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Man Mar 11
It's humbling to look
Up at the stars, the
Gorgeous night sky.
Humbling to think,
Someone revoling one of those stars
Is staring back at me.
If there's one thing to never grow out of, it's gazing up.
I S A A C Aug 2021
money, fame, glory
Childhood was so rough the only option was to come up with a story
Adulthood came early and taught me to be discerning
But in a world full of colour hues its easy to pick the shivering blue
Fell into a whirlpool, a black hole so dark my memory vanished
But these lessons I learned taught me to survive in famish
So I worked for the juxtaposition because I deserve lavish
So stunning and blessed I came to be
Never let that light die in me
I knew I would make it with the right opportunities
So I learned how to be hardworking and ambiguities
A humbling story and sometimes sad
But I am grateful and cherish moments I will always have
But I moved on, looking good, getting back
Everything they took from me I used to have
Greta Peden May 2021
I find these days my head bows down,
Lost in trees which bear no roots around.
We all continue to strive for their peaks,
That we might find the validation we believe speaks.
Because in a forest of hard line and concrete,
We think all there is, is a standard to meet.

Our bodies are young, but our souls are so old,
And craving some place wild and bold;
Where the forest which hems is ancient with moss,
And the rivers carve streets no foot can cross.
Tall mountains send out the wake up call,
That every man and woman will fall.

At the end of the day, the wild remains,
And strives to survive through mans foolish claims.
Yet I am lost to the toil and to the strife,
Of simply trying to make it with my life.
But make it where? As what? And why?
Because I try to escape the fact that all will die?

No solace can be found in the wealth of a king,
But give me a glimpse of an eagle on wing,
Amongst valleys and coasts where few eyes see,
Where the snow melts and brings new life to be.
A morning crisp with dew, and a chorus of song,
Some place wild where our old souls belong.

So short-sighted, so corrupt and insincere,
We try and conquer all that we claim to hold dear.
Even though we are but fleeting on a beautiful plain,
We are determined to burn, to clear and contain.
What if we were to become who we could be,
Honouring and reverent of all that is unbound and free?

To feel insignificantly small again,
That is the amazing gift of summit and glen.
A simple reminder that we are all but participants,
Not gods, completely unaware of our littleness.
Sitting in awe of the symphony of life abounding,
Lost in our utterly magnificent surrounding.

So I choose to take to the trails, the ridges and paths,
Which lead to the furthest and cosiest hearths;
To meet other wandering souls who have left behind,
The confusion and delusion of a self-obsessed mind.
And be prepared to lose and find myself again,
Away, into a wild embrace, her rugged domain.

My soul cries for freedom, some vision to see,
New life bursting as a bud on every tree.
Swept up in the miracle of a tale much bigger,
Than the measurable wealth of my yearly figure.
For in the wild, can be found the perspective I need,
For my searching soul to truly be freed.
Rickey Someone Oct 2020

You’re everything that I need,
But are you all that I need?
I question if I even trust you anymore…
Oh Lord! I’ve been here before.

So I’m back where nothing’s new,
Reflecting on how much I believe You.
Last time I argued – put up resistance.
Yet You don’t punish my insolence.

I can be confused and frustrated with You,
So You have to be real and true.
You are not able to be defined,
So you must not be my own design.

God, You engineered my systems,
To pump life through me like pistons.
And I stand before You shaking my fists,
When You control whether my body exists.

But You love me! You tolerate my witlessness.
And I respond – as if taking my first steps –
With downhearted repentance. Lord, I’m sorry,
Without Your blessings, I’d be left in sorrow.
That Girl Aug 2020
Saying sorry is the hardest word to say in the english language.
Saying sorry is a humbling experience.
Saying sorry takes courage.
Saying sorry requires your own feelings to take a back seat.
I hate the word sorry.
At least I hate saying it.
I want to erase it from my vocabulary.
I say it too much.
I tend to apologize when it’s not entirely my fault.
I usually say sorry when I want to “save” a relationship.
Or at least try to make it better.
And it’s not even romantic relationships.
It’s friendships, family, etc.
I felt like saying sorry would change things.
I felt like that maybe if they saw me put forth the effort to make it work then they would too.
I thought that if I said sorry that they would say sorry too.
I was wrong.
Every time I said sorry no one said it back.
I took responsibility for my actions,
why weren’t they taking responsibilities for theirs?
I know I was in the wrong,
but I wasn’t the ONLY one in the wrong.
Why am I always the one to take the blame?
I thought saying sorry was supposed to make me feel better.
Why do I feel worse?
I’m tired of being the only one who is sorry.
I want to live my life unapologetic.
From now on the only thing I’m sorry for is not being sorry.
Sorry not sorry.
Rickey Someone Jan 2020

