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Megan Jan 6
Who will teach these kid’s?
There’s too many, grown but not grown
Hiding behind the lie of maturity
Too many kid's in adults bodies
life tasted sweet
under your eyelashes,
******* strawberry-flavored flowers,
and spitting out the seeds
which would eventually grow into
humble spite.

when the ground was bare,
and the atmosphere was intact,
my eyes never left your fingers
and my sharp friend never forgot
the taste of my strawberry wrists.

bittersweet in the sense
that you tend to forget
that my fate is my gold
it is time to work.
it is time to get old.

we are never going back under this tree again.
(aren't we?)

for it is the calling.
it is time to speak with the tongue of love -
for myself.
no longer pink
from the strawberries.

i want to look loud,
i want the flavor of the world beyond.
i want to **** the clouds until they
gravitate back to earth.
i want to be satisfied,
not full.
full circle. life has changed drastically for the past years. i'm excited to get back to writing. i hope you're all doing well **
Wilkes Arnold Sep 2021
The bonsai grew all wrong
Its branches outweigh the base
And the wood is whispy and pale
Without the spring a sapling entails
It's big, much too big, too long
A band stretched past its place
Becomes a twig in impatient hands
Pressured, and snapped, and palmed
Bonsai's mature slowly
With snow and vibrant leaves
To rush things is more than lowly
You've sold their soul you thieves
That is what it is like
when somebody loves you
more than you love yourself.
You find you're loving them,
and in loving you trust,
both them and their judgment.

If he loves me for me,
and I love and trust him,
then I should love myself
just the way that I am.


I want to be the one
he is deserving of,
and I want to become
the best version of me.


It's not just for his sake
that I want to improve.
I'll grow and change for him,
but also for myself.

That is what it is like.
Rama Krsna Aug 2021
‘tis almost a full moon
yet again,
the sands of time slip-slide away
leaving her to contend
with a plethora of gray.

as the sunset glow lingers
drifting across a blue sapphire sky,
loneliness yearns company.

this wine has softened
during these intervening years,
laced with a maturity
that now speaks the language of wisdom.

© 2021
dedicated to  the ones who truly reflect
Rich Aug 2021
_ _ , _ _ , 2 0 1 9 is a day gone to the ashes of kismet’s pages

the midday zephyrs and wino meditations that ran through streets like rainfall now live in the hippocampus

the bright side’s gone with the dark
the whole day, for what it was, is no longer
and it bugs me out

that through any endless combo of permutations and planetary rotations, the same circumstances that built the ground of yesterday
will never repeat
or will they?

I’ll never know like the licks that reduce a Tootsie Pop to crumbs
I’m not intelligent, I’m dumb
because it took me 27 years to learn the value of 24 hours
to learn that a lotus bloom is something to treasure ten times more than scraps of pure gold

we are the children of nature
what does that make our creations?

Humans birthed a cosmos
of currencies and chambers of computer generated concoctions. . .

are they not descendants of the Mother?
In some abstract way?

Idk, dude, I’m out of it,
if you know me, you know exactly what that means - -
but I digress - -

It’s just that I never got the chance to tell the day how grateful I was to have it
and I now know that wasting time is a luxury modern civilization can enjoy after epochs and eras

this day and age is as far from perfect
as the brain is from perfection,
tech grew faster than the collective consciousness
and we still limit worth and love
to skin and heteronormativity

but at least
for a small sliver of time
things were, in a single moment
pretty good.
Aidan Jul 2021
Like most things there is a time to leave,
a time to leave the nest one was raised in.
But the question is if the flight out will be smooth.

Will you glide on ice or end up hitting rock bottom?
Either way this is learning of the survival.

Unlike previous species,
we are taken care of until a number deemed "adult."
Other than some exceptions that is when we take off
when the wings are spread out to engulf the air of what is new.

Sticks and stones break our bones,
but they will forever leave a scar of a lesson learned
good or bad.
It is these scars that show the growth longed for
problem is that the path for this growth seems to be an outline.
It has been a marked trail for most in their lives
so traveling off the beaten path holds a sense of uncertainty.
It is either embraced, ran from or lived on the cusp.

Learning is done by experiencing by doing or watching
but how can their be learning with only
one teacher
one voice
one person
speaking to you
giving the answers and guidance.
There needs to be an abundance of people involved.

One's skin thickness does not grow overnight
but over a period of independence
where you understand how to do something
who you are
who to let into life
who to cut out
and mix in some wishful thinking here and there.

We want to plant our roots
let them expand
let them tell their story
but that is just a wish masking the underlined work.
Knowing the time to leave is the start of this growth.
Unlike other species,
we have deemed a certain number to dictate when growth starts.
Along with the exceptions,
we grow
we get cut down.
It is all endured because of a base, a wish, a dream.
Just taking into account some of the stresses and thoughts I have had this past year.
Sam Jul 2021
One of the hardest thing to do in life
is to forgive someone who always lie.
But being matured I learned something.
If someone ask for forgiveness
I'd give it to them,
'cause I know it'll help me too.
s y kalindara Jun 2021
How do I go about shedding the shells
that earned me a pat on the head and a "good girl"?

I was the parent's dream,
a blue-ribbon giftee
of civility,
the picture of obedience,
​and oh so mature!
The 'quiet child' cachet was my only allure.

This caged bird didn't sing
of sentiments and other sinful things,
but spent decades nesting feelings.

When all alternatives felt illicit,
I reserved my torments for exclusive exhibitions,
where I held the only ticket.
Those showcased, glass displays are my poems now,
I've stuffed them with secrets I can't talk about,
but can write down.

Do the people who raised me deserve an applause?
I've got songs dancing in my head and they're the cause
of my closet of flaws.
Would I even have it in me if I was a happy child,
bold and wild?
They say art is for those who've lived in the rain;
Well, I've had my cup of it
and I guess, this is my exchange.

Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
I think part 1 and 2 say it all, I've got nothing left to explain.
Pétra Hexter Feb 2018
He tasted like cigarettes and baser intentions
The spiced hint of whiskey on his thunderstorm tongue
The kind of rebellion that young girls lie for
With soft, swollen lips, and nowhere to run

City of rust punctured by stone
Where the rain only stops for the snow
Painting with a palette of opiates and pocket change
She'll christen the night with a smoke
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