LVQuigley 18h
Diaries of youth are disected,
pulled apart by quivering fingers,
in a sorry attempt for answers,
where did it begin?
how did i become this vortex of twisted knots
and broken dreams?
People are different.
I learned about shapes this way.

I am an undefined figure
with undefined dimensions
existing in a world where triangles are three sided,
and rectangles four.

But I’m not out of place
the way laundry accumulates on floors
instead of tucked away in drawers,
     for at least laundry has an impending destination.

I’m out of place because I don’t know where I should be,
this galaxy or the next...
... Because when I reflect on the web of life,-- from the stars that circle far above my head
      to the flowers that waver in whispering wind
           to songs that carry from beating hearts,

I am made aware the notion that by a thin thread is everything interconnected...
I feel entitled to the foundation to which my feet are grounded,
      still my spirit desires to be free.
She seeks to fly above me, boundless.

But I ground myself to this Earth,
     for only when hands are buried underneath soil
          can Mother Nature’s roots be reached.

Yet, even when tightly seized
her fine grains
of sand still slip
through the cracks
of trembling hands.

These hands cannot be mine,
     for they remind me that I am not impenetrable.
That I’m soft on the inside.
That even the thick skin I wear as a shell cannot protect me.
But even humans must learn to grow out of their shells.
And as I molt,
I am reminded that I must pave my own path
     as I look to redefine truth
       as I seek to find answers
         as I strive to understand Self
Like a Phoenix rising from ash...
...Ash that has yet to settle

Until then, I am without exoskeleton.
Exposed to the elements,
the wind lashes at me relentlessly,
but the flame in my heart chases away the cold,
keeping me alive so I can tell the tale of how the fool in rags
      lived to wield the golden scepter and
      wear the diamond embroidered crown...

...My own internal revolution,--
/I rear with bare hands.
These are my hands.
One intro to philosophy course later...
Kaavya 2d
The stories I have to tell may not all be true. This is why,
when I break open my fortune cookie at family dinner I
get a message, poetry is for the selfish. Words that come
from my father who holds my cosmos in his reading glass,
thoughts stolen from my mother who is determined to curve
my shadow into a snow globe.

You see, I have a theory about resistance: I exist
in the tension between warring magnets, a wormhole
between universes that have no blue and green for me,
my soul a tribute to the fact: poetry is for the selfish. I made
my apologies already, sorry for being loud in the wrong
ways and quiet in the right ones.

You see, in this life I can have only one favorite color but
in reality the answer is always C#. In this life I have woven
a web to keep my head above the clouds just so my feet can sink
two inches into ocean sand. Poetry is for the selfish, says the spider
at the crown of my head. And if all I can allow myself is four letters,
I’ll take them with the uneven edges of piano keys and the shadow
of something more wholehearted.
All of my life I’ve been known by my name,
And yet as I’ve grown I’ve not been the same.
Hoped my identity would be clearer,
No answer when I look in the mirror—
Who am I?

Born in a world of infinite places,
Encounters with these infinite faces,
My restless spirit seems destined to roam,
Wondering still when I think I’m at home—
Where am I?

Not accidental that I came to be,
But may have missed out on my destiny.
And though I’ve done things of which I am proud,
None of them stop me from asking out loud—
Why am I?

Each moment I age life’s completion nears,
And I regret I might run out of years.
I’m meant for something I need to make so,
But all of this time and I still don’t know—
When will I?
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Promise-born on a canvas stroked with dun,
Looks a man for hues, hence shadows to shun.
Hidden's a day's dye backwoods a child's eye.
Only some walk nigh where true wonders lie.

Tints turn from raven birth to dovy death.
Far cry colors bout in a vision's breath.
'Tis in mind's eye to espy woe from blue
When giant ants move beady mountains of rue.

Pick all vibrant hues, eschew the tethered.
Dyes of default-assent beget hatred.
Thoughts and sentiments behind barred casements
Bide dawn's brightest in gold shod regiments.