Why do I shrug off their compliments?
I hate words of affirmation,
I don’t know how to react or what to say,
But they’re exactly what I need.

Without praise, I’d feel worthless,
But positive public attention is almost worse.
I feel puffed up or manipulated.
But is humility shooting down an applauding crowd?

“Shut up and say thank you,” they tell me.
That’s how to master humility.
So I’ll take what I can get,
And I’ll work at giving it in return.

I have so much love inside,
That I’m afraid to show.
But blasting out compliments,
Is hardly the wrong way to go.
Rickey Someone Oct 2019

Why would I make an innovation,
If I knew it would fail?
Why would I design a life,
If I knew it would die?

Why would I train someone,
If I knew they would betray me?
Why would I Invest money,
If I knew the market would collapse?

Why would God love the world,
If He knew it would hate Him?
I can’t imagine how much love,
It took to turn His back on His Son.

I surely don’t love the world,
Shoot, I barely love myself somedays.
I guess that’s why;
Why I’m not God.
Love is like a bottle with
the lid ******* to tight.
Try so hard to twist
and pry it open
but it spills all over and
then it feels like a glass half full
and a waste of -

Love is like a weird transition,
never know when it's coming, but
when it does, it just feels right.
Erin Aug 2013
I was doing it

Because I thought about it,
I thought of
David Levithan
and his books
and I thought of
Alex Sanchez and
HIS books,
I thought about
Julia Anne Peters and
HER books.

And after I was done
thinking I realised
I was doing what
I hated.

Boy meets Boy isn't
a gay story.
It's a story about love.

Keeping You A Secret
is not a
lesbian love story,
it's just a love story.

Rainbow Boys Trilogy is not
a gay trilogy it's
a story about growing up and
getting along and
being in love and
being scared and
being stupid
and being brave
and being

I'm just thinking about them as
being about gayness because
they are gay,
even if you take away everything they
are love

Love Is The Higher law--
about 9/11.

I Am J--
Being yourself--
a common theme.

Wide Awake--
finding courage and
finding yourself.

All these books,
and I've been looking at them
W R O N G.

I mean,
ten years ago
Boy Meets Boy
Keeping You A Secret
Rainbow Boys
was a
H U G E D E A L,

but now...
so much.

Maybe it's from living in a
household where gay
didn't exist,
Don't get me wrong,
I still want a book about
a character living in a
fantasy world or
utopia as a..
clone, maybe.

Or a dragon slayer.
August 28, 2013 /itsjusterin
Melanie Kate Nov 2010
Moments like these racing through me:
Looking out the bus window,
stacks of lights
in square, blinded blocks of cement.
Golden trees
turning brown and barren.
But moments like these,
I'm miles away, I'm someplace else.

Moments like these passing me by:
As I wonder through streets,
alleyways wafting in dark sewerage;
Seafood bistros glaring at me.
My hips sway, my feet sink
into exotic sand, sunshine warm.
Floating effortlessly along the dead concrete,
opening my tiny door; this nutshell abode.

And I can’t breathe here
without moments like these.
They are the broken pieces
of my longing heart.
Slowly keeping me together
in these moments’ reality.

Moments like these, slipping, speeding away:
Like endless traffic in angry madness,
in cities that awaken in darkening hours.
The tranquil silence in my heart
guides me to your faces.
One by one I dream for each;
For all the things we want, the good things we need;
For happiness, love, success.
Each thought embedded, embroidered
into moments like these:
Sitting on a bed, millions of miles away,
a cold, rainy day –
A heart beating for moments not these.

(c) Mel D.  Ltd. 2010
(C) MKD 2010
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