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David Bojay Dec 2019
Practice “my” traits
Allow the knowledge to flow
I make my food
Servings of protein
Driving alone
Up and about to nowhere
My days seem endless
Distant in my room
Awaken when I see myself perform my life
But is life everything and everyone if we’re all reflections of ourselves

Performing this experience in the now... we are the crowd and dancers

I am you
But my thoughts conquer and the surface is all I see
My ego doesn’t understand
I want to love it so that it shrinks

I’m full from my meal
I miss Sabrina, my dear friend
I’m on this journey, and you’re still in it too somehow
Beauty is when the mind ends
When you just are with what’s infront of you

Cultivating in this state of loneliness

Collecting information
I don’t want to work tonight
The people will dance to the music
I’ll dance to our lives
But still playing my role
Shake my head right

Everything is happening in one moment
Sometimes it’s
Sometimes it’s
You know
Either or... it still is... “is”

When it all collapses, your spine tingles
I love my family
I love myself more these days, but it’s hard
My thoughts fall into the processors
Some seem to be “important”
I’m practicing my life
I’m experiencing it all in one
In one breath
I shift in and out
But it’s always there
Either way, I cherish the emotions
The downfalls
The glory moments

I come back to myself
I come to back to all
Behind the curtains
Behind the show
Behind the producers
Behind the mind
Underneath it all
In peace
Dancing in the stillness of it all
So much to think
They come and go
But some are part of me, they are stitched into my mind
I’m going to drink some coffee
This one is everywhere
But inside me
I miss myself sometimes
But I’m wrong to
This is fresh
I’m getting used to the handles of this acceptance
A follicle in an ocean
Vessels of ideas walking the earth, ******* each other
CP Aug 2018
I use men over and over again
and they don't mind
I'm humane and kind
I don't cross boundaries
I'm just a guest
we both know it and it's already been addressed.

When he undressed me he didn't ask about my father.
When he kissed me he didn't press into my heart
because that place is very ****** dark.

I use men over and over again
to feel something
to have fun
it doesn't really matter,
because we're all agreed, this is something we both need.

But you pushed and shoved, smashed and cannonballed my wall,
I didn't want you to ask or see behind my mask,
And even though I fought this fight with laughter against your shooting questions,
you pushed and shoved against my door to find out more.

You were sweet I must admit, romantic and gentle,
but there is a reason everything is compartmental.

because when you left the next day you didn't stop to check the doorway,
where you carelessly left behind my open heart and eyes.
I didn't want to share my insides because as you walked away you didn't check to see what damage you had done.
Asking questions you didn't want the answers to.

I use men but I don't ask more than I'm ready to receive,
and they agree I'm not trying to deceive,
but you blew the doors of pandoras box and left me with the mess
that I now have to try and repress
acacia Jun 2018
part i. what does death taste like? (“death is a part of life.” it doesn’t have to be)

i haven't visited that side of me in a while. i forgot how death felt -- how voyeurism felt.
the queasiness used to give me a rush, the asphyxiation made me blush.
the decaying yellow was complementary, and the edge made me feel, dare i say, alive.
while i’ve been a toddler again, i’ve forgotten the taste of wine and the texture of bread.
i no longer noticed how soft, ripe my flesh was. i no longer noticed the grime that piled
beneath life’s fingernails. i washed my hands so often, i assumed everyone else did, too.
my eyes became filled with tears, and my cheeks went ashen. yet, his brows were knit,
his eyes were cold, his mouth in a comfortable frown. he questioned me (as if i was
irrational for crying over a death), his tone heightened (while his conscience declined).
his eyes decline when he feels his conscience die. but he says it only happens when
he doesn’t look me in the eye. when he looks me in the eye while he cuts off my air,
he’s aware. he’s careful not to take it away permanently (he has a limit). when he looks
at me, he sees me, his angel. and trees do fall; leaves break away; soil does dry out;
flowers wilt; and we come back.

