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Sirad Jul 2020
Where are you from?
My answer is
Does it matter?
This question requires a five part answer

Where are you from?
When you say from?
Do you mean -
The road travel by me or my mom?

Where are you from?
If I say Somalia?
Will you leave it there?
Or ask me if I belong to the north, east or the south?  

Where you from, your accent is unfamiliar?
I know, language is imperative
when you're lost.

Where are you from?
The answer is nowhere
I am stranger to places
no matter where I call home.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
Ask Peter Pan!

Lives of make believe,
Pretty **** good!
Path Humble Jul 2020
~for Dante Rocio, who shares visions~

-from where does inspiration come from?

from
intimacy with the inanimate,
the population of objects,
coarse, beauteous that provoke,
the museums, the gutter, the worn,
the just unrealized, imagined,
from
learning to speak hearts
to speak the heart language

from
from animated blood, eyes, taste buds,
when you pass thru the molecules of me,
by contact real or imagined,
desperation, satisfaction organic,

from
where do these questions arise,
the answers as well,
they are tangible, yet intangible,
even

from,
a notion indistinct,
an untraceable path,
hidden routers,
deflecting reflecting,
even a current direct,
invisible to the naked

from where?

a fair question,
answers, unreliable,
for in the forming,
the froming
is always
transfigured,
distorted

June 2014
Àŧùl Jul 2020
We both are eager to meet,
How beautiful the day will be,
We can, right now only, imagine.
Let me inform you to avoid my scars,
Through my eyes, I offer a gateway,
A gateway to the brighter future.
Focus on my eyes, not the scars.
My HP Poem #1865
©Atul Kaushal
Unpolished Ink Jul 2020
Grass grows much faster
After a shower of rain
Embrace the raindrop
Ileana Amara Jun 2020
𝐼'𝑚 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑖𝑛' 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝, 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛' 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒
hold me close, I don't want to feel in love yet alone
a tattered young soul, dressed in sad monochrome

𝐷𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛' 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑠, 𝑛𝑜𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑔𝑜
feeling lost, counting streetlights as the wind blow
perhaps on a midnight search of a heart's afterglow

𝐹𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒
breathing in love as romantic gothics fell on the floor
tired eyes of a restless lover fighting a nonsense war

𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤
but all good and worthy things come after a beautiful woe
caressed my wounds and scars, from where flowers grow.

IA
Inspired by the song "Leaning on Myself" // Anna of the North.
Miles Graves Jun 2020
Sinking in a stifling room, sunken eyes
Staring at sights that were never seen,
I torture this being that was once me.

With tarnished skin taunting, innocence
Inflamed, I lose myself to that madness
And in this demise, I dwell, desperately.

No more energy can I embrace, no more
Can people force forgiveness on my failings -
In this worthless state, so weak, I plead that the breath begone.
Andrew Rueter Jun 2020
I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit
taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw
after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw
because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God.

I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers
only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger
directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger
letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder.

I relinquished my rightful place
to the bank’s Crippler Crossface
taking everything until I lost grace
going into a holocaust craze.

I’m upset about the places I can’t go
because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando
when I ask the referee for a hand though
he just responds with a ****** no.

I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh
now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays
as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage
to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage.

I gave up teaching class to my sister
to fight an *** who’s a mister
whose slaps can blister
so he blasts this spinster.

The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero
so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero
after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs
I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero.

I start to take steroids
because there are boys
whose terror noise
impairs my poise.

I go all out performing flying headbutts
fighting until I see the dead’s guts
exterminating enemies like bed bugs
but then I start to dread hugs.

Now I assume a stranger’s spite
so I can immediately fight
I’m swallowed by night
wearing these tights.

In my rage I **** my wife and son
now my anger is no longer fun
even if it came from their gun
it’s me who’s the loneliest one.

I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind
fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines
until I can’t find any grand signs
and I’m anger defined.
Path Humble Nov 2014
a series of random questions
all asking,
some ending in,
a few beginners,
where from...

from where,
do the haters come from?

the pleasure of mass ******,
in what gene,
from what cell, possessed,
that you seek it as a life's rationale,
so easy?


from where,
derived
the notion that you,
politician professional
behind closed doors,
bend over to the private interest
your public pretense,
couched lies,
the idea mocking me,
you know what's better
fraud,

from where,

did this despotic greed arise?

from where,
this endless depression,
a session with no end,
don't recall the beginning,
whence the end,
where the end,
freedom from it,
climb out from Joseph's pit,
the exit come
from?

from where,

does inspiration come from?

from
intimacy with the inanimate,
the population of objects,
coarse, beauteous that provoke,
the museums, the gutter, the worn,
the just unrealized, imagined,
from
learning to speak hearts
to speak the heart language

from
from animated blood, eyes, taste buds,
when you pass thru the molecules of me,
by contact real or imagined,
desperation, satisfaction organic,

from where,
from where do these questions arise,
the answers as well,
they are tangible, yet intangible,
even

from,
a notion indistinct,
an untraceable path,
hidden routers,
deflecting reflecting,
even a current direct,
invisible to the naked

from where?

a fair question,
answers, unreliable,
for in the forming,
froming is always
transfigured,
distorted

so let's agree,
the
mother, mater, matters not,
of from,
unsolvable, soluble,
the origin, source,
the river-head is a wasted search

only the acts of yours,
even/or the poems,
all realized ~
undeniable

from you, your hand

that is the only answer to
a question,

from where,

wherein from
comes both,
the contained,
and the
uncontained.
Mayara Giorno May 2020
Shower in my blood

I feel your heat

my simmer

We are far

far from love


But I’m falling

at landing

will there be a pillow?


Crocodiles ****

but you can torture

you have more power

over me than you realize


Power struggle


You always win

because I ******* let you


But I don’t want to let you, anymore

because I’m a ******* shark


I’ll bite your ***** off

and leave your timber.
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