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Bekah Halle Apr 17
Focusing just on intelligence,
Denies the complete picture;
Overthinking small matters,
Distracts your mind;
Omitting your strength from the full experience,
Disconnects your heart from your soul;
Losing yourself in others,
Deadens your true potential;
Instinctively living is only possible when you
Don’t hide from your truth.
Shame is the slime that obscures your view,
Demolishing the almighty power within.
Hiding was a survival mechanism, but now,
Disentangling from these faulty patterns will bring you true life.
Sadie Grace Feb 5

to open yourself up to be wounded
to spread yourself out
like a target, my heart the bullseye
       easy to spot
       easy to target
       easy to exert your control over

why do I keep falling for it?
                     as something real

something I will not be foolish enough to give away again
Roman Pavel Sep 2023
The only thing that can surpass the grandness of my intellect, is my unrelenting naivety
The only wisdom I lack, is that of experience
I assume all the things that I neglect, in my late latency
But, lately I attest, I’m quit definitely delerious

I want to build grand monuments to loved ones, but I’ve never been an engineer
Pass down grand teachings to my sons
Yet I’ve never been a father, in any year

I wish to love a woman, like no woman has ever been loved before
To tell her irrelevant stories, and only store memories in the drawer.
To take her to places she hasn’t heard of before or even seen.
Create! The things that she can adore and make the chaos serene

I am no fool, I know what I want.
I desire commitment, I long for Freedom and independence
I decided her love for me; I’ll proudly flaunt
But, internally keep it secret, to nurture my own dependence

One day, she noticed that her love for me was gone
And all the little things she loved about me, all of the quirks, and unintentional foolery
Had turned into insufferable character traits, and puzzling conversations
She no longer loved me, and I love her still.

But, I could not love her, the way she wanted to be loved and cared for
And eventually she could not love me as well
She needed to be loved, but only from a distant shore
Her love, in kind, I could not compel

I need to say a million things to you, tell you how I feel, show you how I hurt, and imply what I desire.
I wish to scream, loudly and often, let the air wash away the bitterness from my lips, and try to rekindle the fire.

But, instead. I stay silent, and act benign
And when asked… I say : “I’m doing fine”
Poetoftheway Jun 2023
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men

early up, haunted-stoked~woked by a multilingual sky,
an impish childish creation of an immature god,
inconsistently incapable, of making up his moody mind,
whiny then smiley, cloudless besotted, morphed
into crystalline blue of a well behaved in Sunday best,
warming the souls of the begotten and the misbegotten,
the hardened and the poetic souls, tho he laughs at
himself, for he too is both, curmudgeon and a mr. softee,
whiny child in rapid aging body, wearing of discovery
of new places for to ache, pains that don’t fit med scales
of 1~10, unless it is the Richter Earthquake formulation.

despite all, his eyeballs seethe, immaculate degeneration still
allows the seeing of broad brush paint strokes of the team of
angelic artistes that do the detailing of the palette above,
they, love their big bold brushes that sky swipe atmospheric
residue into 31 Baskin Robbins flavors, with swirls of caramel
chocolate butterscotch that make the man’s complaints whisked
into who-cares-a-**** anyway ice creamery reverie and all
that other stuff disbarred from the aborning morning clarity of
“good morning ole man, where’s my coffee” diurnal tuning that
the women hums, reminding those in the earshot crowd of one,
that s’mores and chores, tasks and at lasts, dogs need walking, gardens watering, cushions  plumping, evening dishes moving from dishwasher onto wallpaper-covered shelves, geese-away-chasing, and loving poetry
by a poetoftheway scribbling…

8:01 AM Frieday, Jun 30
lucidwaking Jan 2023
Eat a deck of tarot cards for breakfast.
Squeeze a little ketchup on the upright hanged man,
And try to figure out where we've gone wrong.

We don't know who we are,
So we try to box ourselves into
Cute little archetypes.
We don't know what love is,
So we kiss, laugh, and cry
Until we're exhausted.
We turn turn the card...
We don't know what to do with our lives.
sorry, i've been posting shorter stuff lately. here's an old one that's been sitting in my notes app for a while. feedback is welcomed!
Jay M Oct 2022
The most clever of disguises.

- Jay M
October 13th, 2022
I romanticize humanity until what's left isn't even human.

I cook up fallacies about legal aliens and add a dash of cumin.

Your chef tosses salads in the pasta section of the grocery store.

Devil's just as confused, with a ***** and an apology at heaven's door.

You don't know, and no one cares where eggs go when they die.

Godzilla thinks of a car full of clowns like you would a sardine pie.

