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A tri fold, then a bi fold, then a bi fold again
The smooth ridged friction causes my fingers to stumble,
Over the inscribed words of duty, honor, and justice
Though my marks cover the blank space
The core message stands resolute

Through the bite marks when I’ve no hands
Through the creases of each fold
Through the crossed out notes of yesterdays and before

The ideals stand unwavering on the rock of unassailable surety

“that’s not right” “its not what we do” my ingrained and flawless surety
Of right and wrong often splashed on my friends
Regardless of then asking to be soaked
But
They knew that this was coming
They knew ever since they became friends with me

I stood as bright and shinning as any statue to some ethical boundary
Completely unashamed of my brilliant and righteous judgment

Though still toeing the edge of my seat, I am quiet.
I’ve learned to let them do as they please,
Leave the bowing of others
To the truly untainted teachings
Of wisdom
To wisdom
G Mar 2018
he says to me,
i remember when i was young.
i stood under the bridge
and watched as cars passed above me;
i stood there, alone
with my fishing rod,
waiting.
i waited and longed
to one day be able
to afford more than
a fishing rod.
now, i am fifty years old.
i have more money
than i ever imagined;
i can buy
more fishing rods
than i have fingers.
but i want you to see,
when you watch the cars pass above you;
let them go.
let them pass ahead,
all you need
is what is in your hands already.
because you can't be buried
with a car
with a house;
you can't take money
to the grave.
to live simply,
that is the bridge
between life and death
to the nirvana.
Michael Pham Feb 2018
how can you call yourself a king
when you're not even living in a monarchy?

how can you call yourself a king
when you treat everyone like they're peasants?

how can you call yourself a king
when your heart is made out of fool's gold?

and how can you call yourself a king
when you don't even know what it takes
to be one?
a.k.a. fuckboys that think they're the **** and call themselves kings because of their overly sensitive lookin *****.
wyle tan Jan 2018
Her sister died alone

That night she wept
Followed with Mahjong
And went fishing next

I saw Heavens in disarray!

By Wyle
Written on 13 January 2018, Malaysia
Caroline Roche Dec 2017
I swear the star-lit hours are thieves.

Deep navy our depressant
in those free hours of the night,
Principles drenched clean in burnished light.

Inhibition stolen now,
we flail a rhythmic roadside dance
an ethereal midnight trance.

Bluey blood flowers my sleeve,
Kneeling on ghostly asphalt - still.
I don’t know what I tried to ****

But blue looks red in the morning.
Anita Daniel Dec 2017
Everytime I think of relationships my soul dents
We are stuck in societies where boys' glistening hormonal hunger are mistaken for love

Where is the passion?
These days men have gone through underground classes about how to lure women into believing that it is all about love meanwhile their plan is to only get in between women's legs so that their ego is enhanced
He tells you how beautiful you are and gives you a full description of how you make his heart beat fast and his palms sweat
He tells you that only you complete him fully
And asks to meet up with him not even on a proper date like in the days of our parents
You go to his place and the setting screams : Pleasure!
He whispers all sweet nothings into your ears that excites your body and you believe that he truly loves you
Before you know he has gotten what he wanted and wants to get rid of you as soon as possible
The next few days he ignores you and texts you the next time he "misses" you
He types a long paragraph narrating how busy he has been and you fall for it again because of the effort he took to type a long *** raudy paragraph

Where is the passion?
Men no longer send you notes that circulated around the class when you were in 7th grade that read : " You look beautiful as the sky" " Yellow makes your eyes pop" " Mom taught me how to make lemonade I thought you'd love some" "I love you, yes or no"
They no longer secretly protect you from the bullies that always made fun of you in high school down the hall
They no longer want to know what your favorite book is and why
They do not pick flowers from Mrs A's garden to present to you
They don't make jokes about relevant matters
All they know is ****** jokes that downgrade your value as a woman
Men don't want to hear all about your day and the conversations you've had with your girls or the argument you had with your mother
They are all about your paradise
When they look at you they uncover and undress you in their minds
They measure the size of your ***** and behind

Where is the passion?
That boy from next door who always came over to study with you because he knows you need help with maths
That boy that your parents always saw as your elder brother who protects you from evil creatures
That boy that your dad would allow to take you to the movies because he is well behaved and has only blown a kiss to you
That young man who respects you and your values and is concerned with how you will achieve all your dreams

Where are all these boys who are now handsome men
Show yourself for we are exhausted of all these boys that are dressed in men's cloaks...

Young lady I urge you to rise up
Open your eyes and stand your ground
You are worth more than cliché pickup lines from the internet
You are a well crafted diamond
Have high standards that not just any man can approach you
Do not be loose
Your are the carrier of life
Make it clear that you do not entertain hormonal boys
You desire a man that will build an empire with you and raise your family with you in due time when you have achieved most of your dreams and his too
You are that backbone of this earth
Know your worth and do away with mediocre.
passion over lust.
Poetic T Dec 2017
We weep as if were angels,
          but we just change our
                          reflections,
to a different shade.
Because angels aren't  real,
               and were only mortal
                 So look away, its not ok..
Poetic T Dec 2017
Within a casket of echoes
does the mirage of
      truth become stained
into a conciseness of delusions.
                 But still they are slaves..

Altercations of past inclinations
that merit, reflection of
                          misguided minds.
But with no morals they digress,
      standing on illusions of nothingness.

Where another doesn't tread,
                      fed to others delusions
of negativities prompting lies upon
lie with no merit only golden goblets
drinking upon the weakness of others.
Skye Marshmallow Nov 2017
Compasses break sometimes
But we must learn to mend
Them with strips of tape
And glue sticks ends
Inspired by sleeping at last.
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