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selina 4d
i fall asleep in the back of ubers, to the sounds
of middle-aged drivers talking to their loved ones
giving advice, the smell of spice, my temple on the window
just playing a mental jeopardy with the meanings behind
those accented words of languages i don't understand
perhaps, once upon a time, i did, but now, no longer

i sleep like a stranger in my own home, climbing
into my bed without caution, with atrophying bones
it's a debilitating exhaustion, it's characteristic of aging
of falling and forgetting about the friendships and benefits
that broke through my bed slats, plus the flash-lit attempts
to fix the unfixable with feminist texts and crumpled cash

i dream about my mother as another, and her neck
remains untouched, perhaps only adorned with pearls
so wide, and so bright, and the garage door is always unlocked
it's comfort, it's nostalgia, it's the furthest i've been from home
and when the radio turns on, i wake to unfamiliar laughter, and
"i miss my dog, and i miss falling in love," and everything's amiss
and all i can do is sit here, tipping a stranger as i reminisce
nothing like a long uber ride
Solaluna Jan 29
In the quiet spaces where my heart resides,
I craft a tale of endurance,  where emotion hides.
A facade of fine, a smile painted on,
Hiding the storms, where shadows are drawn.

Through the echoes of laughter, a silence persists, Enduring the ache, with clenched-fist twists.
I say I'm fine, a whispered refrain,
Yet in the depths, a tempest remains.

In the theater of tears, I play my part,
A master of pretending, a work of art.
The world sees strength, a resilient sheen,
But beneath the surface, a different scene.

I endure the weight, the burdens I bear,
A stoic facade, a delicate affair.
Yet, in this masquerade, emotions entwine,
For sometimes, saying "I'm fine" is a valiant design.

So let the verses of endurance unfold,
In the silent poetry of stories untold.
I wear a mask, a masterpiece divine,
Enduring, pretending, yet somehow,
I'm fine.
The poem explores the theme of enduring emotional challenges beneath a seemingly composed exterior.
Dear poets and poetesses

Easy way out.
To have an evangelist
Girl friend boy friend
Is the best thing that
ever happened to many.
of us
Because men and women
often cheat undercover
they find each other out.
They pray confess cry yell and
even faint backwards.
In church and at home,
making up forgiving
each other
And there blame it all
to Satan the devil.
Diligently so,
they invite others
door to door asking
for donations
to get others to do the same, in the name of Jesus
So there we have it religion.
Mr and Mrs Andrews
And Karijinbba.
Thomas W Case Oct 2023
I have come through
the wildfires and
abject poverty.
The sardine days filled
with ghoulish women and
cowardly men.
Now, I have four
walls, and a table to
write at.
I've decorated my castle:
pictures and tapestries,
a raven figurine sitting
on a stump by the aloe vera.
I have a bookshelf from
the curb; all my
favorites are on it.
I turned my brother onto,
A Confederacy of Dunces
I hear him laugh from his
4 walls.
He escaped the
parasitical nights and the
neon souled undead.

It's a great life if
you don't succumb to
the crowd and the slugs that
just slide on through.
Now, it's the simple
things that bring me pleasure:
house plants, coffee brewing,
and the sound of my
neighbor watering his grass.
I think I will get a goldfish.
All perfect and orange.
And on the fringe, I hear
that feral cat, howling in
the night, without his
4 walls.

amazon link to new book
tumbledry Sep 2023
it’s hard to imagine a life
without jumping on countertops
pipe hazardously balanced
between our eager hands
exchanging smoke in between kisses
and kneeling over with
squinty eyes and cheeky laughter
I have never been 40
it's coming soon
it's just around the corner
The big 4-0 looms
I have Never been 40
I haven't got a clue
Will my hair turn grey
How much will I lose?
I have never been 40
What do I do
I've heard all the stories
I don't want to face the truth
I'm turning 40  
Goodbye to my youth
Can some one help me
I'm turning 40 and singing the blues
Will I lose my teeth
Have to gum my food
Wear knee high socks?
Watch the news
I'm turning 40
My life is through
What is next
Nothing to look forward to
It's all downhill
Oh *******
What to do
I'm turning 40
Yeah my life is through
46 years
What do you get
Your way past old
Your pants don’t seem to fit
Your always cold
Like day old bread
Your beginning to mold
Broken Hips
Brittle Bones
46 years
**** that’s old
You always got to have a reason to laugh, you’re never too old.
A M Ryder Aug 2023
My mind drifts
To that night
You streaked down
Mainstreet shouting
To the late
Night world
That you
Were free

I manage to
Barely stifle
A little laugh
But they all
Knew it was
Me, their eyes
Surely said it

In that box
You're still as
Free as you  
Were that night
And I'm just
The guy who
Laughs at his
Friend's funeral
Jeremy Betts Jul 2023
Maniacal laughter deployed to be louder than the roar of any monster

Most notably the inner

It gets harder and harder to adjust from looser to winner when just a beginner

Sold a bad bill of goods, nothing gets easier when older

I reside in my own temple but can't shake this feeling of being a squatter

Labeled by life as nothing more than NPC fodder

Never been...never seen a main character

In essence, I'm just practice for a dark passenger that always comes out of nowhere

Far scarier than the for mentioned inner monster but they conspire together

I am not now nor have I ever been a shot caller, never given a reason for no offer

Rather, I've been assigned a standard issue shock collar

Always trying to silence the hollar

Why bother?

Stay inline or find the hypocrisy of anarchy and counterculture

Tried bein' louder than ever before, pullin' from somewhere deep in my core

There's no one with a willing ear prepared to listen so no answer

Preforming to an empty chair reserved for anyone who might actually care

It's been empty for as far back as I've been allowed to remember

So I just stand there, wondering what's the matter, what is matter, do I matter?

A forced and pitiful stature of a habitual quitter being quit on over and over

This is a learned behavior taught by an unqualified teacher, both mother and father

Scream into the ether, I'm a dreamer but this nightmare ain't from a fever

There's no relief either

Not even first chair in the orchestra playing behind the dumpster fire of my own one man disaster picture

A head scratcher to any outsider, just another blunder to an insider

Next time'll turn out to be better

I swear

I'm a lier

We prefer the lie, at first it's far easier

A few too many attempts to hide the pressure, broke the regulator and boiled over

My present back lit by that there **** dumpster fire I explained earlier

My past rages unchecked through my future

A failure by every measure

No answer to why bother

...real quick...

This is off topic
But please don't let me become my father


Cover mistakes faster with lead paint over plaster

Pay no mind to the cancer that comes after

Dangle from a rafter like a fleshy chandelier

You don't have to guess what happened here

The dossier of the crime scene is crystal clear

You couldn't not get the picture

Even if the veil is never lifted, ignorance a problematic but gifted blinder

Gotta know I would never go and drag myself across the floor before arising once more just to lay on an altar

This has been nothing more than my dark passenger being front and center

How could I know letting it steer would lead to a full takeover of more than the arm and shoulder?

Will this ever be over?

Excuse me, is there someone there?

Has there ever been anyone other than me here for that matter?


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