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Jasmine Reid Sep 21
i hate the weeds but i love the bees that
keep me company
passing times
Akshita Aug 11
Climate change is real
And everywhere
It haunts our Earth
Every hour of every day

Alas! The nations
Least responsible for it
Tend to suffer
The most
Akshita Aug 11
We only have one Earth,
So why don't we live and act like it?
Why do we go on
Wasting non-renewable resources?
Why do we keep on
Hunting and haunting wildlife?
Why do we continue
Chopping down the trees?
Why do we pretend
That there's another planet B?
Simon Jul 21
There is no essential self that can't not weep their desires outward for their own delicate surface of skin not to notice. Since skin is the surface area of ALL sensory receptors to firstly take in the rush of potential environmental information. However, the most pleading debate that tears are still flowing despite me not feeling the need to weep in the first place. That's because whatever rush of environmental information came splashing your very skin and the receptors that (majority wise) make sure to immediately take in (as if by automatic purposes). They entirely relay that very information by the balance of how your emotions simply took it. Which by judging simply by how I'm essentially tearing up, myself just went through an even bigger withdrawal, than I previously thought!
When you essentially tear up, you don't see a lot of data that seems to become sparked from deep inside yourself. That's because you aren't as self-aware as you give yourself credit first!
PS... If you think otherwise...then why are you essentially still tearing up...?
The morning sun whispers
to the awakening day.
Rivers flow serenely,
as the animals of the earth
sip from its unsoiled water.
Each body of existence
lives in harmony
with one another.
No pollution.
No greed.
No pain.
Just peace.
-the day the earth stood still // I.M
Look closer...
the winding trail
is baked to perfection,
bearing the scars
of a caesarean section.

Only the snakes
dare travel along I-8,
one-by-one the seasons lie prone,
in heat this sun will castrate.

The burnt aspects on faces
don’t smile or frown,
they peer out as residue
to places perished in the wake of
a cityscape’s head trauma,
calling out to the heaven’s above
as they await her to rise
with wings from these ashes,
in anticipation for a day ne’er to draw nigh,
even the steady fall of acid rain
will fail to wash away such genocide.

A favorite haunt transmutes
into a ghost town,
burning into the ground
the heat seeps into the soul,
and the procession begins again
for whom the bell tolls.

Towers of steel melt
as popsicles on the pavement,
the sun’s punishment
is constantly transcendent,
the noise of sparks and hums
rattle the spine,
today’s forecast is a good chance
of saturnine.

Eerie colors at dawn
make for a spectral scenic view,
picnic lunch in the park
is categorically taboo,
the hunters of men
swoon in subjugation to this tyranny,
weather’s wrath was everyone’s destiny.

Live a little, die a little,
pretend it cannot happen,
but in the end we all windup
as peanut brittle...
Machine head at the wheel
Getting instruction 
Traitors of life bringing
Final destruction 

Fleeing from flames 
Crying tribes losing homes
All left behind is 
Dry cracked bones 

1984 is the present 
World leaders lying
**** your agenda!
Can’t you see the world’s dying?
Emilija Feb 17
What are you?
attractively modified faces
On the souless corpse
Thriving for redempion
Whilst hatred runs through blood
There’s no place for you
In the deepest ocean
Nature knows what you do
How you destroy your own home
While singing the happy songs of conventions
When in reality plastic nations
are signing their own westphalian papers.
You play the games with the air you breathe
by selling carbon.
You cry for signed documents,
which do not change a thing.
You want to close your eyes
and destroy what took so many years to build.
And for what?
Tell me.
Tell your family.
Tell your planet.
Dré Feb 7
My words lack lustre—
Incongruous cornucopia thoughts,
Trapped beneath delicate finger pads.
Afraid to rise and fall,
Shackled to Q-W-E, I-O-P.

They lift,
I hit keys like lightning strikes,
Loathing materialization,
Which fails to break ground,
That so desperately needs breaking.

One lightning strike,
A whole forest alight.
Ancient giants burn to the ground,
Gracefully accepting defeat—
Their remnants, fertile soil.

We must learn from the trees,
Who of their own volition turn to ash,
That old paradigms collapse,
Novel systems take their place
The phoenix there will rise.

My words lack lustre—
I fear they won’t be heard.
Drowned out by deeper voices,
Pulverized by hands that
Fit both of mine in one of theirs.

I trade high-heeled femininity,
Never step on any toes
**** that. I stomp bare feet on the ground,
Rattling the Earth to her core,
Each step perhaps, could make her feel less alone.
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