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Lyndsey Aug 2020
I'm 16 and the sound of being seen is a new melody I can't get enough of.
Lies tasted like cinnamon and sugar off his tongue,
and I let him tell me them as we crashed onto the bed.

I'm 17 and the taste of rebellion, summer sun, and bad decisions is intoxicating.

I'm 18 and I think I have life figured out.

I'm 19 and I am screaming
"*******" from the hill tops.
I'm looking for answers in the arms of strangers.

I'm 20 and I find gentleness in the arms of a boy with steel blue eyes and cigarettes on his breath.

I'm 21 and alcohol doesn't solve anything,
but I watch my friends drown in it anyways.

I'm 22 and I think the world is against me.
I don't understand it's not for or against anyone.

I'm 23 and as the song goes,
"No one likes you when you're 23."
I find this to be true.

I'm 24 and I have been thrown onto rock bottom.
I can't see the top anymore,
and I don't have strength to even search for it.

I'm 25 and I have no purpose to my life.
No goals.
No drive.
I have an abundance of heartache
and I want to know why living
has to hurt so ******* bad.

I'm 26 and I want to die,
but I want to live too.
I have school,
that's something to work towards...i guess?

I'm 27 and honestly, life isn't bad.
I don't know what I want,
I don't know who I am but I'm learning.
I don't know what happens tomorrow, but I have today.

I'm 28 and...
Aurianna Aug 2020
always telling myself
i can do BETTER
be BETTER
almost like...
im not good enough for me
sometimes
i wish
i could be proud
of myself
in the same way
i feel
when someone else
utters that same sentence
VALIDATION
makes me feel
complete
its not that im...
constantly searching for it
i try desperately
to fill that void
with SELF LOVE
the same love
i give to other people
in abundance
but
it never feels
the same as when
someone else
looks me in the eye
and all you can see
is love
...
Colm Aug 2020
When you grow like a tree over property lines
  And are drawn into a yard unwanting and free
    It’s not the sharpest saw which cuts the deepest ties
      But the quiet in moving away from beneath
We've all been there (at least most of us have). And you learn from it quickly, or slowly if need be. Time passes by, and you grow like trees. Slowly in learning.
Dante Rocío Aug 2020
I was born robbed of my maternal language,
That crucial bundle of Heart’s pillars
and ribs.

The one that makes you forget
What even words or images are
worth for,
The one that shaped what sense I hold,
And the one who built me
from mere ashes
When I couldn’t even have my eyes
for God, before the first of times.

I’ve searched through more than a dozen
of them so far,
those which humans throw and throw,
force, upon me,
and each time one comes
when the victory seems at last
only for me to find
I have nothing else in my hand
than the smell of footsteps long gone
in the sand and dirt.
Though a half of my plucked out
ribs remain,
which is Poetry that ever wants me,
tongue carries,
that which cannot be
undermined nor explained,
I limp, maimed, without my own tongue
to claim.

And from that search my love though
for the language made its birth.
Possibly the yearning turned into arousal
of wonder catching, affection lapping.

I went back to the Language,
a veritable person I make of it,
I gave it the right of a name,
characteristics
And I am all those questions
directed towards it.

By the script of E.J. Koh’s letters of mother,

How to express in Korean, English,
or any other language
how we miss one dearly
or how the distance shapes itself?

How does language create us
and makes us become
what we are truly deep inside?

How does it decompose us
at our lowest and the highest,
of the state and one’s expressing?

Especially when the Word, at times,
though so futile unreliable,
is the only thing we have left,
like Dreams?

And if you ask me now,
with so much tongue inheritance
already making my stance in “To Be”,
which mortal speech the most beautiful is?
You can’t. for how can I choose?
French, the violet whisper?
Spanish, flaming blades in Llorona’s tears?
English, a parting ship in eloquent observance?
Italian, a cigarette night in a local conversation in lush green?
I cannot. For, what choice?
You could also ask me which of the stars
I love the most: I can’t say.
Each is so similar to other yet not,
though the brightest might not
be the dearest,
the middle one might not be the further one and the intimate arousal for all
that abstract and ungraspable
makes your feelings so confused
and beautifully mad
as if you had polyamory
with many persons at once,
couldn’t get rid of any of them,
choose only one,
yet each one of them has something
the other does not.

Every exchange of a language in mind
is that of our person,
even more of Poetry
I derive myself from in feelings & images,
an exchange of puzzles, schemes,
as if going through a ballroom
full of diversely dancing people
and once you have to step through them dancing waltz to pass
and then dancing tango.

The fall of the Babel was the moment
when that maternality of Speech
shattered into alien yet same
breaths, sacrifices, work of hands
and transit,
and ended up so rich
yet so lacking in its “magna carta”

So, if it all ends always as the same,
If it always leaves heart ripped,
If I can have it all yet none I want,
If it’s the same mortal thing
in codes shrouded...

If in this realm, the story ends
and starts alas,
tell me:

What choice of speak
do you even think
I still have?
A great praise, ode, heart’s shredding
I give in an ode to the language.
As a glossophile, a true priest of the Language
I came to bear and die,
My revealance of the elation and painful trail
I endure each day, each learning
And each time Polish is forced
Upon my lips.
When a mother tongue is your
“stepmother” one
and you feel constant reject
any time using it.
This is another Intimacy
of mine I share.
Bhill Aug 2020
before wanting there is learning
you must discover before you desire
are desires more significant
how do you gauge
is desire the fuel to all information
just asking for a friend...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 220
Do you have the answer?
Payal Dhiman Jul 2020
Water stained glass windows
Tear stained pillows
Heart spilling blood staining my brain
I feel so cold
This air is stained
Stained with the smell of you.
We must not forget,
The path which here lead,
All the thorne on the bed,
And all the wishes which are dead.

We must not forget the suffering on the way,
Or to encourage you what people used to say
Also not to forget people on the way, who betray.

We must not forget all the learning and experience.
With all the success some of the failure.
That made a big change to our behavior.
Beyond thought is the going
when downloading begins by the universe and in silence,
is best where G** speaks,
right into my
open mind's eye,

His grace is downloaded
Into my minds eye
With light coded
information;
eagerly grasped into my
downloading mind
joyfully perceiving
in awareness
as it's conspiring presence
Manifests, I am eagerly high. .
~~~~~~
By:Mr and Mrs Andrews.
Blessing Thabane Jul 2020
When I tell you I love you
I'm not reciting another poem
It's an invitation
A call for attention
Baby!

May your love rearrange me if it can
May it heal,
Attend to the bruises and scars the past lover left

May your love make it rain
Drops of warmth,
Clouds of assurance,
Winds of comfort,

May your love run so deep,
Fast enough to catch every piece of this broken heart
May it listen on days I can not utter a word

When I tell you I love you
I'm not trying to sound like Maya
Oh lover!

May your love be a medley
Let it be too music
To compose all the pain, betrayals and hurt into a beautiful song
A melody that can teach me to love myself as I love you

My love is a journey less walked
Too ***** and full of gravel
Be patient with me
I'm still learning to travel
This narrow path
Called love
" where do broken hearts go," can they learn to love again?
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