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Get a job,
a husband or wife.
Make yourself comfortable
in your own life.
So they tell me
or would have told me
if they were still alive.
But they are dying slowly
by the magic pills.
They are no longer there
to protect and care.
I no longer have devils
that whisper and scream.
They can do both
but now they are doing non.
And I can see myself having fun,
not caring or staring
into nothingness.
Yet it leaves me in mourning
to know they are about to die.
Maybe if I hold on a little longer
I won't be lonely and then find myself
a job, husband or wife.
Shea Nov 7
The poets job is to think too much
To over-analyze the situations
They are in
Or exaggerate the way they felt
For someone to understand.

The poets job is to use words
As a form of catharsis
So far this way has left
nothing but pain

The poets job is to convey
A world inside their mind
With the words
And leave no emotion behind
To reminisce on things
They hardly remember
Cause they feel too much
For a past
They hardly lived

Or maybe it's just me
That feels this way
But the job we share
Is to entertain
Or strike a thought
To take our lives
And put it into words
On a paper
Because without it
We could not do our job
And our job is to feel
Dev Nov 2
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé

So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me

I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation

Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine

I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights

I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads

I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best

Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade

I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player

While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two

Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing

Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
This is a work in progress but I'd love critiques like formatting, poetic grammar, etc. I may consider submitting this on job applications.
Haylin Nov 1
He's the guy next door....
He's a guy like you and me with warts and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He's a fireman....
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.
He's a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He's a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.
He's responsive to a child's laughter because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laugh again....
He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.
William Troup Oct 24
Before the darkness fills the polls,
   before the ice may melt;
   The skaters go where paths may flow
       and dream a world unknown.

Before the harness finds the horse,
   before the reins may pull;
   The riders go where time may show
      a heart not set in stone.

Before the pavement fills the traps,
   before the cracks may break;
   The walkers go where signs still show
      a direction unlike bestowed.
Ricky Oct 24
There’s a man at my job.
He’s always angry,
like the world owes him something.

He breathes out just to breath back in again.

And then he holds it.

Doesn’t he know he’s choking himself?

You can’t die from choking yourself,
But you will surely suffer.

Some people laugh, because the actual thought of someone choking themselves is kinda funny.

He doesn’t want to talk to people.
Now he’s choking himself in silence.

All this choking isn’t good for your body.
You could die sooner.

Maybe he doesn’t care because he doesn’t feel like he’s living anyway.

Or maybe he gave his life away.

To work.
To his mistakes.
To his past.
The only liable limitation is yourself.
In order to fly you gotta give up the **** that’s weighing you down.
It’s your choice.
zebra Oct 11
its a road trip

she did the chicken head dance
hips swayed
like an evangelist of the lascivious
slicky, sticky, dicky
happily sicky
******* swallow
flooding her gullet
with spits, spats and waterfalls
for 300 gooey miles
like a Deer at a salt lick
to horney to send picture post cards

and her mouth sparkled
a regurgitating anthem of love
and a billion solar immolations
in the great
howling milky way roadtrip
*** adult
zebra Oct 14
she moving moveless
with big pleading eyes
like fruit orbs
fetched in molasses
full of grace
she stretched out her long neck
like a Modigliani
and ravished him
with cautionless lips
and fluted throat
like a scorched desert
deranged for monsoons cloudburst
*** adult
Xallan Oct 1
Fixing his hair, presentation matters.
First impressions matter.
He wore bright clothes this morning
He shaved, and nicked himself
On eyebags too heavy, eyelashes too long.
He awaits.
TD Sep 25
Oh how the aimless spin
remarks a dying breath
cursing the heavens
spittle ritualistically applied
in bruised shades
of societal lipstick.

I dwell in mourning
watching perspectives waver, shift
amid deconstructed firmaments.
A man-made evisceration
valedictorians errant spew
cutting plexiglass
splintering in plastic waste.

The hours churn
and tempers rage
in vain at dying embers.
Anger pulses bitterly
the world is star fruit
rotten at the core.

Through the glaring dawn
insistent at the fading sun
the encroaching mob
pace like restless scientists
in search of theories to reflect their apathetic minds.

If only they could dissect
their vehement disdain
with the same indifference
all would acknowledge
windbags eventually
run out of air.

And I will weep for them as well.
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