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Write me an obituary
and come to my memorial,
so we can say goodbye,
to every piece of me,
that ever once,
was wonderful.

Kiss the cold cheeks,
of everything I used to be—
the ways I used to believe,
the things I used to see.

Then you can come,
and stand beside me,
as I cry these tears again,
for every dream inside of me,
that will never live again.
To start living,
you have to shake off the dust of yesterday
and refuse to let it define you.
We are not our failures, we are not our mistakes.
We are not our incomplete sentences or lost words.
We are our future,
shining bright.

-Rhia Clay
Kairos 5d
War
Steel birds carving death across the night,
a terrifying, beautiful sight.

Iron flowers bloom in poisoned air,
a loud testament to cold despair.

A phone-lit trench, a fatal aim,
just pixels dying in a children's game.

A distant whine, a shadow in the sun,
metal hunters --- nowhere to run.

A screen-blurred face, statistic in the night,
stolen childhood banished from the light.

Shattered homes reflected in hollow gaze,
echoes of long-forgotten days.

Fields of ghosts where laughter used to bloom,
mothers’ mourning, sealed within a tomb.

Bright minds build prisons across the world,
burned-down flags, desperately unfurled.

While hearts crave solace, hands stoke fire ---
empty sounds of a lost desire.

For every code designed to ****,
futures erased by cold human will.

For every weapon, a bridge undone ---
a future of love, forever lost, not won.
Izan Almira Jun 21
When the water comes
and the waves reach the shore
of the brink you’re sitting on,
don’t run,
don’t slip away;
look down instead.
If feeling the water sink in
will make every breath you do take in
more precious than a seapearl,
then jump.
Jump and drown in the sea.
Then live when you leave.
I love how this translation turned out, though it is quite different than the original Spanish poem:
cuando el agua llegue
y se asomen las olas en la orilla
del lecho donde te sientas,
no huyas.
mira abajo;
undete en la corriente;
deja que te ahogue
si sentir el agua llenar tus pulmones
va a hacer que cada bocanada de aire valga
más que una perla preciosa.
Kira Botkina Jun 20
How sweet it feels — to dream
Of a life that will never be.
To melt into shallow visions,
Like sugar lost in boiling tea.
To drift through fictions, soft and kind,
And sleepwalk through a phantom age,
Escaping life, escaping time —
A coward locked inside a cage.

He lives a hundred borrowed lives,
A hundred fates, a hundred lies.
He feeds his narrow, timid mind
With scenes where no true sorrow lies.
They’re sweeter than the bitter truth,
More gentle than the world outside —
Where life is raw, and sharp, and cruel,
And none of us are free to hide.

So let him drown in pretty dreams,
In fogs of comfort, safe and still.
He trades the weight of honest pain
For hollow joys that never will
Become a life — just phantom plays
Projected in a vacant head,
While real tears are left uncried,
And real battles left for dead.
Kira Botkina Jun 20
***
Hold on, hold on, just hold on tight,
Though all I want is to give up the fight.
To give in — is death, a cold, quiet call,
To give in — is darkness, the end of it all.
To give in — is silence, a breathless repose,
A sea without wind, where nothing else grows.

A fish swims in circles beneath the blue,
An eagle dives down from the sky so true.
Deep under earth, where no sunbeam has shone,
The emeralds grow, in the dark, all alone.

Yet I am the one who must carry this weight,
Alone in a world with a merciless fate.
Alone, I was missed by the God full of flame,
Who passed me by, not calling my name.

I’d trade this cross on my weary chest
For a stake through the heart and a final rest.
Drive something sharp in the center of me,
Let the willow cry by the still, blind sea.

For the soul still reached, though it crawled and bled,
But the mind believed what the light never said
In nothing but sorrow, in fear, not grace,
In all but love, in a godless place.
Kyla Jun 17
better is the biggest fairy tale of all time
the mirage in the desert before
a promised land i’ll never reach,
predestined to dwell in the wilderness
with my gloom my doom
i run i move in search of better
i cut i purge i cry
i therapy i forgive i help i give
i try
yet still better eludes me
She stood on the precipice of decision, knowing that where her heart went, her whole being would follow.
She knew she was striking out into the unknown again, taking another risk, taking another chance.
The risk was worth it to keep herself whole.
The risk was worth it to maintain her sense of self.
Trauma had stripped away too much for her to live a life that demanded she sacrifice her mind and body to sustain it.
There had been too many dark days to live without light.
So she reached out, held on to hope, and clung to the light that was returning, eagerly awaiting the chance to shine anew.
Her soul stood strong in its decisions, ready to begin again, willing her on, through and through.

-Rhia Clay
kevin Jun 8
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy
#elizabethwarren #aoc #barackobama #rbreich #mayorofla #cagovernor #mtaylor

I am finite math no = remains

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy
#elizabethwarren #aoc #barackobama #rbreich #mayorofla #cagovernor #mtaylor

I am finite math no = remains
#latimes #asmirwin #cagovernor

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy
#elizabethwarren #aoc #barackobama #rbreich #mayorofla #cagovernor #mtaylor

I am finite math no = remains

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy

Percentage of 1
Obstructionists budget journalism and democracy must hear free speech

How is my paper jam going in your assembly?

I'm not homeless
I live above you in democracy
#elizabethwarren #aoc #barackobama #rbreich #mayorofla #cagovernor #mtaylor

I am finite math no = remains
#latimes #asmirwin #cagovernor
#washingtonpost
Getting lost, and living solely for achievements, is no way to live.
What is next on the list of things to achieve?
Will it ever be enough?

-Rhia Clay
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