Mari 2h
"The love of my life" is myself
holding a yoga mat

hot and wet myself just dripping
off my face between my breasts

Ashtanga, I've never tried yoga
but tangy, like the sound of that

like me after a hard day's work
in mind and in body

bouncy like sure you can touch
me but ultimately order is

hardly ever restored. She told me
she has shoes floor to ceiling

an aura is built from the soul
up, I reach for the salt

and I get told to ask. I see
this is a sign so I turn around

Imagine a dinner party. Imagine
the people snaking

the table. Imagine you're one
of them. Imagine you say

something funny. Funny,
not strange funny like dog

nicks flip flop leaves it flapping
up the street slight breeze

sometimes upturned as fish
fish bowl/lost souls Pink Floyd

I'm some smart guy's father
no I don't speak Italian

and mostly I'm just a little
confused about what to tell

people when they ask
where my name's from. I

hop up the street until I find
the flip flop. Marooned

and missed. But if I left you you
could show me what you're really

made of. How long would you
last out here baking

in the midnight heat?
I saw a girl wearing a t-shirt saying "the love of my life is myself", holding a yoga mat, chatting away to perhaps her mother and this happened.

Lost souls/fish bowls I lifted from Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here.

People frequently tell me I have the music taste of a dad. My father's Italian but I don't speak Italian, which sometimes disappoints people. A minor insecurity.
The first time you put the blade
To your beautifully clean unscarred skin
You'll be too sad to feel the pain
Like your mental pain will outweigh the physical
You'll bleed
But all you'll feel is a wave of calm
Then you'll go to sleep
On a tear-soaked pillow and blood-soaked bed
The next day at school
You'll get the
‘are you okay?’
And you'll repeat
‘I'm fine.’
But when you get home
You'll mark your now
Beautifully marked and scarred skin again
But this time you'll feel nothing
And wont be satisfied until
You're covered in crimson red ink
Please stay strong no matter what the issue.
Michele 22h
As the night fades in, out fade my thoughts' certainty.
I feel those spikes of anger,
I feel those bursts of fervency.
And soon all is repossessed by
a
   d e q u a t e  a
                           n
                             x
                                i
                             ­      e  t   y.

As the night creeps in, distraction's voices disappear.
I'm left with only thoughts unknown, those thoughts of intense fear.
Bring about the day again, so I can run my "right" routine.
Forget about harsh things I'd said; I feel so fucking unclean.

I fight myself to the floor,
Whispering frantically, I beg "No more,"
"I didn't want this, what have I done?"
And only answers back are...none.

Who am I, what do I want?
Repeated mistakes come back to haunt.
Filled with rage, spite, and regret.
Like dark waves, I can't forget.
Anxiety attacks and learning how to cope without distraction.
Like a thorn in the side twists, turns, shifts, thugs at my pride, who am I and why?
Forget to be, forget to try. Sigh, deny and try, oh try, to find out who am I?

Struggle to reach. Struggle to come to grip with reality. You see all these expectations get laid on me, I cant seem to find my feet.

Even in finding my feet, defeat. Defeating my mind and steeped and bleeding, I'm blind and beat.
I'm beating the blinds, the street, it limits the finds and eats, it eats at my mind.

But rise to my feet, I will. Beat my way through, I do. The passing days, they may get all hazy. But I got a vision, I do.

Clear as unmuddied water, that vision peaks and from the merky pool hope leaks. Not made that of odour which reeks, rather perfume which speaks to those bold, brave, not weak.
Who on top of a mountain sits and seeks and stands on the ocean before they may sink and know their song well before they dare speak.

Hope keeps us hooked. Pain gives us drive. For that, I will swallow my pride. My dignity beat, battered and bruised. But my reputation in tact.
My strenght unmatched. Unmask myself I will. Through this treacherous journey, I shall grace salvation, to find my inner will.

And with journey abound to destination unknown leaving that hope, strenght and will for events which have thrown light into the tunnel. Illuminating the stone which sits on the temple of freedom and soul, spirit, freewill, autonomy, suddenly realisation that still ...
Still I am me.
A poem wrote in collaboration with my good friend Johnathon about the journey to one finding their true identity.
Once
She told
She is close
To the God

Silent
Humble
Peaceful

To her wonder
Long time, ahead
I had started to
Worship her
Genre: Observational
Theme: Diamond are precious, they emit their vibe
To meet someone new
Is to become new yourself
Leave all in the past
I take off my hat,
let the past be just that.
Can I be truly happy?
Strange it feels, that ask.
Stranger still, I can't seem to see -
A face beneath my mask.
Blake 3d
Darling,
They have gendered you as a bland sterilised paint by numbers.

All so calculated and forced,
Lifeless and identity numb.

I know you didn’t hand-pick this,
But sneak over to mine sweetheart,
Let’s make a creamy masterpiece.

Where our bodies will clash,
And my bold red will splash on your masculine unpracticed forearms.

Where my nails will dig,
So deep in lust scratching at your lifeless grey giving it a gloss glow.

Where your starved hands will roam,
And my aroused pink will imprint on your exploring palms and stiff torso.

Where we will embrace,
And my appealing purple will infuse over your intense undiscovered blue heart.

And along the way I vow
Exotic white will be mixed,
Painting over claustrophobic blackness.

Let’s just sweat and cling darling,
Making a galaxy of smudged colours in our vibrant love making.

Come and fool your fate baby,
And his wife destiny too.
Lets colour your numbers away,
In our lustful bed of unconventional paint.
Smelt smelt smelt
#comeoutthecloset
Sophia 3d
As we sit down to our dinner
As we open our romance books
People around the world die

We sip our water
Their guts spill open
We study our notes
Their planes crash

We live
They die
We breathe
They suffocate

We are testaments to chance
To luck
To possibility

We are not products of God
Or divinity

We are blind goats trotting on our path
Before we perish
Suddenly
And vanish
Into death
Myrrdin 5d
The greatest suffering
Isn't the suffering itself
But the pain that comes
When it ends
And we know not
Who we are without it
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