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Hobbies are there to help distract our minds
Something to take the edge off
Good or bad, taking many forms

My hobbies haunt me
Addiction in disguise
Dragging me down the dark path

I cannot stop
They do their jobs
Keeping me from the thought of you

I have hobbies
Some I cannot escape
I hope you don’t have the same
Happiness is tears of laughter,
video games with your redheaded son,
rescuing a baby ferret to look after,
or telling a ridiculously cheesy pun.

Happiness is a home cooked meal,
your mom randomly giving you a hug,
a Harry Potter sticker on your driving wheel,
or seeing summer's first June bug.

Happiness is your dad being proud of you,
Momma's homemade queso in a crock ***,
an ocean wave so stunningly blue,
or learning how to dance in an empty parking lot,

Happiness is running two miles,
sitting in a pew singing "It is well",
watching the Netflix Ted Bundy trials,
or a collection of Galveston seashells.

Happiness is driving through Spring,
a spontaneous trip to the Houston Zoo,
or twenty percent off a James Avery ring.
But mostly... happiness is me when I'm with you.
Archive that text message
and print out that photo.
Tomorrow isn’t promised
and the future is unknown.

So be a collector of moments
and always hoard the keepsakes.
They’re not just meaningless accessories,
but tangible smiles or heartbreaks.

Movie tickets and keychains,
birthday wishes, and card games.
Photo albums and Summer rain,
love notes and paper planes.

The people in those memories
will come and go over the years.
But they'll be remembered in the saved
tokens of the past or in your nostalgic tears.
Jade Quirk May 29
I was a curious child, as all children should be.

My parents let me keep my dislodged teeth.

I started collecting,

I wanted to have a full smile.

Not only that,

But I had red clay that I made heads with;

How cool, would that be,

If I could make one with a smile?

Needless to say, I didn’t have many friends.

What I had were smiling heads.
True story. I don't think I was a lonely child, just an alone child in her world.
To hold pages
In your hands
Is a world
Awakening

The bubbling brook
On the river's edge,
The fierce knight
Nearing the stone ledge

Mysticism
in the ink,
Lyricism
in the structure.

There is peace
In this,
Reading
Until life
is Colored,
Blurred,
and whole
Again
Arabella B Mar 4
Oh I wish I had a new hobby
I wish I was like others
everyone does such cool things
while I sit on my **** and do nothing
I try to do a hobby, or two but none excite me like they used to
So this is where I ask the people
Please help me with this task
what are somethings you do to help the time pass?
Kim Feb 15
Another Sunday morning
Crouched in the beam of headlights
Steam coming off coffee and breath
Fumbling to pin race bib to pants

A romance
Of sorts; this dance I’m addicted to
Those magic numbers: 5k, 13.1, and
The boss lady: 26.2 (I’m coming after you)
But why? Friends ask
You’re crazy they say on posts
Of me on each early Sunday

I say nothing back, but heart the comment
I can’t explain what the rhythmic pound; the sound
of New Balanced footstrike does
For the broken part of me
How the week’s aggression
That needs suppressing is sweated out
And gathered up in Nike’s moisture-wicking fabric

How weaving through the crowd of neophytes
Wearing today’s race shirt, alternately
Sprinting then walking

And the kids, eager, then over it
The moms reclaiming a body that sheltered
The now-strollered baby
The geriatrics, shoes well-used
Nimble limbs, not brittle but abused
From pounding pavement years before this

This environment, atmosphere
Big race crowds or small informal
Stopwatch race; doesn’t matter
Just involved; a part of this kinship
Unspoken club affiliation; in passing
Not a wave, but nod
A head bob of appreciation
For another’s association;
Obsession with times, miles,
Post-race selfie smiles
Because I know there will come a day
That my body will betray
My runner’s soul.

But for now I stand at the start
Ready for race gun and one more mile
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
I am a mountain babe
They interigue me
Where the normies
Love the beach.

I am a mountain babe
Because it is in my DNA
From thousands of years
It normal for me.

I am a mountain babe
Because I want to climb them
And live amongst
Them.
I used to read
I used to write
Songs,
Stories,
Poetry.

I used to knit
I used to sew
Plushies,
Scarfs,
Roses.

What happened to the days
Where I found enjoyment from the little things?
Why is it now
That what I once loved
Feels like a chore
That tires me,
Bores me,
Makes me contemplate everything.

What happened to my carefree childhood
Where nothing mattered
Other than when I could write
Songs,
Stories,
Poetry?
When I uses to knit and sew
Plushies,
Scarfs,
Roses?

What happened?
And why?
Joshua Horder Feb 2018
The religious chalking of the hands,
The tightening of the thick nylon straps,
Headphones are placed and primed,
Now time begins to lapse.

His mind's eye recites what now must be completed,
Claiming a bench, he sits, he waits, he breathes,
He grasps the ice cold steel and tightens his grip,
Lifting, striving for ten, he pushes, he believes.

The loud clink clinking of solid metal plates,
The sound of great efforts fill the room,
Sweat and tears begin to flow,
Working hard the muscles engage and begin to bloom.

Set after set he keeps pushing forward,
Digging deep into his soul for his much-needed strength,
Tunnel-visioned now as he drives and drives,
Working for that last rep, his arms raising, still at full length.

An hour or more passes and the session draws to a close,
Crunching his abs, he works as the pain stabs into him like a knife,
He knows it's doing him good, it's his mindfulness, it's his time,
He will be back tomorrow for another round because after all, training is life.
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