Nylee 2d

Hello , how are you ?
Hope you are enjoying a nicer view .

Hope you know and understand
the mistakes , I am making these many days .
And even in future  , making new set of them ,
But I hope you are braver in the face of problems .

You know ,
Life could have been much easier
if you could write back .
But ,
that way , maybe
each time , I would be re-writing you

Talking to future me

Reflecting upon my past
Accepting that I've made mistakes
Wishing to go back
But I've not what it takes
To accept what I've built up to
To see who I am in the now
If I went back to undo
At the very least, I'd do myself proud

Shanath Apr 19

The belt rolled out from the dark, contained hole, showing off shiny, metal cogs after cogs, tumbling, falling on each other, rolling off and slipping down to the small pile of themselves before trudging on and on over the belt. Sections cut into the gap, the hole, separate lines for different kinds, they came from the other side, punched out into perfection in that gaping hole and spurted out of it with breathing bones. The belt carried them forward into the world. Whir it all went, the first cry of life.

A short distance ahead, after a bit of a turn, a slope of the path, doctors in faded but once bright jumpsuit stand in queue, sleep drained brains and coffee stained teeth, vein either popping across their blood covered bones, or rings strangling their butter fed fingers, they await for the shiny things, o' but they are not shiny to them, they are tiny metal parts yet to fit into a machine, and the sick power they didn't recognize, they were the ones who would deliver the passing judgement. The cogs came in with a silent, slow whir, dumb mouths around, dumb things rolling, on and on. Whir the belt goes.

The first skinny man sorts out, so does the second skiny child, third woman, the fat man, the old invalid, the tired wife, the poor child, they all look with intent eyes, fingers jumbling the pile, fingers and hands touching them, sorting them, eyes fixed like they were too cogs in a machine. Sighs the tired stood fellows, whir the belt goes.

Across each working pair of hand, some on their right, a few different ones with a bucket on their left, once in a while tossed the one toothless cog, or a two teeth joined, two cogs combined, a cog with no hole, a cog with a questioning defination into a diffrent pile. Those were the still borns, out of the belt they went, abondoned by the whir of the belt that goes on and on.

Those discarded went in a burning pit of fire melted into  sticky sort of gold, to turn into something else, not quite human or cog like, those in the belt never sees them again. Thunk, thunk, thunk they were dropped and thrown.

A few unlucky, disabled cogs missed by the calloused fingers were packed in a box among the rest and out they went , the belt either ended or whir it turned around, the light in the doorway steals the belt's moment, for once the belt doesn't captivate with its dark power, the escape has my eyes. A silent, menacing whir leaves me behind.

The box lands on doors after doors, until it reaches the last, the one with the man in need and a curious soul. The thick, brown tape is pierced with a knife, then cut across in the middle as the knife dances in it straight till the edge. Then a probing hand parts the two grey flaps like broken or shed wings, and inside a cool, subtle smell of the last home smokes in. The man takes the plastic packet out, jingles inside the new born and bought cogs, like a pack of marbles, and just like a child would have handled a pack of marbles, the man handles the cogs. Swoosh over his shoulder, he carried it over to his desk.

Piles of metal parts sits among his half drank coffee, a stale muffin he bought placed on the brown paper bag it came in, baked by the baker's littlest daughter, it was her first try, the muffin was awful but it looked pretty. There were bunch of paper strewn across in a mess, with only one big sheet stretched clear and clean, on it were figures and words, words in a handicapped handwriting. And tiny little notes stuck in places. Right across the three legged stool, tall, and without a place to rest the feet, lay a giant big machine, now dead, soon to be revived, its insides damaged, missing a few piece, cogs to run it up again. Jurr, jurr it would go once revived.
With a dead thump the plastic packet of cogs dropped on the desk, the cup shivered a bit, the muffin sighed, and the stool croaked as the heavy man sat on it and turned towards his friend that needed repairing. A quiet sniff by the worker, and he stared at the machine, as if he was trying to read a book, but the language was silent. He turned around towards his desk, tore upon the packet and took a tiny handful of the cogs and placed it in a tiny metal plate that contained some other metal parts from the machine. Hours he sat there, screwing and jamming parts after parts, gluing them, screwing them in, fixing them, connecting them and a few cogs in between.

He closed the patch of the machine with a pressed thud, turned it a little until he could reach the tiny black lever  and clicked it on, gurr, gurr, went the machine, it was alive with words and screams.
Hmm, something wasn't yet right but the machine was alive, sent was it out into the world, a fully functioning machine.

Years, two decades to be precise, it walked and ran, often stumbling, scratches now and then, some months it would just crawl to make it to the years, but on it went in the world. Clunk, clunk, clunk, it hobbled on feet, dragged on two arms, tired, blood stained, broken it walked. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Then one day it collapsed, smoke rising to the sky, fire, fire burning it from the inside, screams suppresed in utter shock,with only little outbursts of what is happening! Rants, and curses, and bellows and silences rose from it, it lay on the street all shattered, shattered, shattered. One cog was a misfit, it looked fine but didn't work fine, it was defected, a disabled, an abomination, a horror, a square peg in a round hole, a manufacturing glitch.
The machine was dead. Silence.

