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nyant Sep 14
i don't always cope well with life and it's *****,
countless times i slipped and fell,
climbing through the mountains in my mind,
breaking through the chains that bind,
but you were constantly kind.

when i reach the end of my race,
may there be traces of grace,
may you find me with faith,
may you find me with hope,
may you draw near,
make your love ever more clear,
so i may walk the rest of my days free from fear.
Ken Pepiton Sep 13
Fit to be tied to a ligand gated receptor,
mind you,
right there, in the area below our own aptness
to think and do at once, thus we think without
knowing we are


new and old, linked by local nodes arranging ions,
in channels previously lacking bridged interchanges.

Instant one past then,
we re think,
if we remain, persisting at or on some certain point,
may we not, mainly almost completely, be self aware?

The gaps insulating our separate selves, as we imagine,
thoughts outside our heads do remain connected rectly
ortho dexterous… sinister off, right on. Switch,

transcendence, sit zazen intently making bits of this
Inner, breathing conscience, knowing used, to pay
yourself, first

love, neighborly behave, have love as for your self.

I, the boss mind, I, the chooser of destiny from now,
I, ego and id and all, me, you must acknowledge,
I was here when you arrived, in an acknowledged,

innocense, not ignoring a curio juxtaposed, sup-
posed to prompt a why from your own self, why
am I not kind to me.
I am no better than I can imagine proving, to myself.

I must convince me, you are merely watching me be,
in a mind state seeping from a spring I cleaned,
to channel a flow a bit thicker than a seeping…

Sit with me a minute,
measure the brevity,
leave be the reason, I wished to feel you there.
Knowing how I love you, determines the worth
of my own love.
an exercise in flow provocation.
Tomo Sep 11
Alone in a crowd
All heads bowed to pray
I said all the words
the preacher said to say

I followed the rules
Tried to stay in the lines
that were drawn for me
I couldn’t question why

but I’m all out of faith
don’t think I can stay here with you
don’t where to go
don’t think I can know what’s really true

Alone in a crowd
among a thousand faces
all wearing a mask
tryin’ their best to fake it

Just follow the rules
and stay in the lines
don’t let ‘em see you breaking
and don’t you dare cry

but I’m all out faith
don’t think I can play at this no more
don’t know what to do
don’t know what I’m even praying for

I want to know your hear me
I’m so ******* scared
that all that I’ve believed in
was never really there

Did I really know you loved me
was I just puttin’ on airs
oh please just ******* say something, God
I want to believe you’re there

Alone in my room
left with my tears
I read that you catch them
and treasure them dear

Do my cries matter to you
these words that I pray
I’ve got nothing left, Jesus
Please don’t go away
(Language warning) this is to all the kids who grew up in a church that they came to feel as though they no longer belonged in.
"There are a few good men like you", she says.
"Men out there are gods, born to be worshipped
they were told good women aren't created with tongues to talk back
Men out there are tyrants in their kingdoms
they are broken and their women die trying to mend them
blinded by ambition they can't see what's in front of them
and have seen terrible things happen to men like you so they don't believe.
Men out there are burdened by expectations,
they shoulder the shattering weight of society's pressure,
Lost in their minds, they forget to be present...
They're a civil war and the battle sometimes returns with them
fights lost resolved using the punching bag they married at home...
Every step forward, they're pulled five steps back,
Entangled in a web of a perceptions they can't unpack.
Men out there, like caged birds do long to be free,
Yet the bars of expectations deny them the key.
They're deafened by their own silent screams but they refuse
to lean on anyone, after all, growing up they were told big boys don't cry."
xjf Aug 31
It may be that
the purpose,
Is not written into
the program.
Tomo Aug 27
Am I terrified or uninspired?
Am I dreading the process or just tired?
I want there to be meaning
to every pen stroke
Do I want to be impressive, profound, prolific
or do I just want someone to see me

That happened before, a few times
and it always felt like dreaming
yet it was always a fleeting moment in time

God, are you still there?

Do you see me the way those people did
poring over my work and investing in it
telling me what you really think
saying so much more than a passing “that’s good Dill” and then leaving me behind?

Is it good enough for you to like it
Even if it’s technically bad?
Does it get your attention?
Or do I already have your attention?

I can’t use my creativity to make you love me
I never had to
It’s such a thrill for someone to take notice of me when they didn’t have to
But you never had to, never have to
But every moment you notice me, don’t you?


Do you notice me?

Even when my art is bad?

Do you believe I can do better? That taking the time to improve is worth it?

