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It’s been almost a year since you were set free
So much has changed between you and me.
It’s so hard for me to believe all we’ve been through.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to me and you.
My partner forever , my ride or die
You have treated me so badly and I don’t know why.
I wanted so much for your life to turn around.
To be a good daddy to Your little girl and keep her safe and sound.
I hope and Pray you never have to feel this pain I’ve had to endure
I’ve made my mistakes but I’ve remained by your side loyal and pure
I didn’t deserve all the hateful things you said
Why would you ever wish your own mother dead
But through it all I still love you the same
My only son it’s time to be a man and take your own blame
I didn’t teach you to live this way
I taught you a real man earns his money the honest way
Dear God I come to you down on my knees
Help my son lead him the way have mercy on him oh dear god I pray unto you Please. Amen
Prayers are much welcome
Pavlov got something wrong,
because classical conditioning,
is for the classically trained.
I, meanwhile, live halfway between the operant
and the mountain,
and an iron cast bell.
What he didn't realize is that the dogs
cared more to sink their teeth,
into old Ivan
and buy their freedom for a day.
Love that floats on the river grand
Ferry me away to a peaceful land

Trickles of hope happiness dares
Freedom currents carry my prayers

Perhaps happiness lies around the bend
Till then I’ll dream of days of when

©
Jules M 5d
The day before today,
I sulked in silence.
The day before today,
I sat hollow.
The day before today,
I was deeply afraid.
The day before today,
I felt unsafe.
But today,
I am vocal and unquiet.
But today,
I feel everything with intensity.
But today,
I am brave.
But today,
I feel safe.
It's hard for me to understand,
This quick change in stance.
But I don't need to understand,
I just need to enjoy it.
I am going to
Let myself smile,
Let myself have a skip in my step,
Let myself enjoy what I have,
Let myself move on from the past,
Let myself be rash,
Let myself breathe.
Especially let myself breathe.
My breath has been caught for weeks now,
But now I can inhale deeply,
Without a worry, and I feel free.
And free is all I want to be.
So much to take to vibrate in higher states
To liberate what you must pay.
I try to make myself see,
I find emptiness in an invisible sea.
Held, blind, my eyes are not mine,
But the truth is clear ,
But my lips are sealed,
Anyway there is no one to hear.
While i am connected i am leaving symbols maybe someone will read for me my roles.

Words Of Harfouchism
a spark igniting a wildfire.
we occupy, we burn, we bleed
yellow; we're crying tears of pain
from getting kicked down, no time to breathe.
we're fighting a battle against the odds.

let's stand together
under the yellow umbrella
under the dark and gloomy skies.
stand up, add oil, stand strong.

unmasked, we're leaving
square traces of our existence
on walls of conflict built from scratch.
this could be a last stand
but it won't be our swan song.

let's stand together
under the yellow umbrella
under the dark and rainy skies.
they've bled yellow for us before,
now we must take up the banner.
dedicated to the students of hk who are protesting. be water, add oil, never forget what you fight for.
Simon 6d
Frequencies are tough. Frequencies are managed. Two frequencies combine surfaces not existing in one another. Unless strips of different wavelengths are pushing each frequency to each others enlightenment. Nothing judges. Except one binding these apparitions together. A form becoming static too mutual for any compromise. Frequencies become laced with purposes. Easily definable. Never perfect enough for change. Only enough for simple practices. Practices reminding two frequencies of compromise. Compromises aren’t welcome, if one’s purpose is easily definable. If so, then why ask? It’s already staring you right in the face. Proceed with balance! Strips of wavelengths letting frequencies off chains made of static. Finally! One rippling a new focus. Releasing their time and service to entities holding them back. Purpose lays waiting, for all to see. Two frequencies happily definable now. Without change, static doesn’t occupy their purpose. Sparking a judgeable wavelength. Letting you off with a warning. A warning filled with benefits to a newer frequency. One that doesn’t hold frequencies by chains of static. Chains stripping connections between outer wholes. Sparks flying around its properties. Molding your own frequency together. Molding static between ripples of its own actions. Actions feeling the ripples of energy contracting with concern. Movements seeping into another part of itself that wasn’t identifiable. Becoming what wasn’t apart of its own identity. Surging pressure of rippling actions not belonging to itself. Stinging the outer symmetry of ripples. Frequency becoming thoughtless. Submerging into a shocked exterior. Feeling stressed without foreboding it’s purpose. Rippling the caregiver away from its own appreciation. Apparitions flowing misinterpretations. Faltered to a halt! Filling volumes of enlightenment too closed off when trying to supply purpose. Energy is a purpose. Rippling all around each spark to pledge. Pledge what? Pledging a way out! How will it turn out for these rippling fabrics of stationary purposes? Only two halves to a greater wavelength tapping into its own energy supplier.
Frequencies are judgeable when fluent practices run a muck! Only to ones staying broad within perimeters of itself. Only then will things shake moments into the clearing.
Fọlá 7d
In the stables, or in the wild.
In the winter, or in the summertime.
In the shadow of the sunshine,
In the darkness of the cold night.

Free;
The Stallion must ride.
Free;
The Stallion must ride. . .
There is the ancient story of a shepherd boy
whose king outfitted him with armor
to ready him for the challenges of the day
and the boy could not walk
so he threw off the armor
picked up his sling
and tended his father’s flock
with peace and joy freely erupting in song.

My armor is not wealth or wit
I cannot make myself fit
into the current conventions and hype
trying to conform to the normal type
stops up the energies that yearn to flow
freely and gleefully and urge me to go
to the dawn, darkness, clouds and sun
to wrap myself in words that run
like sparkling streams
and windswept dreams.

Poetry is my armor for each day
where worries and problem allay
where I search my feelings and mind
for the word elixir loosening knots that bind.
This armor does not weigh me down
but frees me to my triggering town
where I find and create the poet me
and the landscape of my soul’s poetry.
My favorite book about writing poetry is one by Richard Hugo, Triggering Town where he says, “Your triggering subjects are those that ignite your need for words. When you are honest to your feel¬ings, that triggering town chooses you. Your words used your way will generate your meanings. Your obsessions lead you to your vocabulary. Your way of writing locates, even creates, your inner life. The relation of you to your language gains power. The relation of you to the triggering subject weakens.”
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