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It’s all Choreography, you see,
How I know just what to say,
How I smile at your life,
My enthusiasm about your new boo.
Don’t worry,
Don’t worry,
Don’t worry your perfect little head,
About my loss,
About my body,
About my hair.

It’s all Choreography, you see,
I’ll probably tell you about the one good day,
Some award I won for being nice,
And spew some pseudo-intelligent *******
But I know
Oh, I know
I know all too well you’ll see through me

It’s all Choreography, you see,
I’ve been training since I was five,
It’s meticulously planned
And executed flawlessly as
Warm hugs, laughs, kind eyes and sweet, sweet words.

It’s all Choreography, I know
I’d rather do this,
Because,
I dance alone anyway!
I
almost died then,
A newcomer to love's enchanting light,
With a soul untouched, a world yet to be seen,
I plunge headlong, into the ocean's heart,
Caution I flung away, with a defiant stroke,
**** I gargled with water, and spit,
Wisdom's counsel, I stubbornly ignored,
My freedom I traded, for love’s promised land,
In that embrace, bonds quickly took their hold,
Eight years a blink, and all I held was gone,
I lost myself, and all I thought I’d be,
The meanings I’d nurtured, turned into a wail.
The weight I carried, felt heavier than bone,
My first love lost, a wound that cut so deep.

A
beacon of hope, where darkness had remained,
My life’s compass recalibrated and true,
Sixteen years cemented, a friendship built to last,
A friendship etched in hues, that time could not erase,
A masterpiece of moments, and memories,
A spark ignited, in the heart’s inner core,
Two souls entwined, and wanting something more,
And yet, when push came to shove,
And the winds of wrath blew, our fragile bond did break,
Shattered like glass, our trust lay frayed,
The paths diverged, a story foretold,
A love grown cold, that warmed our hearts no more.
Again I teetered on the edge, of life’s abyss,
My second fall out of love, the abyss once more in sight,
A second blow, extinguishing what felt right.

A
gainst the storms fierce howl, I bravely fought,
A miracle of sorts, a twist of fate’s design,
A vibrant verse of friendship, in colours so bright,
Reigns of laughter, echoing through the months,
A bond of trust, forged in time’s own fire,
My Heart, once empty, sang a sweet tune,
Where others faltered, we weathered every storm,
My third love had arrived, a welcome, sweet surprise.
With each shared moment, our hearts grew close and warm,
On days of sunshine, Joy filled every space,
And in the moon’s soft glow, we found love’s warm embrace.
On days of darkness, our words became our swords,
When whispers turned to screams, our fragile peace would shake.
Then silence fell, a chilling, empty space,
A vacant chair, a love I can’t replace,
Gone in the blink of an eye, a whispered name,
Leaving me hollow, consumed by grief’s dark flame.
Betrayal struck, and shadows followed close,
The vows we made, now broken and undone,
On the precipice of void, once more I stood,
My fragile hold on life, almost destroyed.
For this love’s return, my heart will still believe.
They laughed when he showed up
with a résumé in hand.
Tail tucked, horns sanded down,
wore a tie, shook hands.

“I used to tempt kings,
whispered wars into ears.
Now I scroll headlines
and choke back tears.”

He tried marketing
but humans were better
at selling lies with smiling teeth
and discount codes for sin.

He applied for politics
but found the position filled
by those who make devils
blush in admiration.

Tried tech
but algorithms already knew
how to addict, divide,
and hollow out souls
with precision.

Even in war,
they no longer need whispers.
They bomb hospitals
and call it strategy.
He offered corruption.
They offered quarterly targets.

“They don’t need me anymore,”
he sighed to the clerk.
“They’ve mastered the craft.
I was just a spark
They made it an industry.”

Now he wanders,
CV in flames,
hoping someone will want
a washed-up fallen angel
who simply can’t compete
with modern man.
This poem uses satire to explore the depths of human moral decay, flipping the traditional narrative of evil. Once feared, Satan is now obsolete, as humanity’s capacity for cruelty, manipulation, and greed has far surpassed mythic malevolence.
Apart from your mother…

Only insurance companies
pray you live forever
no crashes, no coughs,
no inconvenient surprises.

They pray for your safety
with more sincerity
than your friends ever did.

No backhanded compliments,
no masked resentment.

They’ll cheer for your success
as long as it’s mild.
Celebrate your fitness
but not too wild.
This poem exposes the transactional nature of modern relationships, using insurance companies as a metaphor for the rare, conditional loyalty found in a world where even love is often veiled in competition, envy, or quiet sabotage.
If life was fair would we all not be perfect
Dressed in tight clothes and most of them too revealing, with
chains that hang low and tattoos with deeper meanings
If we were perfect than I promise, life would be fair

The eyes of your foes can see through the walls
You're not alone in your skin, you're not as free as before
So you shape your identity to meet their desires
Would we all not be perfect if life was fair?