When sentinels descry where bluebirds flew.
Merriness is nigh as blue has left rue.
We live in a world conceived almost differently by each one of us, which is wondrous. While a man would be bored to death, some other -right in the same setting- would be carried away in a rush of sentiments by what wonders they believe that they see in exactly the same setting. I'm not questioning what makes what we see real. It's only what it boils down to: how perspectives or colors gratifiy our lives.

Like whether it is the egg or the chicken first, it's a conundrum whether sentiments breed thoughts or thoughts bring out sentiments. I'm more on the latter side, though. The poem maintains a man has to find the true colors himself. Falling in step with others and adopting default values and thoughts will only bar him into a dark chamber. To an extent though, this message echos Plato's Allegory of the Cave.

Given the rampant demands of the competitive mass production industry from the mere individual, such as the imposed customer identity on him, exposure to education aiming goals aligned with the industrial objectives of a country but not with those that exalt individual identity, exposure to the commonness of cheap bloodshed in the Middle East and the sinister engineering of almost calloused indifference to it almost worldwide, ambition for power in a big city to the cost of forgetting the child inside, I feel that our rainbow is changing into Bifrost, the bridge where Nordic gods of Asgard are waiting for frost giants start their assault and bring complete ruin to the world: Ragnarok.

The bottomline is where true identity is, there is meaning, meaning is colour and the rainbow is so so beautiful. We have to choose them colors well.
four walls surround me
my things rest on shelves
and within dresser drawers
my name is etched into the pillows
claw marks on the mattress
clothing littering the floor
specks of my dna live here
it’s been
398 days
10 hours
42 minutes
and 36 seconds
since i unpacked
and still it doesn’t feel like home
my things surrounding me
but they don’t feel like mine
the walls sigh my name
but it doesn’t sound like my name
i am a stranger in this place
a place that is supposed to feel safe
a place where i am supposed to live freely
i long so desperately for a space
where i don’t solely reside within my bedroom
trapped in the confines of my bed
a space where i don’t step quietly
not wanting too much of me to be seen
a space where i can sing and dance freely
where i can etch my truth into the walls
and talk to the skeletons in my closet
a space where i don’t feel my breath is limited
careful you don’t say the wrong thing
because the walls may collapse
because the streets may become all you know
i just want a space of my own
a space where the walls sigh my name
and i can say “yes baby, i’m home”
People ... PLEASE ... !!!
Just be ... STRAIGHT UP ... !!!!!
Honesty's ... Easy ...
It Really A'int ... Tough ... !!!
If You're Gay ...
BE ... Gay ...  
DON'T Try to ... " Play Games " ...
If you ... Sway ... That Way ...
Then Be ... That Way ... !!!
I'm ... STRAIGHT ... !!!!!
I Want GIRLS ... ALL DAY ... !!!!!
Don't Tell Me ... how to be ...
and we'll be .... OKAY .... !!!
The Last Poem I wrote ...
was called ... " Two Faced " ...
The Reaction it ... received ...
was ... FAR FROM ................................... Great ....... !!!!!!!
I'm cool with that ...
in a ... " Funny Kind of Way " ... ?!?
I guess this ... PROVES ... ?
that things I say ...
Put a ...  
STRAIN ... On Those ...
With ... DEVIOUS Ways ... !!!
They CLAIM to be ... " Straight " ...
But ... "Harbour HATE" ... ?!?
Hatred of ...
My Poetic ... Mind State ...  
Their Veins ... PULSATE ...
when I ... Enter The Place ... !!!
and Most ... CAN"T LOOK ME ...
In My ... Face ...
What's up with that ... ???
Could it be cos' i'm ... "Black" ... ?!?
Or ....
Could it be ... ?
cos' I speak what's ... FACT ... !?!
Getting ... "under the skin" ...
of Those who ... SWIM ...
In Waters ... FILLED ...
with YES ... Sharks' Fins ... !!!!!!!
They ...
Take The ... " PLUNGE " ...
and Jump ... "RIGHT IN" ... !!!
But Like ...  
They say ...
... "Rush in" ... !?!?!
Then comes ... THE BITE ... !!!
NO KISS .... " Goodnight " ...
Their Now ... "TRAPPED IN" ...
The ... Devils' Pie ... !!!
A Pie that's ... FILLED ...
By Those who ... LIE ... !!!
This Pie's ... "STENCH FILLED" ...
Like The Mets' ... " Pig Sty " ... !!!!!
Why Oh ... WHY ... ?!?
Do people ... " Imply " ...
They Speak ... THE TRUTH ...
Instead of .... Lies ....
FACE The ... Truth ...
FACE What's ... You ...
FACE ... Yourself ...
NOT ME ... I'm cool ... !!!!!
I'm just ... " God's Tool " ...  
But ...  
What are ... YOU ... ???
Are YOU from ... " The School " ...
of ... TWO FACED FOOLS ... !?!
Do You ...
Choose to ... REFUSE ...
To HEAR ... "the truth" ... ?!?
EVEN When ...
YOU ARE ... " The Proof " ... !?!
Those who ... TALK ...
But ... DO NOT ... Listen ...
are those who ... " Wonder " ...
What they're ............................................. Missing ..... ???
What You're ... MISSING ...
is what's ... TRUE ...
What You ... PUT OUT ...
COMES BACK to ... You ... !!!
DON'T BE ... A Fool ...
DON'T BE ... Untrue ...
Say What You ... FEEL ... !!!!!!!!
It May .... " Reveal ...............................
A Side of You ...
WITHOUT ... Issues ... !!!
DON"T Worry ... If ...
You NEED ... "Tissues" ... !!!
Has Felt ............ " The Blues " ... !!!!!
Just REMEMBER .....
Stand STRONG ...
Stand TOUGH ...
and ... MOST OF ALL ...
Just be ...
..... " Straight Up " .......
Inspired by experiences I had in the days when I used to frequent the poetry circuit in London, but as a general rule, I prefer those who can be what this poem suggests .....
I dreamed a Life where living was nothing but Dreaming
I walked through mirrors room to room as my mirrored self
Walked by me his eyes downcast so as not to know his future
Or show me mine.

