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TD Jul 14
Can I be a little impetuous please?
I’ll show off my petticoats
and striped stockings.
The world a dance floor
crazy, wonderful
I’ll twirl barefoot
on its sullen brow and lucid eyes.
And when I’m finished
my curtsey will be the envy
of the sky.
And the world a lovely shade of pink.
Rowan Elizabeth Dec 2018
thinking about how the world doesn't really care about you can get really lonely.

but it's also liberating. your soul breathes a sigh of relief, and you can just exist.

it's empowering. you can allow yourself to take up space and own it.

but mostly, it's enlightening. you learn things you never knew you never knew.

you learn how to live.
Ayin Azores Sep 2018
I can only remember very few liberating moments in my life:

That one time when my dad got mad because I sneaked out of the house to buy candy and when I went back to the house, he was crying. It was the first time that I saw him cry.

That time when I heard Earthmover live for the first time and it was raining hard. I was contemplating about my life, the future with a friend. Asking ourselves what might happen to us in 5 years. That was 2012 and I wish I had it all figured out by then. I was also drunk.

That time when I caught my first wave. I felt free and alive for the first time. I was so stoked, I almost cried as I paddled back to the lineup. Then I pigged out afterwards.

And that time when I went on a date with a stranger. Nothing super fancy, no pressures. A date that lasted for 8 hours. Went to work the next day with literally no shut-eye but my heart was happy.

A few months from now, I am going to marry that guy. Nothing fancy, but there will be a lot of *****, definitely. I’ll be marrying the guy who made me feel the exact same feeling when I caught my first wave, alive. I still haven’t figured everything out, and I guess I’ve accepted the fact that it’s okay.  And how I wish I could see my dad cry when he sees me in my white dress. But that's something that would never happen.
wedding thoughts
That dormant feeling of insecurity arose,
when travel journal got ****** adjacent
     to my tattered (holey tattooed) clothes
while I knew with crossed eyes

     aroused anger from peaceful doze
my younger sister felt about her
     globe trotting exploits, an over expose
jour ever since voyaging out on her own

     after graduating top of her class
     where mine hatred glows
indirectly snidely sneering
     at ma dough less brother hoboes

(a 1979 Methacton High School alumni),
     unanimously chosen valedictorian
     dressed in Calvin Klein
     Harris tweed, couture

     and silk ***** hose
like me prolonging, promoting
     on par with quasi staff sergeant, who knows
artful disciplinarian gingerly launching
     Cider House rules,

     asper formerly commanding G.I. Joes
     and pronouncing, predilection
     exhaling natural highs no lows
traveling solo, with surviving Wilburys,

     or just mows
zing nonchalantly
     (though a foreigner) with swarthy skin color
     easily camouflaging as civilian
     all points on the compass,

     where minute needle doth nose
upon returning home (being honorably feted
     at once glorious estate of Glen Elm,
     where she did propose

to the Lord Taylor (swiftly), which location
     situated at 324 Level Road, Collegeville,
     Pennsylvania 19426),
     thence a great huzzah a rose

an immediate nauseousness welled
     within from me head tummy smelly toes
I did not want to here, or see any details,
     which would accentuate personal woes

popping, snapping, and smarting,
     and slapping skin raw tib bits,
     ache'n to yanked strings
     of mama's heirloom yo-yos!

Poet Script:

trials and tribulations,
     visited upon head of young
concocted ("FAKE") gusty and gutsy
     kid sister enterprising ingenue,

     christened easy on the tongue
Sharodd (not her real name),
     to top off talents sung
like a professional opera singer, which rung

a shiver along small hairs of spine did tingle
heard all the way to Lake Woebegone
where bachelor farmers did mingle

every Christmas, a decreasing
     number donned Kris Kringle
hit with blitzkrieg of yawping brats
     hoof pranced to bell weather jingle!
Ron Gavalik May 2018
There's something liberating
about watching old men
with gray beards and hats
read intently from thick books
while the world unfolds around them.
Their families are gone,
along with the desire to chase
fast women and fast cash.
These aged men of leisure,
they are the survivors
of war and capitalism,
religion and disease.
Nothing surprises these old men
in their final days of wisdom,
and so, it’s quite simple.
They read in peace.
mjad Feb 2018
windows down
twenty over
rain pouring in
back seats are covered
world is ours
time to takeover
no more fear
happiness rediscovered
Maria Etre Oct 2017
When was the
last time
you felt the
liberating rush
of the naked truth?
Joyce Feb 2016
Just sitting.
Just writing.
Saturday translating.
Comfortly feeling.
Relaxing this evening.
A feeling so captivating.
My mind is liberating.
Thoughts full imagination.
They are the reflection
of seduction.
When memories
feels so alive and
intensively.
Like dreaming in space
so heavenly.
The beauty of words
reveal our vulnerability.
Escape to infinity.
Karishma Chokshi Aug 2015
So serene, so blissful…
So pacific, so liberating…
The only sounds that drench my ear-
The drops of rain,
The gush of the wind,
The flow of the river,
And, the sound of me, breathing.
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