You change your walk and the way that you talk
You smile alone, you change your appearance, your
hair, your clothes, the way you stand. I promise you
that their love for you is a figment of your imagination

You could climb a mountain or **** it's lions
Sail the sea or swim in it's oceans
You can walk a mile or even a thousand
Whoever you're trying to impress doesn't bare any ***** for you

If life was fair, we'd all be perfect, however,
if you seek perfection then I know
your identity is shaped by how others view you

Do not our imperfections make us perfect

If life was fair
then what would be the use of living.
The title speaks about how we think that everyone sees and cares about our every movement. So we feel a bit of insecurity or unsure about ourselves, and that leads us to become people that we're really not in order to meet everyone's desires.

Line 1: Rhetorical Question.

Line 2 & 3: Speaks about what we result to, convincing ourselves that it's the right thing to do because people say so. How we show off too much in order to get reassured by total strangers because we were never given compliments as we grew up. That tattoos are a great way to show love for someone or something you've lost, while really, a way of showing love is to heal and move on.

Line 4: Rhetorical Question.

Line 5 & 6: Speaks about how we convince ourselves that people can see our every move, whether we're at home or somewhere private. So we start to resent doing the things that make us happy, you hate reading or watching movies, or even liste to your favorite music, all because you think people see and judge you, every moment. Even when you try to revert back to the things you love, you don't feel as comfortable anymore.

Line 7: Speaks about how you change to please others.

Line 8: Rhetorical Question.

Line 9, 10 & 11: Speaks about all the sudden changes you make to your body, and the extra things you do to yourself, to please other.  All of that just because you want to impress people who will never be impressed. About how you seek the attention of people who never noticed just because you thought they notice you.

Line 12: No one saw you, no one cares. All the people who you're trying to get the attention of don't really care

Line 13 - 16: Tells you that you can attempt to do the inevitable for someone or a certain minority of individuals but you will still be disregarded because at the end of it all, no one asked you to do those things.

Line 17 - 19: The honest truth about you people who seek fir reassurance from other people.

Line 20 - 22: Rhetorical Question.
The poem is a free verse poem, it has no specific rhyme pattern, or specific number of lines per stanza. The poem runs through with lines that have enjambement, symbolizing how this trend of self conflictment continues to become a rising pandemic. Makes you realize that people don't care about your appearance, and that if someone wants you to change, they will never think you're enough.
Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.

This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.

We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.

Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.

I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times in the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain the ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).

Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/18/25:
talisman = an object believed to have positive magic powers
Love…

I owe you an apology
not for what I did,
but for what your dreams said I did.

Somewhere in your sleep,
I lost my mind, my vows,
and apparently my clothes.

You woke with distance in your eyes,
and I knew:
I’d betrayed you in a world
I never touched.

So let me say this
I’m sorry for the man
your dream invented.

And I promise,
as long as you sleep without nightmares,
I’ll stay faithful…

even in your imagination.
Sometimes we carry our fears into dreams, and wake with the ache of something that never happened. Love means apologizing anyway , not for guilt, but for care. Because even imagined hurt deserves a real embrace.
Waste not, want not
When they offer the world
Take them by their collar
And shake their money trees,
Of all the junk it scatters,
Only the junkets matter.
BLT's Webster's word of the day challenge.
Word; Junket
Date: 5/16/2025
Meaning: a
: TRIP, JOURNEY: such as
(1)
: a trip made by an official at public expense
(2)
: a promotional trip made at another's expense
Neon’s radioactive glow in a window,
offers the cheap promise of pleasure.
Like a hypnotic, fluorescent serpent,
it flashes, blinks and winks - “Welcome”

It fairly slithers on rain-slicked boulevards,
warms like moonlight on cold unfriendly nights,
and signals cool, ready fun in the summertime.

We dress our vices in silky, pastel colors, like the
gamblers choices of Disney flavored whiskies.
It’s the soft, velvet glove that hides brass knuckles,
oh, you’ll feel those bruises in the morning.

The world’s a dark alleyway with an electric blush,
whose color flatters the lonely, desperate,
and makes sin look like something you could fall for.

Neon is perfume for the optical senses.
In that light, everything seems possible.
Isn’t that girl smiling at you? You see,
beauty is easier to trust than the truth.

Neon imperviously reflects off regrets,
and glitters brightest on broken dreams.
Of course daylight is harsh, but honest.
Didn’t we come in here to escape it?
.
.
Songs for this:
The Ballad of Mac the Knife by Sting & Dominic Muldowney
Any Old Thing by Swing Republic
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/15/25:
Impervious  = does not allow something (such as water or light) to enter or pass through.
Mania feels good when it battles the sadness, gives me the strength to get off of this mattress

My hair gets a wash and my make up gets done, I can giggle and laugh and look forward to fun

What project to do? How can I change my room? Maybe I'll cut my hair or get a new tattoo

Shopping! That'll be fun, need some new outfits to wear in the sun, or even the moon
I'm feeling manic I won't be sleeping anytime soon

Wait now- slow down
I need to process
I need to feel these feelings, not go on a distracting side quest

But my thoughts are poems and my legs are restless
Maybe one distraction won't hurt, maybe it'll pull me out of this mess
I'm spewing out words,
I can't help it I'm sorry
Its worse than the birds
At five o'clock in the morning
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