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Many a mistake, I've made
But that need not necessarily be bad
Because, a lot I've learned
Whenever I've failed
I feel I can handle anything
And need to fear nothing
Because, I've seen the worst
Though I'm yet to see the best!

Many a mistake, I've made
To my struggles, you'll see no end
Often, do I trip and fall
In my court, never is the ball
But I'm slowly improving
My personality is developing
Yes, I haven't tasted success
But I'm certainly a work in progress!!

Many a mistake, I've made
But I know I'll come good
Only a matter of time
Please, give not a ****
About my past failures
See my improvements
Big and small
I rise after every fall!!

Many a mistake, I've made
But the world won't end
After all, life is up and down
And I'm definitely not alone
We all make mistakes
In fact, that's the best path to success
More important than learning what to do
Is learning what not to do!!

Many a mistake, I've made
But immensely, they've helped
I am battle-hardened
And will go to bed
Knowing I've done enough
To handle the rough
Soon, will the smooth come
Again, only a matter of time
I repeat, many a mistake, I've made
But ultimately, I've learned
That's all that matters
Thank you for your patience!!
Poem on my mistakes and how I've progressed since.
my dad taught me English

just one time
I was at the age of nine
or maybe six
three
or two
I have no clue
it’s his first language
or something close to it
from Cuba, China, Canada,
to college in the Netherlands
and meeting Belgium for the first
not only for thirst
but because it’s a place
called home
for my grandparents
cause at the end
you always come back
to what you’ve had
I guess that doesn't rhyme
but It's fine

when I was twelve
I had to go to language camp
trying to learn
the language that has burned
on the soul of my dad
don't get mad
I came crying home
practice was needed
one week
not enough

so after summer turned
school returned
English I learned
while I sat on that chair
in the seat over there
pen and book
it was terrible too
but after three years
I could finally say
"How are you today?”

not special for sure
just studying this
everyone can do it
but I hope someday
I can make him proud
when he won't shout
when I make…
a misssteaaacke


I'm sorry
My dad speaks dutch with me, but with his siblings he still speaks English...
Matt Jul 2
They call it a temple of knowledge and thought,
A place where young minds are carefully taught.
But what is the lesson? What is the rule?
That learning doesn’t happen at my school.

The classroom’s a stage, the script is rehearsed,
Yet passion is absent—just boredom dispersed.
The teacher recites, but they barely engage,
Tenure protects them, and they never must change.

I ask, Why do I need to memorize this?
They smirk and respond, Because it’s on the quiz.
Centuries of knowledge forced into my head,
But not a **** skill for the life I will tread.

They pile on homework, assignments unceasing,
Stealing my time; my patience decreasing.
It teaches me nothing but how to endure,
A childhood lost—stolen, for sure

They claim to be guides, but barely take part,
More focused on grading than igniting a spark.
If I miss one step, if I fail one test,
I’m labeled as lazy, as less than the best.

Straight A’s mean success, so I play their game,
But knowledge? Oh, no—that's not why I came.
I memorize, cram, then let it all go,
The second the test ends? ****...

I don’t know.

They call us the future, yet chain us to past,
Force us through molds, though none of us last.
We learn to obey, to raise our hand high,
To follow directions— but to never ask why?

For school isn’t built for learners like me,
It’s made for compliance, for mindless decree.
I’m forced to sit here and play through my role
Because learning simply doesn’t happen at my school.
Our schools have failed us as a society. I don't even know how to apply for colleges because my school never taught me. This has been a war we've had to wage and we need change desperately.
In shadows deep, where sorrows lie,
The cuts we bear, they teach us why.
With every tear, a tale unfolds,
Of strength reborn and hearts turned bold.
Through laughter’s light, and whispers low,
We mend the wounds the world bestows.
Each bandage wrapped with care and grace,
Transforms our scars, reveals our face.
So cast aside the weight of rue,
For every hurt has crafted you.
Embrace the past, let shadows fade,
In every cut, our spirit's made.
The manner in which we respond to trials and tribulations shapes our patterns of behavior and our general attitude and perspective on life.
Ken Pepiton Jun 20
I ran into all any man in his right mind, at 77,
may take as my peace,
made, not earned,
used shiny keys,
fully functional,
- used to defuse confused war loyalties
- spiritually de re ligimating unlegitimating
- locking try by first reaction, feel
- peaceable, if launched, real
- easily entreated, sublime
- breathe, smell taste test

