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Maya 13h
My bunny
does not comprehend
the vast size of the
My bunny does not
ask questions like
"Why do we exist?"
My bunny is a simple
But it seems so much
more peaceful
not to wonder these things,
not to stay up late
wracking your brain
at the mysteries of life,
that sometimes,
I wish I was
a bunny too.
Is ignorance truly bliss?
If I was ignorant,
I wouldn't have to ask this.
Anya 4d
I can be,
an airhead

And at those moments
all I can think

My amazing ignorance
strikes me dumb
It popped into my head and I wrote it down.
Too vulgar
and impulsive.
Too selfish
and deluded, ignorant
and submissive,
wearing a veil of falsehood
in order to feel protected.
So inconsistant
to my promises and my solutions.
Too eager for a better me
and a better life,
but too greedy to truly see myself,
too blind to be truly kind,
too sad to strive,
too happy to move on.
Too bad,
I'm too human.
The human condition.
han 7d
I will yell  
until my throat is raw
I will fight until my strength
has dissipated
I will force my eyes open
until I’m blind
I will listen
until I’m deaf
I will live until
I die
because I refuse
to treat myself to an
ignorant bliss
In light of every current event, all I have to say is if you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention
By my standards,
he is a ten.

I'm sure you're
laughing right now--
"ooohhhh, she think's
he's a TEN"--
but that's not
what I mean.

What I am trying to say is that,
on a scale from one to ten,
one being indicative of
experiencing little to no pain
and ten being indicative of
experiencing a pain whose presence
is capable of knocking the wind
straight out of me--
a pain that I do not
dare to fathom
for fear of prolonging it--
he was a hurricane.

My hurricane.

The eye of the storm,
his aloof ignorance
paralleled against the
violently cyclonic nature
of this heartache--
cacophonic in its impact
and blasphemous in
every context of the word

I don't think
getting caught in the rain
has ever hurt quite this much.

I surrender to this hurt
the way the sea surrenders
to the Almighty Poseidon;
the way my feet surrender
to the rocks
tied round my ankles;
the way my soul surrenders
to its contusions
(so is a casualty
of a broken heart).

I imagine what it would be
like to kiss him
when I wake up in
the middle of the night,
lucid dreaming and
shivering against the bed sheets
(must be hypothermia,
I think;
the coldness of his
absence settling among the
loneliest parts of me).

I try to remind myself
that he was never
any happy ending of mine--
just an ending.
And something tells me
kissing him would feel
a little less
like thimbles
and a little more
like sewing needles.

After all,
he always did have
a way of silencing me,
my lips stitched together
into the most morbid
of embroideries.

Because god forbid
you dare question
a tempest--
even when he has
left you
to stew in your
own ruin--
for fear of provoking
his stormy wrath.

Part of me has
always been
afraid of him,
you know.  
Looking back now,
that should have been
my first indication
that I had been entertaining
an abusive relationship.

he never laid a hand
on me.

I was terrified that
there would come a day
when he would eventually snap.

I can envision it--
ribs crack like lightning;
bruises congealing beneath
my eyes like grape jelly;
fingerprints seared
across my cheek;
my head held underwater
until I've stopped
breathing altogether.

Of course, there exists
more than one way
to destroy a person,
though he will claim
that he has done nothing
to wrong me.

he would tell me that
I am just reading
too much into things.

S'pose it's your turn then,

Trace the brailed veins
of my shattered heart,
and feel all the ways
you have broken me so.

Let your eyes flit
across the expanse
of these water-logged stanzas--
and tell me,
does the poetry not speak
for itself?

Or does my drowning not suffice?
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!


(P.S. Use a computer for an optimal experience)
I know you have your reasons-
ones I couldn't hope to understand-
but your apparent apathy creates between us a


far greater than any ocean.
It's infuriating.
Whether it's the situation or me not getting my way
I can feel myself slipping
from you and from myself.
Many are hamster-wheel humans
So punch-drunk from assuming
They know the way things work.
The wealthy urged them to elect jerks
To run this country into the ground
And turn it into the worst place around.
It’s a sad tale, a whore of a story
Where those with guts, don’t get glory.

It’s a horror story, like in scary flicks
Where when men in suits get their kicks
Imprisoning brown people and kids
And laughing about the bad they did.
Afterward, they say others are to blame
But make no attempt to hide their game.
They put thousands in jail and charge them
And sing out loud their lying anthems.

They say fake news is the real McCoy
But, the real news they say is a ploy
Honest people want to stop the plunder
That, up ’til now, they kept hidden under.
But now it’s in the open meant to appease
Ignorant white people that are hard to please.
They want whites in power, think that’s nifty,
No wonder they elect only those who are shifty.

Too many quit learning in school, after ABC,
And they have no use for the land of the free.
They liked how it was in eighteen hundreds
With slaves, inhumanity to those they plundered.
They got up in arms when a black man won
And the class war was once again begun.
The very rich told lies to change the rules
People began to act openly like rapacious fools.
This is the country of which we were once proud.
It’s right now being destroyed by the elite crowd.
Aditya Sep 26
Flying high above the Clouds,
Rejoicing on stale airline Food,
Squirming between the Crowds,
Yet calm and elevated in Mood.

A tiny backpack, a Fearless Look,
Do I need anything More ?
To capture the world in merely a Scrapbook,
Leaving pains and worries to Ignore.

The first foot across the Border,
Another step closer to the mountain Peak,
The slipping sand between my Fingers,
Stopping time, is there a Technique ?

Cities, cultures and people Exceptional,
Surpassing labels the ignorant Creates,
Fear of the unknown almost Fictional,
Liberation is all I can Emanate.

I may not be wise as Buddha,
But I sure am on the path of Ibn Battuta.
Travel is the antidote to ignorance and fear
Emmah Sep 26
Maybe we’ll be fine
Pretending it’s okay now
Turning a blind eye.
elle Sep 26
sharp tongues
and fuzzy eyebrows
a dead fish mouth with a hook to the side,
a lazy, lazy eye
you haven’t listened the entire time
as she is breathy with stories and the life of a young woman
but you pounce (i saw you crouch)
at the adverse ideas, that we live in a space and time
much newer than yours

that my boss could be a woman before he was a man
that my friends might look and sound and feel different than you

but who are you, stuck in your room, glued to the tube?
to spit such fire, to set ablaze a hope i’d raised
and coddled since it was a sprout
who are you to raid this land, and damage it with doubt?
a man, a-fraid
of losing what he’s won

dreaming of those
olden days
of fighting, just for
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