V Exeter Aug 6
In the deepest part of this miscut meat,
an ancient reverberation
of a dripping beast
releases a silent scream
in the name of my salvation.
Greetings:
Nice to meet you, Anger.
I wonder where you precisely live;
where it is that you get your start?
Are you ancient, too?
If so, are you, Anger, a result of that virgin wound?
Do you, then, complete me?
In the deepest part of my miscut meat,
I release a muffled scream
from the throat of my soul, six feet deep,
under internal dirt.
I wish that I could say,
"That's history."
Krishnapriya Jul 3
Is life a journey
A seeking
A destination
Almost there, but always
Just a little far
Away
In the near horizon

Or

Is life a song?
Music with highs and lows
We dance fast or slow
With a smile or tears
But dance, nevertheless
Each moment is
What it is – a destination
Complete and fulfilled

Like each note of music
And each step of dance

Tell me beloved friend
What do you think of life?
A journey or a dance?
T'yana Thomas Jun 18
When you were just a  little person what did you want to be ?
We’re you motivated to strive for what you see?
Doctor Lawyer  Business owner or Actor ; take your pick
But as you gotten older you realize it’s not that easy to get
Ambitious you are you’ll do what it takes
You close your eyes and Dream cause you’ll be there one day
Knit Personality Jan 2015
Love, I demand you leave me here alone!
Molest no more my eyes with fantasies!
Gather your tears and pins and sicknesses,
And fly, never to retrace the flight hence flown!
Donate to other dogs my every bone...
Blow them away, the busy birds and bees...
And wishes that I've whispered on the breeze...
And fly as Icarus flew—until you drown!
To burn to ashes daily by desire,—
To reach for flowers but somehow pluck but weeds,—
If ever somehow these appeared my needs
Nor do I any more these things require.
Release me from the sinf'lly bitter strife
Of vain yearning!  Grant me a happy life!
Dw1234 Jun 5
Safely behind a wall of glass
I can see the life outside
Existing beyond, but told
the grass is not always greener

Wood walls, remain safe
Desks, continue to produce
Results, the resources gained
Coffin, the inevitable result

To take the door, or continue preparing?
For what do I risk from remaining?
Gain to never use
Use to never gain

Living without smiling
Surrender to postponement
The itch to run, the fear to arrive
Opportunity versus Opportunity Cost

What are the profits of opposite?
Green bills or memories?
Do they exist only apart?
Execute for profit, execute for joy

Creating equilibrium
A life long journey of seeking
To grin often in the faces
of those who have most
rjh Jun 4
you deserve a lover that treats you like the hot sun on their skin. someone who will open themselves entirely just to let you in. a love like rain, soft and gentle; a love like hurricanes, violently passionate. a lover that never imitates the snow. all you want is that sunshine again.

you deserve a gentle lover. selfish enough to want you all to themselves, but not too selfish that they become self-centered. you deserve a lover with a tongue like honey to drip sweet words and sweet kisses on all of the things that you once feared to be too bitter. a lover that runs their fingers in circles at the nape of your neck so you can fall asleep at night. a lover that opens the door when you knock.

you deserve persistent love. not scattered messages and drunken phone calls at four in the morning. but rather, love letters and calls in the evening because your voice is the thing that soothes their soul best. love so fulfilling and reassuring you never have to worry. not even for a moment.
see also: all of the things i could not give you
Jack S May 4
How come one can pass through a day believing that he has at least seen and achieved mediocre happiness to arrive home and realize his sadness?
A sadness of sorts. Not really sad. More lonely
Though he is self-driven (something his parents and piano teacher are quite proud of)
And yet?
Yet he cannot find fulfillment.
He brinks on the edge of smart individual to scaling the wall of genius
He attempts all things at his disposal and excels to the top of his pond only to look over the edge and see the vast ocean of bigger and better fish
His self-motivation pushes him to yearn for the ocean, the means for his fruition
Even if he was to reach the ocean, gain some weight and eventually become the biggest fish of his kind his satisfaction would not be present
No
The self-motivational man is plagued by eternal shortcomings in the fields of self-satisfaction and self-love
He holds no value for the compliments and praises that he receives from his loving parents
The love displayed toward him do not present an argument valid enough to convince his deductive mind that he is worthy of self-love
His scars become trophies and his trophies a pile of garbage.
His greatest sadness is that he sees a way to fulfillment
Just before him
He could reach-out-and-touch-it should he try
He wants nothing more than to stretch his hand forward and accept the path to love: the path to happiness: the path to satisfaction
And yet?
He cannot bring himself to grab it.
He reaches his hand forward again and again. The ethereal means within his grasp. And yet he cannot take hold.
He cannot hold it because this power before him is greater than him
Everything he has done so far has been done by him and now he must sit back and receive the ethereal grace?
He must surrender
He must not be driven by himself but instead a higher power and although he recognizes the authority of the higher power he does not submit to it
He yearns to be in its presence
And yet?
He cannot surrender for to surrender to it is to deny everything he has ever known.
To accept its grace he must be made new
He must be born again
Until he surrenders entirely (most likely in a long time for the self-driven man is stubborn) he shall experience the lonely dissatisfaction which already plagues him
Until he surrenders entirely his happiness will only be mediocre and fleeting
Disappearing as he walks through his front door and even more intense during the minutes of isolation that he showers each night
And so he passes through life master of nothing, poisoned, for he cannot deny who he is to accept an antidote which he knows is supreme.
my yellow
basket went
mash and
my tissue
twinges thee
there on
ring but
bard in
mine 'twas
graft that
mud came
a peace
fulfillment that
didn't regret
intake of
grizzly and
movable feast
She was like the wind.
A chaotic storm
in perfect harmony
with her inner mother Earth.
She was the soil
and everyone that knew her
grew to love the way
she influenced their roots
to reach beyond their stem's end.
She was the fire in the sun
and the warmth
that fueled passion and rage;
lust and yearning.
Her hands were the petals of roses.
Soft and sweet
but guarded by the thorns
of a much darker truth.
For she was so beautiful
that no one could look past it
and see the ugly
that consumed her thoughts.
The depression
and moments of weakness
flaring in the womb;
giving birth to the pain
that crippled the smile
of even a goddess.
I saw beyond the beauty
that was her existence
and peered into her
mangled soul in awe.
How majestic
were the pieces
as they fell like words from her lips
and landed at my feet.
For you.
I have found her
within the chaos
within the dense, saturated cover of the human malady
she fell to me
when I had feared that the connection was lost
emotion that fires straight to what is left of our souls

funny how truth can be so clear in love
yet so distant, so muddled in life

I have found her
and she has found my heart
still beating,
my dreams
to be awakened
my hopes to be fulfilled
when carried
into the fray
oldie - revised
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