age,
pulled into the slipstream
of easy will
to prove worth, true grit, traction,
hobnail boots, true secret weapon, stick
and stay, and make it pay, the exploitation
unwinding wars perfected reasonings,
to the victors go the spoils, boys,

discomplication has begun, the unraveling
of ever, once again, the stories tell, the tale,
told in tapestry since Carol King, at least,

during the era of top-forty aimed at boomers,
the largest cohort of like-minded consumers,
ever propagated using pride of new knowing,
to push the value proposition
in Alcoa over Kaiser.

What local tax-base funded schools,
were required to do, in Massachusetts,
as Brahmin first intention to mass convert,
depended on a deluder, and a deceiver,
to do the work,
first make believe God can hate you,
for knowing what Eve knew, some how.

Original disconnection from the wisdom,
sin leaves no mark, but in the faith abused,

to aim, and miss, leaves no stain, aim right…

use the logic words prove, knowing one
is not enough, each can mean so many-
possible provables, using patience, truths as
developed the rules for inclusion in the deme,
the select few among the many called, whom we
deem among the elect, to whom much is given,

from whom much is required, as noblesse oblige,
indeed, duty to God and Nation, County, if you will,

Natural words twist across old sores
from bully brothers, mollified by battle buddies,
those who bore the brunt,
those Bonus Expeditions,
those dust bowl pawns,
those road builders, and bridge builders,
that made the old days look real good
on television… Dizzy Dean,
and ***** Mays, and that one year,
there in the story that took us through
the Sixties, right up to 2024, the summer
any boomer alive in 1954 remembers,
Maris versus Mantle, and the tub scene in ******…
make up the mind that remembers Beatle Wigs,
And Whammo everything, every fad we had,
let that mind never really
recover after the exposure to war, from inside…
that few,
those boys, men, now,
this wedom, tuned to my signal, thinking, dams

break, eventually, all the dams doing damage,
to the original intention allowing letters to work,
break free and wild,
as magi slowly brought back wit,
the bit of branching used
to make us think once
more an old idea, we
think slow, like a all day sucker…
make an image, I, mage of my own eyes,
Lo', I see, and say, hey, you, can you see,

does that flag,
still hold the dowery,
those stars in field of blue
above the BEIC stripes of red,
on a background as white as this?

This vast empty white space,
white wall between us now, you
and we the instigating impulsive wills

to know, sublime, beyond simple,
serious knots to learn to tie,

turbans telling Sikhs, the ontology,
why we are we, the chosen ones, and

the others, those we, must imagine,
have another reason for being, as we

have crossbred, or so it seems, as we
continue using old war reasoning schema

constantly trying to find the art official.

Riches and ease of existing, does, in fact,
lead to slavery, the will is made subject
to the feeding power, always, the owner
owns the user's fees, this is only right, see

first come, first served,
woe be the Juans who come late,

get one shot,
blow it, and you blow it for as long as
the will you failed to do was yours as

in the holy scriptures, all versions, common
thread, the planet we became on,

common, clean enough to make use,
we use raw letter A formt secret intent
to think, we used to say, no word wasted,
to the t we cross and the I we dot. or don’t/
recall each inflection in the fashion shown
courtly, while
in judgment found being wanting,
will to make a way to reimagine, a we to
think the original intention taught to you, for your
attention paid, intently, learning, we who read,

know more than they who can, but don't.

Some learn late, some never learn.
Fools make children laugh, who pays the fools?

If I die before you read this, did the words feel flat?

I trow not, letting this mind found made up, be
just right, among unnaturally neighborly bears,
some thing lingers from first intentions,
it truly can be imagined, just so.

After all the amendments needed.
To undo the original malintentions,

tie your hopes to those whose riches came
from ancient forms of diversion during deciding

the fate of the functioning laboring classes.

This is now the zone f-
from Gol'ilocks, original intent.

fsure, strue, suptyou
step on a crack, breaks yo momma back.
Reasoning was never taught where I went to learn political correctness.

Are there no fifty year olds who want to be President?
Perplexed...
Another Birthday
Without You
I've had enough
The pain of unrequited Love
Suckkkkkkkkkkkkks!

Ha!

