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Andrea Oct 23
We are slaves
Nothing but slaves
Dominated by our convinctions
Buried by our ego
We don't believe in anything. We only care about ourselves.
We are all trapped in a hole digged by our closed mind. The world will never be a better place to live in if we only trust in our convinctions and do not listen other ideas.
Royce Apr 9
Death has found its way inside my dreams
Opening up possibilities that will never be found
As the rain picks at my window.

Youthful lovers rejoice
While the timer ticks down
Before the silent alarm finds you.

"From dust, we came,
And dust we will return"
Silence, nothing, but blowing wind.

Yes, death has found its way inside my dreams
Smothering all hope related to life
And bringing the thunder,  
     I had never known.
Within this constriction
We define perfection

Perfection is subjection
Subjective is perfection

Dangerous is the definition
Disheartening is the caused segregation

Segregation then leads to dehumanization
Dehumanization brings a solution

A final solution

All from the definition
Of perfection
Of attraction

How beauty is the chaperon
For destruction

Is a cyclic maceration
Of the human condition

How repugnant and inane

Future and past is inundated by a dismal shroud

To be perfect is to accept those who possess your idea of imperfection

Stay open minded, avoid apathy, seek the uncomfortable

Let’s break the cycle
Mike Nov 2018
To open one's mind
Would be to seek out what closed
It in the first place
My assumption is that we weren't all born with the intolerance we may have for those we don't understand. But if we could understand what closes us off to others and deconstruct it, we allow ourselves the opportunity to take time to think for ourselves. When we make time to do this, we may just realise what or who we closed ourselves off to had never been a threat to our being at all.

The mind is a door, longing to be opened.
Khadro Jama Jan 2018
The hardest things about
Everything about religion
Is everything is either your enmy
Nothing is ever good for you
Trying to Not shame yourself
Not trying to shame all your FAMILIES
Bad things are harsher
Good things are Never enough
Everything has a flaw
They say you don’t have to be perfect
But every step to womanly hood is judged
Belief is there but not very strong
If your on my ***** business all the time
Not all religious people are very religious
If anything they are the worst of the worsts
As woman you learn so much about
Who really true to GOD
Or all those fakes pretending
But they are the real perverts!!
Devin Ortiz Nov 2016
Recalling fanaticism
Angry eyes swollen into the night
Full and proud the lunatic stood
Offering a seemingly worthless soul
To the blinding light of the moon

Heresy became virture
As daylight crept onto the horizon
Helios and his knights purging
The shadows of the Lunar kin
An orchestrated arsonist's betrayal

The comfort of the evening air
Bitter as it now is, is tempting to some
Those enkindled with righteous flames
Bleed their religion into a new day
Wildfires spread to the ways of old.
Keyana Brown Jan 2016
I have a lot on my mind
but thinking about it
is a waste of time.
Ever since I've been lost inside
I'm trying so hard to be alright.

Did I....make a mistake by running away
from the thought of yesterday?
I never wanted to remember
all I ever wanted was to be okay.

Oh, what's the benefit
what's the point of it?
There's no need to mutter
I need to get better!

I just can't hold onto this  
so I don't overthink it
I should **** it up and quit.
I have had this problem many times before, but it's better to write a poem about it.
Let me know what you think.
Sierra Earle Nov 2015
These words, they conglomerate
on the page
loosely tied together
by the date
the sharpest needle
and
the finest thread
could not stitch them together
I have tried
many times
I have stabbed myself
many times
but
scraps of sting
unused words lay
loosely distorting an unforeseen design
but
if you squint
posses an open mind
then the words will seem to tighten
Could someone tell me how poetry slams work? How long are the poems supposed to be? What type of poetry is read at those types of events?
Luna Jay Jul 2015
Vastly and taken, among us
We walk alone
As have we always
And shall we continue
Our minds aren't always
As silenced as we should be
We listen and evaluate,
As if its our job, to gain the knowledge of you
To figure you out.
To know our jobs of further corruption.
Against anyone and everyone
And we watch, as to gain power
To know what to do to make you ***** inhabitants of our mother earth live in fear and restlessness.
We are the control
You, our puppets
We decide if and when to free you from your strings
Only attached to crosses as
To represent religion
Falling far from it in your falling out with a god, after being cut
Only to figure out you knew nothing of what religion really stood for
Because after all? Who really knows?
But us.
We are complete control. Learn to obey and get into our rythm of speaking, so you lip it, they think its opinions.
We.the collectors.
Gathering stars
In an infinity of black charred sky.
We must add color to our canvas.
We, gathering your glass tears in our paper jars
Throwing them to the sky.
So you'll forever remember mourned loved ones until you become that as well.
And you think stars are some beautiful representation of life, we all burn out.
Some might be.
Tears of joy. Proposal on a sunny day. A new family. Warm and fuzzy memories for you to store.
But to collectors, stars are to remind you
That even in a black nothing land
There is still suffering.
The sun isn't getting closer
But only bigger and still enlarging rapidly
As there will always be pain
And suffering
Tragedy in great masses.
Broken hearts.
Stars are to show remembrance in bad times.
What else is there out in the cold of space?
You don't know.
Exactly.
You know nothing of what is to come.
Of what you are to become.
Mark Lecuona Jan 2015
A free man walking
Suffers from no illusions
But what grows green from rocks
Is what he seeks
It reminds him that hope never dies

A free man talking
Suffers from no emotions
But what he hears from ticking clocks
Is how a baby sleeps
Not knowing why his mother cries

A free man provoking
Is like kicking sand into oceans
People hear the way he talks
But ignore why he speaks
They only see white in his darkened eyes

A free man trying
His mind rocked by constant motions
It’s not so easy to feel these thoughts
The truth of the matter is all he keeps
While she drowns in seas that only rise
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