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Caage Gaber Sep 28
Lines map my rough palms.
My nails a jagged notched path,
My hands a trek of bronze.
I wonder if my curious hands are searching or being searched...?
Niharika May 31
There was a Young girl Rose,
Who used to had a big nose;
Everytime  she lied,
Her nose became thrice,
Oh! That poor girl Rose
Ricky Parker Apr 10
What am I?

While listening to the song forgive, I did not realise it would affect me so much but guess what it did. It feels like life around me is crumbling, heart is breaking and everything is not what it seems like. I had stopped writing for days because everyone around me seemed better somehow, better in this language, better in grammar, better even in expressing whatever was in my mind. I grew up avoiding the person I was and always focused on what I want to be. I still find it hard figuring it all out. Nineteen year old teenagers who I grew up with suddenly seem so mature and complicated while I look into the mirror. I see a person struggling to breathe even though it's one of the easiest things to do. I am sorry for everything I say because deep inside of me a person keeps criticizing all my actions and I keep hitting backspace to all the words I thought i should never write, I am angry, I feel hurt but there it's directed to no one, not even myself. I want to keep asking questions and get no answer, because the answers make me feel more complete than I already feel I am. The red and blue bars under the words I write show how incorrect I am. I genuinely wish in life my actions also had these lights guiding me, but all I have is insane conversation in my mind all end up on one thing, I am never the person I think everyone deserves.
Deep breathing and closing my eyes wishing it all goes black so i can forget it all, i write as though i have gone through some big tragic event and i pray to god, i really wish i had at least then i will have something to blame but right  now i only have this unsettled feeling running through my body.
I am trying, I really am. But i keep getting hurt, nobody tells you how many scars you need to stop feeling the pain. At Least Icarus had a sun to fly to, why don't I have anything to look at?
I go silent on my own and want this world to stop and yet I crave for someone to come give me attention. I don't know what I have become like, someone who regrets every step she takes.
I do not know how to stop feeling this hate or to start feeling that true happiness. Why after moments of my greatest achievement I feel, someone else deserves it. Not me.
I really wish i could stop crying and running around circles. Is it bad to ask the genie in the aladdin's lamp how i can stop this all. I don't know what am I supposed to do while I want to ask the question about life, the grand design, i want to  just close myself in a dark room and howl like a dog, i am scared of myself sometimes, how can someone feel so much pain without any trigger ever. It makes me question this pseudo self i put myself into. What am I? Why am I this way? Give me something to blame, some label to justify this. Some therapy to fix this because right now it all feels the same, Incomplete and drowning.

Ricky Parker
Gorba Mar 9
I want to share
I want to give and receive
I want to dare
I want to leave.
Gorba Feb 18
Somewhere between the unknown and “déjà vu”
To make connections, is something one must do
To remember and then conceive an accurate depiction
Of what our senses expose to our brain’s interpretation

Speech is silver, silence is gold
Is listening to what we’re told
More important than saying what we know
To improve a level so far, frustratingly low?

Start easy and grow gradually in complexity
The key to express oneself with ample clarity
Alleviating the risk of dreadful incomprehension  
Slowly unleashing the grasp of one’s imagination

Learning something new and interesting
On an hourly, daily, monthly or annual basis
What else could be even more exciting?
Maybe being in the desert and recognizing an oasis?

I want to share
I want to give and receive
I want to dare
I want to live.
About learning and exploring a new language.
God's hand sprinkles this dust
That ever so gleams, glitters, glistens
Mind dust, stardust, what is it?
A gift from the Master
To teach us  great beauty of thought
The loveliness of the mind.
Not tangible unless put into action of course
We retrieve the joy of those mindful thoughts
The brightest ones that dance and play.

What can my Master do today with them I pray
Where will He take them, how will He use them
My thoughts and me
I am but clay at the potters wheel
Using my mind He will create daily a new vessel
Placing a new and right spirit, a thought within me.

Love, joy, happiness and peace are the way
Think on these things he doth say.
Whatever is true, lovely and pure that I may
With great pride not delay
Praising my Saviour everday
For stardust, sparkling, ever so lovely mind dust
Has come to stay.

The End
During an illness I continued to write about the beauty, depth, power and traveling of the mind. How God uses our minds to bring captive not only our thoughts, but His thoughts as well.
Aaron E Jan 23
Each is given their canvas
Open air along the brief respective flashes of time
We whittle gasping attempts at a connection

With only any placeable frames that we’ve collected
Hammer dissonance to Xanadu

Feather in the contrast as a method of description

or discretion.

Building a context

heft upon a quickly fading gust
Just a divvied introduction of trust as a reflection.

Left as signal threading the reverence into message

Let me bury symbols in code and seed a weapon.

Let me choose a frame and build a picture growing out to the edges
Filling seconds with deference
Knowing breath is the setting, for where the grey areas are

Levy loosening gaze, and form a tinctured impression of the glimpse I’ve incepted, though the lesson I’m guessing won’t fare to carry the cadences very far.

Tarry not for fear of ones inept reflection, bury not thy fierce direction.

Into the void.
Into the depths.
To build the frame.
To will the question.
I’ve been doing more of these on my phone, due to time constraints. I’m hoping it doesn’t affect the formatting negatively.
John Brown Jan 8
cover up, boy!
for it is cold this summer
and shed your dashing coat in time
for the leaves will rise in fall.

a brisk pace is all I need, father.
warmth this summer, breeze in fall.

cover up, child!

keep him safe.
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