Do you ever wonder if a few humans pass as glitches?

Had this on my mind for years I suppose, finally made it on paper.
Alisha Shibli Apr 19

It’ll either be right, or it’ll be wrong
There is only one way to know.
And if you’re worried that this could be a mistake,
Then let’s make it the best fucking mistake of our lives.

Debanjana Saha Apr 13

The moment we think
somebody is close enough..
That's where the mistake lies!
They were never that close
to see through us..
leaving us with a scar!

Sad ending!
Julia Traina Apr 4

i couldn't tell you why i wore jeans
the most uncomfortable jeans,
worse than they seem
ill tell you that

i had to drive 7 hours that day
to get home straight away
i know what you'll say
why those jeans?

wearing jeans was a mistake
so i decided i should make
the simple decision to just take
those jeans off

i took them off in the front seat
stopped at the gas station that meets
birch road and st pete
and continued on

it's about right now
my cat meowed
i realized then,
going well over 10
miles faster than i should
there was nothing i could
when i saw those lights blue
and red, i said
"i'm fucked"

did i mention i'm still not dressed?
wait till you hear the rest
his name was officer Difflemest
and he had a question.

"liscense and registration?"
you can imagine his frustration
when he saw my.....situation,
and i had a question too.

"officer, i know this exchange,
is already strange,
so could I change?"

he nodded

he turned away out of respect.
"officers are here to protect"
i didn't know what to expect
it certainly wasn't this

when he turned back i could see
him shaking uncontrollably
while i sat there so openly
embarrassed for myself

soon enough before i knew
i found myself laughing too
with the officer in blue
i guess it was…funny?

i don't know why
on the 3rd of july
i managed to get by
without a ticket.

i could say it was my looks
or because i'm not a crook
but we all know what it took,
driving without pants.

trying to play around with rhyme schemes, and yeah, this happened.

4/04/17 11am
Anna Skinner Apr 1

i’m 13 and my first kiss is from a boy named nick behind dick’s sporting goods in stale street air. nick’s canadian and when i ask if he can speak french he says no but I can play hockey and that is the next best thing

a week prior when i tell lauren we’ve been dating seven months and haven’t kissed yet she can’t believe it but all i believe is i’m 13 and a first kiss was supposed to be so special
so special i am too scared to close my eyes so my first kiss is a waterfront view of spider-leg eyelashes, too much spit, and all nick.

two weeks later he calls me cherry and i call him kiwi because we think normal pet names are too mainstream.

three weeks later nick breaks up with me when i corner him by the west wing lockers in the middle school by english class. i confront him, lay out the facts, and that is that.
i’m 14 and my second kiss is by the bleachers at the high school football game – not behind because behind the bleachers is where kids go for second base and to form virgin lips around leaf sweet smoke.
i‘m 14 and my second kiss is still nick but it’s not all spit and i wonder who he’s been kissing
i’m 14 and my second kiss is to the melody of a collective crowd’s stamping feet and a boy named jared with no real teeth wolf-whistling at us from the corner  
i’m 14 and i remember to close my eyes  

i’m 15 and grind on levi who’s twice my height to a rihanna song at homecoming
his crotch is against my upper back when it should be against my ass
he doesn’t kiss me, drops me off, speeds away in his oldsmobile

i’m 17 and my first fuck is with a man named dan who serves at the same restaurant i smile at and hand menus out for tips. i’m his twenty-third and for a while after 23 is my favorite number
i’m 17 and i’m bleeding on dan’s brother’s sheets
i’m 17 and afterwards dan sleeps with a girl named stephanie who probably fucks better than me. i got my ears pierced at claire's last year but stephanie has tattoos between her tits and a dermal.

i’m 20 and barely flinch when i see nick at the local community college. i ask if he still plays hockey and he asks me what good books i’ve read lately and i wonder if he’s any good in bed.

i’m 22 and i’ve laid with a dozen men, all nestled like eggs in my crate of shame

i’m 22 and i've learned to close my eyes until they've finished with me

Sometimes we don't realise
Just how much we are hurting
It takes courage to sit down
and talk it through.
It takes even more guts to admit
You have mucked it up.
It's even better when you say your sorry.
and  learn from it ..

Relationships are never easy. And
Communication barriers
Is the main factor of relationships breaking down. We sit in silence.
hold grudges and before long we become bitter ice cold in our heart's .Our heart's starts to festher beore long we start suffering from long term illness all because we cannot talk it through. It ruins trust. .
Self-esteem. .what happens  affairs divorce. .
Ben Jr Mar 29

I'm the cupid's mistake,
I tend to stand out,
I fall for things that are out of place,
And cant seem to stop,

I don't kiss when am supposed to,
I don't stay when I should,
I say words that comes in my mind,
And most of them are hurtful,

I'm a cupid's mistake,
My heart is cold and dark,
I drain life of anyone's hand I take,
And in me, you'll find no spark,

I learnt not to break,
So with me comes no apology,
I tend to put everything to fate,
And that's what I've always been,

I'm a cupid's mistake,
So don't blame me,
I don't play by the general rules in place,
I do what Im mostly pleased with,

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