What happens when an elephant gets alzheimer's and loses keys?

Does the paradox consume an entire circus of trapeze-act-fleas?

I ruin birthday cakes by blowing off the frosting instead of the flames.

How I do that? Count backwards from backwards and say my names.

Bittersweet love anthems pollute the brains of conscientious dames.

Heavy metal doesn't pollute, it pacifies rage quitting from soul-******* games.

Out of the woodwork comes a limp ***** that would work,

Long hours only to find he'd pay millions for a Miley Cyrus twerk,

Which is worth about as much as an all-female circle ****,

Unless you add strap-ons, so strap in and lap up the knee-****-smirk.

It is unwise to handle scissors when one is being cutting-edge,

Because your accountants will dangle themselves off of a three-storey ledge,

When you cut up the ledgers and make light of, that is, burn, the evidence of pledge,

To the monkeys in your think-tank mailing feces to the upstart farmer's hedge.

Now I know you're sick of rhyming and of poems and of liver culling whisky,

But I must inform you of a pirate's missing eye, I've bought sight of something risky,

I implore that when this song and dance is done, you'll assuredly miss me,

Because I've told you everything about depravity, hence forth you must kiss me.

Beacons of hope shine much like cantankerous silver in the moonlight.

If you're a werewolf that will fill you with hope and with immeasurable fright.

One day the world will admit that I'm awesome and impoverished to boot,

Because when the song and dance is done, what's left is just an ounce of loot.
Another poem from my vault that I forgot about.
I wrote this poem today, July 20th, of 2015.
Reading this, I was astounded by the wordplay I employed.
There are certain things I've forgotten how to do poetically.

My poems now are more thoughtful, story-oriented, and laced with meaning.
This poem up here is pure play - wordplay, poeticism, rhyme, contrast, shock, mayhem, chaos. When I wrote poems like this, unknowingly, I did my best to dance around meaning. I played with it. Gave my readers just a taste of meaning as I, with comedy, made a spectacle of words.

I loved playing with words to full effect at the time. I was going through a lot of psychic pain. My illness was rampant. Writing helped ease the pain immensely and gave me joy.

I hope this little poem made you laugh as it did me :)


SelinaSharday Aug 2021
By Sharday
"Old Fools"
Old crudes.. appearing as Fools gold. The Irony. When you offer joy and laughter.. and all the best to offer in kindly spoken joyful chatter.
When you only offered a sprinkle of smiles and sunshine's. A regular day by short easy breezes to fellow online unknowns you never ever met in the flesh and briefly known online.
shared with them smiles and sunshine of encouraging crispy apple finds.  To wish they smile with glee and inwardly are filled with bitter unrest.. Unknown to most of us. We only  see the clown painted hidden face. A true face of sunken holes filthy craters in mold. The corrupt soul waiting to unlease it's misery soon as the old fool see, your joyful positivity isn't gonna stay for the foolery.
How you can't be captured, in the web of rotten hell where the Old fool dwells. Just wash your hands wipe your virtual feet from where you ventured and never again there enter.
A fool full of liquor  and utterly bitter all of its own. To whom you never did any wrong. Yet the fool will claim you have. Is a stalker web  crawler, harassing fool.. Report the stalkers  harassing's  obsessing's  words of hate.  The fools mouth of polluted lies disguised as crafted blind leading the blind sorrows.
A brief encounter online in 14 days causes a fool to write so much **** poor chatter.
Obsessive, stalker, old fool, not your muse, move on fool.
Psalms 18:2 "A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion." psalms 18:2
Proverbs 29:2 If a wise man has an argument with a fool, the fool only rages and laughs, and there is no quiet.
Sounds like a abusive deranged so madly insane. Type foolish, type thang. Can't find a away to stop using you in written metaphors. Like his pictures of he wish he had ******.
Keep virtual 911 on hit report speed dial,
this fool seems a virtual danger stranger chillld.
fools online, bitter, people, wounded, stalker, harassers, using hate, obsessed won't move on type fools.
The uniVerse Jul 2021
I could be the biggest romantic in the world
or just the biggest idiot
still trying to figure that out
maybe that makes me the latter
I could have had her
I could have had them all
but pity the fool
that puts heart before pleasure
what is his measure?
is it inches or love
when is too much enough?
are they tears of joy or of pain
I tried to explain I always do
but words are worthless unless true
so here it is my unbridled mind
watch me unwind its music box
the music stopped and now silence
hide me in your quietness, my love
no never mine, I lie
in memory and in bed
with words I wed
what never was
a never love.
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