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The curse of being the youngest is that
They don’t recognise their own dysfunctionality
How abnormal is their normal
Convinced about the truth
Yet less knowledge means less empathy
Leading to laughing at you for being you
The younguns should look up
Yet they are the highest
Psychological warfare of the ancestors
Why this why that questioning us
While we question the world not them
****** up wisdom is theirs
But we have clear voyance, crystal
I talk to myself because I can hear me
And they can’t. Won’t ever…
Nick Stiltner Feb 23
winter’s chilled stillness,
atoms in ice bundling tightly together
senesced trees, rotted flowers
songless birds, misted sunlight
crushed leaf step, a coat tightened

memories or dreams
What is the difference to me
light or illusion
it all seems the same to me
lie in the shade,
count gray clouds and decayed petals

page turn page turn
the pictures keep flipping
damp moisture dripping insistently
consistency, mortality
totality and ending
happen time and again
true end, broken wheel
impossible,
flickering sparks jump from the ash pile

yellow daisy river sways in the breeze
blonde beauty white dress she runs her fingers over the petals
cicada song, buzz on lilac tongue

Blue skies sun peaked over head
No clouds a kiss of wind
Direction, arrows on a compass
Point to where and why
Startled doves rise divides the mind eye
Motion and stillness
Control and fluidity
A wave implodes,
impaled upon
impassive rocks...

this evening
the thunder of the sea
is a wild music filling my ear...

you are leaving
and the ungrieving
winds demur:

telling me
that nothing returns
as it was before,

here where you have left no mark
upon this dark
Heraclitean shore.

Heraclitus said we can't step in the same river twice, because it won't be the same river and we won't be the same either. Everything is in a constant state of flux, thus "nothing returns / as it was before." Lovers who part will not be the same people if they reunite later.
'YOU'RE NO PROPHET (YOU'RE BARELY A POET)', BY PERSON I
"O woe, O why--" --O what a way to live!
Never finding what you hunt, scarcely saying what you mean,
with the audacity to worship those who can;
adoring all that's good, or brave, or noble; learning nothing.
Shameless indignity is the boldest you get:
compare them speaking their hearts against
the postmodern cowardice in all that you are.

Language is a gift you abuse:
you may as well have abandoned your voice;
paragraphs wasted on your camouflage of choice.
Half-built cities on foundations of beige-coloured water --
you keep the imagery pretty and the metaphor alluding to just about anything.

You're scared to speak if it's not been said before.
You're ashamed to speak if it's all been said before.
Reluctant to be original! Embarrassed to be derivative!
The shame is in the fact you don't bother!!
Would you say it matters if it's all been thought before?
Voiced before? Done before? Does it wound your pride
to know that your actions are barely yours?
Does it shatter your resolve, seeing your face in my words?

Omit the omnipresent and stay oblivious to obvious.
Can we call it thorough? -- this solitary hunt for truth?
-- almost commendable, almost fruitful,
had you only checked the blind-spot under your nostrils.

'MEANWHILE, IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD...', BY PERSON II
So... 'just shut up and say it'? Wow, noted. Thanks.
Tonight's been a blast.
You'd hate it.
based on a largely self-deprecating hypothesis that you can either be either emotionally available or actually fun to be around (i.e. what do you hold in higher regard, your compassion or your company?) - i'd love to be wrong on this one. i'd like to actually be both. churned this out in half an hour and yiiiikes it shows. remember, kids, to make fun of yourself at least a little bit BEFORE aiming your rage @ anyone who doesn't live the way you do (or, uh, do it afterwards. tomato/tomato.) mighty easy to get angry at your polar opposite but life's infinitely duller without them.
Selina Lin Jan 11
We began as specks,
particles of dusk,
seen in a foreign place
from centuries away.

The prophecies had foreseen it.  
The oracle had spoken—
a collision so small in size,
yet so great in power

would tear the sky off its hinges
and send it crashing
through the mountains,
burying to the bottom of sea.

You were a bundle of white,
born on a boat on a summer day
as the clouds shimmered in tranquility,
and the sky reflected the sea.

I was born ****** and destitute,
with shadows so obsidian,
they claimed my soul and
set the sky on fire.

Two opposing forces like
you and me
had always been destined
for disaster.
Robby Dec 2019
The pen is unforgiving of mistakes
Its marks are long lasting
I can’t erase you... only scratch through parts
This story of us will always be there
Written in ink as a complete work

When I draw a beautiful picture though
I use a pencil so that I can change it as I go
Erase this part and add my shading there
Pencil on paper is fragile it smudges easily
You are art... not perfect but gorgeous to me

I appreciate both for what they are
And what they mean to me
AADI Dec 2019
the one who said ...
"babe we're made for each other because you know opposites attract "
now says...
"dude we're opposites so there can be nothing more than attraction between us "
-aadi
s Nov 2019
my parents taught me
opposites don’t just attract
they also connect

.
love
a feeling you’ve never felt before
hard times don’t last. Overcome.
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