part ii. tea

more and more i search for quality. for quality.
peace. i want life’s beauty. i want life’s deliverance; i want what gaia has left to give.

the more i think, the more i feel.
i want the grit, pain; to be used and abused.
masochistic: please me by using my body to vent. remind me of what that iron taste is.
take away and then give.
my throat (a lifesource) -- take away and give back.

part iii. samsara/nirvana

freedom from samsara.
this cycle of death.
no, i won’t live forever; i’ll ascend far past immortality. beyond life, beyond death.
no. life and death. those two words have no value. no longer hold weight. are not real.
i exist solely as an entity, a matter, a collection of stardust and dirt. dense white matter
protecting throbbing pink matter. deconstructed. abstract. conceptual, theoretical
matter. we aren’t sparse. “we” are not. we are fleeting, made up complexities; making
life difficult. “we”. me. “i am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.”
samsara. nirvana. liberation. no more “cycle”, no more rotation. existing in a pile. no alive,
no dead. these words don’t exist. no ring around you. no ties to you. no chains on you.
drifting, floating, sliding through (no beginning or end) tranquility.
a three part poem i wrote because i saw someone hang themselves. about suicide, death, life, i guess. another deep existential night! just my thoughts eh. i also quoted the beatles! “i am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.”
EmperorOfMine May 2018
Have you ever heard the saying, If you play with fire, you're bound to get burned?

Well, to me, I think it's just as bad as touching the hot water. The difference is that, if you do not have control over the water, you can't really tell the difference of whether it's cold or hot until you touch it.

Now don't get me wrong, you could probably feel that tiny whiff of heat or cool air, but it's not as easy as looking at a fire and thinking it'll be hot.

So, why am I telling you this...

Well, water is the same color, whether hot or cold.

Cold water does not hurt you as quickly as hot water, yet it still hurts.

People are like hot water.

Life is like cold water.

And you...your soul...conscious, if you don't believe in those, that's lukewarm.

Cold water can feel really good when thirsty,
And hot water feels good when bathing,

But lukewarm's simply lukewarm.

Not bad, but not good.
EmperorOfMine May 2018
My eyes feel the unfortunate kiss of the sunlight

Man, it burns so fricking much when I try to grip onto woke

I anxiously glance at the time even when I have no plans or promises

I wonder what day it must be

Climbing out of bed without a routine can be bittersweet

It's as grand as going to work every day other than payday

But what's the most unfortunate thing about the morning light

It's the fact that yesterday happened

You can't wake up and see that everything was just a dream

Funny, I could've sworn this already happened before...

It's like the world is trying to tell you something

Hey bub, did you know that hell is just tiny build ups of agony and then never remembering those agonies happened. Over and over again, you're living in it.

Who would have thought I'd be mourning in the morning...

I'm too tired for this

I should probably go back to sleep...

Maybe when I'm gripping woke again...

Maybe it'll be the evening.
Aryan Sam Mar 2018
Me bi u **** pathar dil bAn jana
Thoda time
But possible he
Candlelight is romantic, unless
you're in a dungeon.

Context changes everything.

Context makes you look down
at the bridges you build and realize
they are plywood: thin, cheap, but
soggy enough from this rain that
they're impossible to burn.

Realism is a myth. Everyone has a lens.

People believe what they want to believe,
or they believe the worst. Sometimes they
alternate, tense and relax at all the wrong
moments, a sigh of relief before the crime
has been committed.

Everyone loves a hero until they are up
against them.

The unforgivable becomes forgivable
in the right context, ****** as self-
defense, or in war. Fear and arousal
provoke identical symptoms in the body.
Sometimes the boundaries bleed together.

Sometimes ethics surrender in the face
of love.
Sam Dec 2016
I know I was wrong.
Am I ever going to forget? No.
Still, my mind races, everyday.
In the past, I never saw myself at this point.
Love is strong, Love is powerful,
With anyone, or anything, especially family.
You are the only thing keeping me sane.
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