It is just what the doctor ordered, manufactured
consent,  the matrix, is mental, same rate of consume
balance
on compute it takes
to imagine me

doing this

when wound
tight, and loosed

spinning spiral inneracting

in all its military ways, he can do
what he did,
snap
from any where, since ARPA went Defensive
and swallowed our core reason, Isaiah calls,

all involved
in believing the God, who gave us

hands, gave us minds that can
use hands, and use
both qwertywise
whole bodies
of like minded children
to become, faithful reproductions
of the average child, perfectly average, born

where all children are above average

in Lake Woebegone,
too lowly
by degrees

life is different north of me

mind space, mud on y'face,
back off,

demazed leave taken, my life
to make up, redeeming waited ages,
as I read along, taking my time  
to account,

Why did I not try
to sell, not as much fear
of rejection, but warning
from Kenworthy,

can you believe that, that, guy was a Marine,
clerk typist, in Vietnam, in 1968, football
scholar, played with Roger Staubach;

AI say, ain't so, you remember a lie wrong
Kenworthy is and maybe was, a lying spirit,

y'gotta try guys with war stories,
and lying spirits, worshipping
in full on make believe,
serve, and die.

Pretending to have been, and being
as with any lie, defended, long enough,
all pride pledged to defend any story told;

this is why we always hate, we learn,
aha, we watch haters hating, we learn,

Naked Jungle, run away, live alive ever learning
what would you ask for on earth, that you may,

you know,
you may picture your whole reality,
you can think and try to think and do, at once,

it may be as good as I could be, but only as much

as there are no records that prove Kenworthy real,

but his Staubach connect crossing links,
to the recluse who created Catcher in the Rye fans,

Kenworthy, told me, he threw rocks, at J.D.



Now, as I was fishing for a verification see,
I came upon on a lie I believed, that I learn,

looking up Staubach, the timing, ain't right,
so, maybe Kenworthy played same high school,

no, Staubach was New Mexico Military Institute,
yeh, Kenworthy woulda bragged about that,

so. What if a person, seeming sane in every way,
so common it is a story arcing trope, in every way
so wondering, once, level, fundamental every way

silly wishings things were become thinkable, now
blessed peace, thunk war weary, peaceable answer,

San Diego Hollenstein, warrior ready, sent
to Switzerland,
with his silver wings and green beret





-- not in this reality,
this is really science, confictional precepts,

certain things seldom are
certain other things always are
certain choices occur alwise been

we wu wei iching trusting maybe so am big as us is

It should be fun to be old, not stupid, in a world,
not stupid, sharing a tool unimaginable, a mere century ago.
While musing, I tried a memory I had of a story I was told, and found, with an appropriate, got me chuckle, the whole thing was a deranged person reinventing himself, inside the bubble of all I knew at the time, that's a lesson.
one of you Jun 9
what's the most important thing you've learned In life
use this as a place to gain and share wisdom knowledge works best communally
Forbidden love Series
An unspoken promise -G
16 November  2021
Part 1

It's the itch and burn I feel on my skin when I think about you.
  Its the fact that once you slip into My thoughts I don't see why you are so bad.
You make me feel whole, you make me feel like I am not alone.
You kissed my skin and told me everything will be okay.
I know once you pop up it will take me a million years to walk away. A forbidden affair.

I miss how each blood red kiss was an unspoken love poem.
A beautiful promise.
A moment of peace and understanding.
You helped me escape.
You remind me that I am still alive. 
That the warm thick blood that runs through my veins keep me alive.

Oh how I ache to just check to see if I am still alive. To make sure that this numb feeling is not just in my mind.


I ache for your silence. A silence that is a deadly wish.
An addiction that had me clawing to feel your serenity.
As much as I grieve you I can't give you that power back.
I can't feel your sweet kisses across my skin.  I cannot fall back into your warm embrace because the minute I let my guard down is the is the minute I fall into your trap.

A trap that has a fine line between life and death. 

I gave you the power to rule my life once. I gave you all my control and I want to lay my trust in you as a god fearing servant does to their almighty God.

But just like God, I have to turn my back on you and walk away.
This is Part one of the Forbidden Love series. The title of this poem is An unspoken Promise.
When did children lose their love of learning?

When they were told to conform,
To forget their being,
To discard interests, agency, creativity

My own complicity
In the stifling of identity

Authenticity, a digression of the self,
A dissolution of swarming
Complexities

When did I gain my love of learning?

The burning crucible
Of curiosity

Set aflame by rejection of conformity

Constraints, curriculum, crushing expectations
and a world disintegrating
fires of digressions

When is conformity an expression of authenticity?

When is authenticity just another form of conformity?
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