Going into town I strolled in and out of Shop Windows
Watching myself there across the street wondering on the meaning
Of all my other selves reflected and refracted
Swimming through light. Separate journeys but one destination.

Are we so many? Bounced window to window down the street
Do we rush ahead to a future which changes before we arrive?
Or lag behind to notice what we missed perhaps the first time?
What do we get up to elsewhere on our Time-line?

Later shaving I looked myself in the eye and tried to see
Thought of being in the mirror and separately trying to be me
Only to make myself smile only then to make myself wonder
Which of me smiled first..?
Daniel Aug 5
Imaginary lines create borders
They create nationalism, identities and conflict
They shape who we are and unite us as one
They initiate wars and take away life
And only look out for their ‘own’

In hostile times imaginary lines create a sense of devotion
These imaginary lines don’t physically show
Yet they make people feel safer

Imaginary lines make nations
They look out for themselves
Neglect others ‘help’
And try to dominate others

If only imaginary lines were never confined
Then maybe we wouldn’t need nations
As idealistic as I sound
Deep down we are all the same
Yep, pretty idealistic but if only it could work...
Addison Aug 5
I wish I could be a rainbow
for everyone to see
Painted in the sky with
all the colours brilliantly

I wish I could go swinging
Swinging from a tree
All my friends and I
having fun, just to be

One colour, two colour, three
Oh so many things that I wish to be

There's flowers in the meadow
Smiling up at me
I still can't be a flower
Just being myself.

I can't be in the meadow.
I can't see the trees.
I can't see myself
Being what I want to be.
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