But my improvement doesn’t make you love me more either, nor does my lack of it make you love me less

But I don’t want to be disobedient

I don’t want to keep burying my pens in the sand

I want to love my art the way you love me, unconditionally

I don’t right now, right now I hate it
I hate my limits
I hate the lost time
I hate feeling like an invisible artist
yet I’m terrified to let myself be seen again

But it’s too late for that now

You already see me, don’t you? Warts and all.

And beyond what I could possibly understand
somehow, you like what you see
You love it
You love me

Even when I’m burying myself in darkness
Even when I’m dead inside and hiding from everyone
I can’t hide from you
I never could no matter how I’ve tried

All those wonderful times when people did see me, they saw my talent and my creativity and thought it was worth their notice when I never asked for it

That euphoria of being seen and loved

What if I could live there instead of in the shadows?
What if I could be grateful for what I have?
What if I could see the truth that I’m always seen and known?
What if you’re always celebrating me even when I feel worth the opposite?

Maybe you’re in my heart
always telling me how smart, talented, creative I am
Not lying about my weaknesses but celebrating my strengths

Can I hear it? The sounds of divine celebration?

Can I listen for what’s real instead of tuning that out in favor of the fake?

May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable in your sight
Oh Lord, My God.
On how God sees us in our creativity. Or our seeming lack of it.
Do not read it, you will not like this book, it speaks about your pain,
It reveals your scars, the ones you don't want us to see,
It tells how lonely you are and happy you used to be.
You will not like the reminder that you once really believed in love,
That your heart was a beautiful castle, this book calls it rubble.
Its pages will unfold like the layers of your forgotten dreams,
Revealing the cracks where hope once happily lived .
You'll find remnants of the light that used to dance in your eyes,
Now muffled by the cello tape of countless goodbyes.
This book is a mirror to the cold nights you spend alone,
When only the stars see your tears, and onto your groans the moonlight shines.
and her light sings the melodies of your shattered symphony,
The tune of heartbreak and bittersweet agony.
The stories it holds will reopen the septic you've concealed,
The wounds that time tried really hard but miserably failed to heal.
In these pages, you'll meet the demons you've known,
As the pain within you is a dynamite waiting to be blown.
this book will drug you deeper into the labyrinth of your past,
Aren't you, exhausted from trekking the same miles when you've just washed off the dust?
this book brews with the wrecking storms thought to have passed...
Do not read this book, it will drive you insane...
Carlo C Gomez Aug 16

a desert for us and them,
you can do many things with a blank canvas
--maelstroms, blaze dispersions

a line allows progress, a circle does not,
infiltrates the surface,
flashes into steam

our red cathedral,
our furnace lake,
the promised land in spiritual drought

this catatonic
heaven, a thirst for something more
She is sore, burnt by sparks from the flames of desire
there is no treasure to find in the land far away;
yet, the journey home is as tiring as the stay.
The ocean of opportunity, once pictured in vibrant hues,
stretches before her in muted tones, its waves carrying
not the promises but the weight of disillusionment.
The sky above, once a canvas of dreams, now painted grey with clouds of doubt,
casting shadows on the path she knew, or thought!
The laughter that lingered is drowned by the silence of shattered dreams
The friendly whispers, once a soothing melody, now resound as hollow echoes,
stark reminders of friendships dissolved like mirages in the desert of reality.
The road paved with anticipation is a maze of uncertainties,
each turn leading to a dead end of unmet expectations.
The once vibrant petals of hope have withered,
replaced by the thorns of disappointment, pricking at her spirit with every step.
The starry nights that were supposed to hold her wishes
now seem like distant constellations, beyond her reach,
lost in the vast expanse of unfulfilled aspirations.
The roads of life are perilous now more than ever
for her knight of courage upped and left in the dead of night ...
She can't even tread on the shore of optimism
as what should have been warm sand is a swamp of alligators waiting to bite...
B Elizabeth G Aug 15
I close my eyes. My hand held by the ones I love.

Suddenly, a fading of time occurs. I am warm, like I am wrapped up in a blanket that smells of mom's clean laundry. A Euphoric noise fills my inner ear, trickles into my head and down my face. There is a growing Light, like sunshine behind my sea salted eyelids.

And then, something cold and wet brushes my cheek. My eyes open. There you are wagging your tail before me. "You're home!" Your eyes whisper to me.

Heavy paws now on both my shoulders, your rough wet tongue cannot be controlled as you lick my face from chin to ear.

"I'm Home".
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