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Alfira N Jun 30
i should be resting
the bustling cars changed to windy fields
i should be thriving
finally safe to take off the mask of secrecy

but why can i hear the injustice louder
the farther i go
why do i feel the call even stronger
when i just let go

is it not my dream to be free
the happy-go-lucky
yet it still feels like I’m pretending
the pain is alive somewhere, beating
Norbert Tasev Jun 30
As if aiming, huddling ever closer to the wall; he draws his superstitious eyelashes into a slit, thus peering at the deceived, continuously manipulated world. Forced to constantly measure the shortest distance between sincerity and lies, he measures, like some eccentric arbiter, the weight of the stake, which is a nest of betrayals and lies. Backwards in the stream of eternal moments, thinking himself over once more, he decides to look away after all. Inside, in the secret depths of his soul, he still keeps his seeing eye open; he still faithfully preserves the ability to see truly, which is not polluted by materialism or superficial exhibitionism.

He knows and suspects: only in the depths of the soul can the romantic dance of the one flame take place, which he has perhaps dreamed of his entire life, - he would immediately regain it if he could have that second of memory that was still liberated and free from everything, because inside there is an irresistible power over instincts and emotions, even the silent, mute human words, which do not need to be spoken at all.

- Like a desolate cauldron, the creative silence surrounds him, which - nowadays - is increasingly difficult to gain in a dignified manner. Like interstellar frontiers, humility and will would lie under a giant dome for days; melancholy, meaningless, petty worries and troubles swim in a large carnival crowd, like so many fish embryos in a crowd. He will slowly and subtly consume his spirit, every drop at a time, if he is not careful, because truer human stars are patiently waiting in the garden of golden hearts for them to be admitted.
The Battles of Life,
through sickness, and through health,
through blessings, and good wealth,
all the trials, tribulations, and
everything else,
the wants, and the needs, and
the envious, and the greed,
the feeling of success, and
wanting to succeed!!!
the feeling of hope, the feeling of fear,
the feeling of Challenges, and
the fact that they are near,
don't give in, and don't Cave in,
Stay on the road of
excellency, because
YES!!!
YOU CAN WIN!!!
Keep your eye on the prize,
Keep working for it, and
YOU WILL SEE,
YOU DO HAVE THE ABILITY,
YOU JUST GOT
TO BELIEVE!!!!
AVOID SELFISHNESS, and
CARELESSNESS, and
ALL OF THE ABOVE,
Do your VERY, VERY BEST,
I AM SAYING THIS TO
YOU WITH LOVE!!!!
THE THINGS that we ENDURE,
with AGILITY, and with STRIFE,
the CHALLENGES that we FACE,
THESE ARE THE BATTLES OF LIFE!!!


B.R.
Date: 6/29/2025
Christiana A Jun 29
Let us call it
exactly what it is.
 
 
Grand
Grandiose
Grandioso
 
 
gestures that leave me suspended
from a tray ceiling like
 
 
a glass chandelier hanging
on a string of beaded words.
 
 
It's all very
 
 
Grand
Grandiose
Grandioso
 
 
until the
string is pulled
too tight.
 
 
 
Then there will be
nothing left
but glass, beads,
 
 
and broken hearts
on a marble floor.
Christiana A Jun 29
My love for him felt displaced by time.
Like a long summer nap and waking
to find the sun freshly out in the sky.

Only that it wasn't. It was the same sun
in the sky before I slept, and the same one when I awoke at 19.58 pm.

Nothing was new. Instead all was steadfast. Lacking in the fluidity and spontaneity that gave one the ability

to see into a man's soul through the twitching of his right eye.
It felt like a black wren's feather

caught in between two branches.
The proof that although I wanted to fly, I was held back by the familiarity of a place.


So I sit on this short hill in the twilight of my life and wonder what it would feel like to fly uninhibited in the morning sun.

Like a little girl's laughter in summer. Full of crescent moon tambourines and a head covered in a wreath of dried lavender.
Maria Jun 29
There was so much I wanted to say to you,
But I didn’t make it.
Like a beast at bay I was in a hurry
And eager to thataway.
I thought: “I’ll achieve my goals and dreams
That I need and then
Everything will go and run, and fly,
In a right way.”

It seemed to me that my story
Will surely happen.
And I exchanged myself recklessly
For nothing important at all.
I never imagined that my life
Would be depopulated,
And what’s left of it will turn into
A paper ******* in whole.

I’ve got to gather it all by any means, really.
I must have foolishly outdone my fate all over.
And you… Sorry, I will be honest with you, my dear:
There was so much to say to you, but I thought over.
Unfortunately, we are very often wrong, misguided and on the wrong track in our life... Thank you very much for reading!🙏💖
Katelyn Jun 29
As a child peonies surround me
like my mothers' warm embrace,
these flowers, beautifully unharmed
a reminder of this reality that I live.
I daydreamed of being as free as this flower,
of the ability to just exist, without harm.
I am grown now, my daydreams twisted.
A kiss with a fist, a necklace made of hands.
Petals of black and blue, leaves cracked and broken.
Black and white peonies tattooed on my skin
full of love, full of hope
though sometimes flowing red.
I know anger, I've felt anger
but not my own.
I realized quickly that my life was not this of a flower,
or maybe it was. A lifeless and wilted flower.
One that had been harmed, not beautifully.
That had been grasped, not with a caring touch.
That had existed, with harm.
Kalliope Jun 29
I’m not always the most creative,
But I’ve always been a little naive,
Choosing easier routes to healing,
Ones that kept me feeling unseen.

But I think I’m done with hiding now,
Done accepting life’s just pain,
So I’ll start drafting love from everything mundane,
Romanticizing quiet mornings and loud summer rain.

I’ll find poetry in coffee steam,
In the way the trees sway and sigh,
In cracked sidewalks blooming weeds,
And cotton candied evening skies.

Maybe, just maybe,
If I love each gentle, ordinary thing again,
I’ll find the pieces of myself I thought I’d lost,
And fall back in love with life,
Or at least treat it like a friend
If I make myself see the beauty in one small action each day, maybe I can rewire my brain to just simply think that way
Skyla GM Jun 29
Old men sit
in plastic pink lawn chairs,
smoking cigarettes
halfway down our street.

Counting the cop cars that drive by,
One. Two. Three.

They laugh
with heads thrown back
and missing teeth

at little boys who
roll and play in shopping carts,
crashing-
One, Two, Three!

Little boys lay
in the space between
grey gravel road
and thirsty green grasses.

They laugh
with heads thrown back
and tiny white teeth.
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