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Mae Jan 12
she was at a society full of hypocrites
yet, in this dark room she was at peace.
her presence is much more valuable.
rather than in this world, unpredictable.
~
she is vulnerable.
her emotions are fragile,
wants to be like a willow.
but she is soft as the pillow.
~
she wants to have a freedom.
anxiety attacks,which makes her doom.
and as they talk to her, it was too late.
her soul was not there anymore.
Deb Jones Jan 4
When I was a child

Some of the most judgmental and unkind People I ever met were on church pews
Every Sunday with a Hymnal
And a Bible in their hands

I didn’t know how some people
Were able to disassociate their own Shortcomings and cruelty
From their religious
Obligations and convictions
But many were able to do just that

But as a child I couldn’t reconcile
The child abusers
The pedophiles
The rapists
The drug traffickers
The thieves
The alcoholics
The cheaters
The liars

From the people that stood at the pulpits.
The ones I was told to emulate.
The minister
The reverends
The deacons

The word minister embodies
Loving protection

The word reverend invokes
Reverence and inspiration

Doesn’t it?

I was a young adult
Before I realized
Church is for sinners
By that time organized religion
For me?
Was black and soiled.
Repulsive

Here I am now.
I fling mantras out into the world
Of love, hope, compassion,
Good health

I recently walked into
A cathedral in Ireland and cried.
I felt the weight of time and
Countless generations of believers.

Working in the medical field
And specializing in pediatrics
Holding a one pound baby
In my hands
Months before even
The parents were allowed to touch them
I sincerely believe in miracles
I see them almost every day

My church is in my head
Buddhism is in my heart
And in the actions of my hands
The words in my mouth
What my ears hear
The soothing of my soul

The meals I help serve the homeless
The blankets I spread on their cots

I bow my head and listen to prayers
Wherever they are offered
I quietly whisper
My wishes
Into an unknown ear  

I don’t judge many people anymore
My childhood is past
I learned valuable lessons
And peace is mine at last

That doesn’t mean I trust
Easily or broadly
It just means I am an adult
And am responsible

There is some good
In almost everyone
I don’t say that out of naivety
I have danced with monsters

But that’s another tale...
Amanda Sep 2018
Many of the rumors about me are true
My insecurities reflect the past
Cards that I discarded weren't all that bad
Metaphorically folded too fast

You can assume whatever you want
Could imagine a million possibilities
In a lot of them you are probably right
I just feel I am viewed as a person diseased

It's only natural to judge in haste
I try to change their impression
I struggle with tired stereotypes
Hope those I love can see my intentions

My eyes betray sad stories
Vaguely told in shades of brown
And all throughout mistakes are woven
Punctuated by tears leaking down

I was a loser for awhile
A burden who offered less than nothing
Let my issues get the best of me
Friends have tried to give guidance
Wasn't ready to accept advice, kept ducking

Immature approach to solving problems
***** a wall to guard my heart
Let my issues get the best of
Embrace sin when life falls apart


Find it amusing when hypocrites whisper
With each passing day grow stronger
It was difficult at recovery's start
To be judged a person I wasn't any longer
Your past does not define you
A M Ryder Aug 2018
We wanted to be bulletproof
MC's with M-16's and enough money to buy our freedom from the very same blocks we bragged about in our verses
We weren't hypocrites, we were just literate in the language of loss
We weren't rich, but we knew some people were and that they seemed to laugh a lot more often.
I don't laugh all that often anymore..
I'm not sure when we forgot that we were giants
MicMag Sep 2018
United  |   |  Meanwhile
we boldly  |   |  we fortify        
 decry  |   |  our hearts
      the loud  |   |  not permitting  
orange man  |   |  entry                   
wailing for  |   |  to anyone         
a wall  |   |  at all          

.
Araoluwa Jacob Aug 2018
It's not me who said we weren't in love, it was you.
It's not me who said we won't make a good connection, It was you.
It's not me who said we are frenemies, It was you.
It's not me who said we couldn't go out. It was you.
It's not me who said you were ****, it was you.
It's not me who said you were useless, It was you.
It's not me who said she loves you more than anyone could, it was you.
it was not me that called me thick, It was you.
It wasn't me that acted like we shouldn't be seen together, it was you.
It's not me who switched up and acted different when she came around, It was you.
it's not me who said I didn't love you.... my love, it was them... and you
it's not me that said we should not hug, it was you
It's not me who decided to touch your hair, it was you who asked me to do so.
its not me who kept holding my waist with a firm grip after I hugged you, it was you.
It's not me who decided that you should run your hands through my face so tenderly leaving me startled because of your alleviated touch.... it was you.
it's not me who made a decision that hurt me... its you.
It's not me that came to a conclusion to make myself cry at night, it's you.
My love.... why go against your word just to make me feel hurt
then later, you blame me because you feel mortified and in pain.
I didn't leave you in total tranquility with misery and agony.....
My heart and love.... it is not me.... it"s you
it's me who is addicted to all the things you do
Steve m sawyer Aug 2018
I see the bandwagon trail,
ablaze once again,
Head hunters patrolling,
for blood stained skin,
Weapons in hand,
torches lit with flames of fury,
As they gather the masses,
to portray, judge and jury,
A Public execution is on display in the courtyard,
Sinners suspended from the hanging tree,
Barking freshly marred retribution,
Sought by bound shackles and wrists,
To appease the famished ego's,
of raging hypocrites !
You reap what you sow. To many are concerned with what others are doing, rather than just getting on with it. It grates on me.
Freddie Ruiz Jul 2018
Wake up, dreamer!
Welcome to another day.
Waking up to an empty bed.
No girl to work on my morning sweat.
Got about a hundred calls,
can’t even shake my Johnson off.
This morning traffic is the worst.
Messages, clients, meetings with the boss.
Did you see the new assistant?
She looks good! Ok, focus and be efficient.
Gotta finish the web content.
Gotta start planning the next event.
A 24-hour day isn’t sufficient.
Who said another task would be inconvenient?

All you phonies, won’t you **** it up.
Your opinion is irrelevant, so shove it up.
Not your cup of tea? Here’s another cup.
Even at my slowest pace, you can’t keep up.
Gotta write a script, finish this poem,
edit a video a working on,
hit the gym, pump up these guns,
make the girls fall in love.
Do you get my innuendo?
This is my manifesto.
I’m retro, but I’m not mellow.
I work hard to make it perfecto.
Gotta give my best impression.
Can’t forget to show God my appreciation.

Think you’re shooting fire?
Anything I work hard for; that's fire.
You don't see me like a fly on your ***; that's fire.
Being proud of who I am; that’s fire.
You really can’t relate to my lifestyle
and you can’t emulate my own style.
Every time I pass in front of you, you can’t recover for a while.
The stench of your jealousy can be smelled from a mile.
I’m not aiming higher, I’m aiming straighter.
If you can’t deal with it, then see you later!
Hey, Miss Feisty, they see us as a threat, ‘cause everyone is an imitator,
because they know we make of something good, something greater.

I tried to be what you consider a good man.
I tried to be what you consider a good friend.
I lessened myself to be accepted
and by you and your jealousy, I was rejected.
I tried to become everything that in your eyes was “fair”
and if I failed at it, ask me if I care.
Written on June 10, 2014
Composition number: 477
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