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Kassan Jahmal May 18
What am I doing so wrong in my life, to not be moving any
further ahead? How many counts do I need make, to soon realize
I’m running out of breath?

Am I dead?

No, not yet!

But as close to the feeling, with blood running through my eyes,
to only see red. It could be my last time to wake up alive in my bed.
The confusing phrase of, “he/she woke up dead”

Where I rest my head, lays the thoughts of dealing with life’s pressures
and pointless cares. Gaining less of self-respect, and losing some of
my hairs. Especially at an early stage, as I disengage from people who
act my age.

Well the previous one at the least.

Being too young doesn’t have much to give, but just wasted time.
Living without much direction, missing every sign. Pretending you’re
all fine. Flipping girls over for a change of finding a dime. I’m funding
my love, but quickly losing interest. They could be so many out
there, but I’m not a fan of all the kinds of fishes.

Those constant sweet nothings, and long tongued kisses. Not
really much of a fan, when my opinions to them are blowing in
the wind. I’m just blowing in the wind, with the echoes of it
tickling me down in my knees.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Testing my own winds, to see if I still feel. Ha, I’ve watched an
emotion develop into being. Proceeding far ahead of my delusions
that trick my out of the things that are real.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds.
A windmill of my life, all of which spins on repeat.

How do I stop myself from blowing in the winds?
Kassan Jahmal Apr 26
I face fatigue each time I breathe,
praying on my knees until they bleed,
Facing another stressful day I’ve got to live,
I wish I could leave, if I believe enough in all of
my dreams; I’d close my eyes just to relive, and sigh
heavily for my relief.

Oh grief, is sentiment cement on memory streets;
walking on for long, towards that unfamiliar dawn,
Listening to unfamiliar songs, hoping I never forget
where the heck I came from.

When I get famous, and lost in the crowd’s
empty praises; the quietest moments are so loud.
I hope I make my family proud, and buy my mother
that house, she’d live in happily, even if it was for a couple
hours. Really beats the days I was just borrowing flowers.

Forgetting when Mother’s day actually falls,
let me recheck my calendar to make sure.

From having bosses smile politely at me,
but refer to me by the worst of words.
I’m just nodding my head for an empty pay cheque,
spending it on necessities. But ****, that swiping

Waiting for a day to be closing my eyes at every swipe,
no need to add, and calculate the final price,
Without all of the wants, but enough money to afford
all of my needs in life.

Let them remember me by all of these
experiences I enjoy to write.

I truly love to write...
Zack Ripley Feb 3
"You don't understand"
"No, YOU don't understand!"
The truth is, none of us
can ever truly understand.
Because despite our need to be social,
to connect with each other,
our experiences, our feelings,
are ours alone. But that doesn't make connections we have with others any less meaningful. One more thing.
For what it's worth,
your feelings, your experiences, are valid.
Mose Nov 2021
I haven’t had a partner in so long that I’ve forgotten I am single.
The memory foam on the left side of my bed only knows left over books and plates.

The empty places replaced with the things I learned I loved.
Only open spaces here are for self-affirmations doused in lavender.
Most of which I loved was uncherished until I had room for it.
The parts of myself I could never find underneath the cover of someone else.

The sheets get wrapped between my legs and for a second, I am reminded of how untangled I am.
How free it feels to be in a place you didn’t wish you were somewhere else or someone else.
A brief recollection of finally not being lost in another.
Deep open breaths of I am finally here.

I am reminded how calm this place feels – the comfort of not missing anything. How the spaces in between are cultivated by a reflection of my love - not those I once loved.
No one has a perfect life, on planet Earth,
During this journey; period of time,
For our Soul, is here to learn, many lessons,
As we travel, through good, and bad signs,
We have to look at, negative situation,
As one of life’s experiences, when were in a bind,
A mistake, we repeat, at least twice,
If we change after the first,
It was a lesson learned, within our mind.

                        The Original: Tom Maxwell ©
                                                    10/22/2021 AD
Janna B Apr 2021
You’re paying homage to me
with your touch along my curves and edges.
With your golden, intense eyes.
With your kiss, your adoration.

This paid homage stirs me,
shakes out hidden grief,
reopens closed space,
unlocks dammed love.
Starts a new journey of ‘we’.

You’re paying homage to me,
aiming to reach me.
Intentionally, joyfully,
breaking down my

I refuse to read
The same fake story twice
The emotions overpriced

Each time I try to get familiar
With the many characters
Stranger they become

Permanently masked
Hollow faced
No place for a heart

No inferences to derive
Learnings flattened
Morally deprived

Once a learner
Slowed down by the bends
The fake story with no ends
5th February 2021
An expression of collected experiences
What is reality, in our life each day.
I suppose we know, if were happy, or sad,
We can see if the weather, is good, or bad,
Is it real, for politicians, never to agree,
and the news media, keeping us sad.

The daily soap opera, is it all false,
none of it true,
Everywhere we go, cameras, recording you,
A few commit crimes, were all watched, accused,
This don’t feel like, reality & freedom,
More of A dark feeling of blue.

                                                                            Tom Maxwell 
                                                                         3:00 AM
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