Hang about
It is all in your Head  
Just keep living how you Feel
Because your Love is the Real Deal

Ja!
(c)DLR
2 July, 2024
☀♥ƸӜƷ✿♬
I think this is a *** Poem! LOL Happppppppppppy Birthday!
igc Jun 4
How can I claim to love you with everything in me and it still not be enough
I want a love straight off the pages
For you to look at me  
To see me for everything that I am and
that I want to be and that we are
A love you cannot stop thinking about
Gaze longingly at me and know with everything
in you that I am it

Instead I beg, plead
with my eyes with my tears with my closeness
I can be ruthless  
Show you the pieces of me I keep secrets with and leave them as gifts at your altar
Hide away the longing to feel burned as your palms near my skin
Concede with bitter acceptance that I do not feel scorched in return

Perhaps it is me that is broken
Want is not enough I need
I want to feel your hum from inside my veins
I need to know you want this too

When I bring myself to peak at night
it’s not you I see
I do not crave your skin or smell or feel
I do not need your eyes to translate
words you never say
As I run a hand over my own flesh imagining
what it’s meant to feel wanted
I remember how you don’t, how you didn’t and how in spite of me knowing this you insist that you do

I have been there before, you know,
and it scared me
Enough to push the tightness away giggling
as I remind myself this is no hard cover
      That words can’t leave imprints on skin
      That touch doesn’t tingle or buzz or burn
Petrified me in place as I begged for just one more kiss with the slightest shift of my gaze to yours
      Held my breath for your consideration
      Gasped at the slightest touch of you against me
Consumed so much these days you can still hear barely above a whisper me pleading for it

Under the spotlight of this faith you absorbed my exhale and have yet to return even a whisper
My chest remains tight in need
of so much more than it back
Thighs spread in surrender
leaving only enough space between
for you I wait

Letting the darkness wrap back around like the flip of a switch stealing the last wisps
of light within me
Every dog has their day;
As a snake slithering on by.
What left will be to say;
What left economy not shy…
For whom can we protect;
When nothing not left all that said.
Each soul into night wreck;
Will be day by day all so bled…
Let so the flames fakes fourth;
For this will be tears all the joy.
Burning lies come time forth;
Burnt lies no longer to all coy…
What left to be enough,
No longer sinning… all rebuff…
For what I have lost and loved…
Jeremy Betts Jun 6
Hold on
Wait
I already have to much on my plate
Can't go on
Not at this rate
I'll inevitably be crushed by the weight
I'm on
Rebuild eight
At least my life doesn't ever deviate
Will stumble upon
Checkmate
Continuation impossible in this state

©2024
Nat Lipstadt May 4
“Every moment waking or sleeping/dreaming is a poem.
Sadly there aren't enough moments to write them all.”

back in the day,
(like 5 minutes ago)
I awoke,
and that miracle is

poem enough!
~~~~
the house is overflowing
with floral gifts,
orange roses, scented lilacs,
pink peonies,
and that friend, is

poem enough!

Sunday brings Birthdays,
One is 11, the other 7,
and I must change ~
my passwords will
require-updating,
and that friend, is

poem enough!

And you, dear poet,
friend of many years,
have given me so many
inspirations, birthed within
us words,
so oft, and so well,
that your pithy observations,
manufacture time,
add minutes to lifetimes,
and dearth
not a word,
to be associated with us!

Us,
as in always,
that my friend, is
just
ever a

poem enough!
Sabbath Sat. May 4, 2024
Block these lines
that come to find
all these insecurities
in your mind.

Let yourself be heard
let yourself be seen
Fly like a free bird
and break this cage that’s never been.

You are confident
You are enough
You yourself are a complement
You are brave and you are tough.

Break these shackles that hold you back
Let all of it go
There’s nothing that you lack
then watch your life grow.

Grow, to the way it’s supposed to be
The way you have always wanted it to be
Never conceal
Always feel

Be true and see what happens
Because that’s the way of life
You attract what you imagine.
Copyright Simran Guwalani
Mark Wanless Feb 25
i know i never
saw many things see few things
small knowledge enough
Hawley Anne Feb 16
I gather up all the tiny shards,
pieces of my broken heart.
And hold them oh so carefully,
so they don't further fall apart.
I wrap them so very tightly,
in what I think is love.
And I whisper to them so no one hears,

"I promise that you're enough."
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