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Your language is empathy
Your power is vehemence.
You have a searing pursuit of understanding
and the ability arouse curiosity.

Conversing with you is like
naming stars,
creating constellation with them
It is observing the intricacy, profundity and complexity of this world;
Delving deeper into the ocean
and a black hole of unexplored matter
as you paint extravagant pictures with words.

You made me feel heard
the days I was mute
Seen,
the days I was invisible.

Thank you for asking me what I thought,
for making me feel it mattered.
Thank you for reaching out,
when I needed it the most.
Thank you for inspiring me
to be vocal about my thoughts and passions.
Thank you for being an integral
part of the person I am today.
Thank you for brewing the oceanic-galactic tea.
Riptide 2d
The person always willing to fight.
Is right next to you.
That one who has been with you for forever.
I haven't felt this way in awhile
I haven't had any words left in my heart
Each time I sat to write
My soul was vacant
And nothing felt right
Now after all this time
I sit with my laptop on hand
And my words are there
And it feels pure
My lungs finally fill with the air
They have craved for so long
It's been such a dark and lonely road
But with you back in my life
The paradox that somehow
Makes everything feel right
You, the one I thought was gone
You, the one who I tried to forget
You, the one who I did wrong
Giving me a second chance
After all this time
You are the strangest paradox I know
Yet at the end of the day
I can't help but to say
I love you
A poem about a person I once lost
A poem about someone I know can't live without
Anya 4d
Sometimes
I wonder,
If we could just open
Ourselves completely
To someone
And have them
Understand
Our very essence
Our very being
To
Truly know
Us
...
...
...
...
...
I’d hate it

I,
Am my
Home
My mind
Is my
Abode

I don’t want anyone
To have that power
Over me

Nor do I want
To have that power
Over others

I love myself
As difficult
As I can be
...
When all is lost
No matter
How broken
Bent
Ruined
Intact
I will have myself
I will ALWAYS,

Well, maybe not when we
Invent mind controllers

But,
I will ALWAYS
HAVE MYSELF

Me,

This moldable piece of clay
Everything here,
Good
Or bad
Weird
Or cool
Although, not permanent
Ever changing
Is mine
Is what I’ve got
...
...
...
And I’ll take it
If you disagree please tell me why, I’d love to hear it.
Steven 5d
What I visioned was warmed steel winds - brilliant soft glow
crystal Autumn light at the center of the heart
the rush of slow rains pulled away from its quartzed source
to let dance a sacred stray
away from the lucent ****
born herself to those turned monuments in our memory
an echo - the innocent born from the energy of a new Spring  -
quenched of a natural thirst
allowing a climb
like ascending fire dust from logs spent in the night -
Electric light.

What I found was that glow
but distant
the Autumn light absent its blare
Those echoes dulled
because it was the idea that was the love affair -
not Electric - but Citrine light
like deserts  - magnetic to view yet ambitious to live
The quite crescent of ocean
absent the meld of salt sun height - A liquid soar
or beiged meadow lawns
the slightly felled allure of Sycamore.
I
Who am i
I am a mote of sand
Shifting through
The winding dunes
Of time
I am a scratched leaf
Swaying under the
Whims of wind
Through the vast
Unending brows
Of forests
In this planet
I am a tiny
Drop of rain
Melding with the
Arterial waterways
Thus
I am an infinitesimal
Speck of life
Amid the infinite circle
Of an inordinately
diverse life
But how am i
I am alive
I can breathe
I can percieve
By myself
Independently
And this is the
Sole reason
Why i should aim
To be contented
With how
I exist
Isn't it
Bryce 6d
I am showing you how *** works in one way
I cannot help but think, speak, dream,
Holding life as a box of chocolates
and wanting badly to poison the dog

the bugging, nagging, aching thing
the ballbusting nature of loneliness
of solitation
"salutations, sweet girl
I am one of the many males."

We don't pick our breakfasts
We have to fight for them
because we ate a crabapple
with our balanced scripture
Now we're Mars' Barred.

I want to touch the vessel that holds you
I want to touch it gently, molding it as clay
your cheeks, rosy, adobe,
the same red as the old
Your eyes the colors of amber before it was made
The subtle breath of turquoise
The diamond-speckled rings
I want to be the emptiness that gives you form
I want to be the innate human function
I want to kiss you because you are ***
and you are *** that speaks.

I want to kiss your soul,
I want to feel your light
because the aesthetic of you:
A Cole Thomas in the gallery
Rhapsody in Blue, the love theme
A swan in the early autumn, seeking herself
in the reflections on the pond

I want to be the *** back
The spoken voice that gave you chills
the same way you shiver on a lonely night,
staring at the enumerate stars, lining up into couples
via perspective parsecs dancing across your eyes
and pulling each follicle closer, closer--

Darling the high likelihood is that we will pass each other by
I will wave goodbye to ***, pay my tab,
stumble outside
Maybe watch you disappear
listen to Adagio as the engine begins to explode
controllable
Knowing this will all happen again until it doesn't.
Anya Oct 11
I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I'm normal
for the most part
I'm not super different
I don't necessarily stand out
I'm that nice girl
who's kind of a nerd
A sort of vague
baby bluish
hue
in your memory

Except for those
who I am close to
who see me as more,
splatter painted orange
which happens to be my least favorite
color
and tiny splotches
of greens
and yellows
then if you look way down
deep deep deep
like the deep blue sea

I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I began writing poetry
due to loneliness
My obsessive
reading
had put
tantalizing thoughts
in my head of what school
best friends
crushes
life
SHOULD be
but wasn't

I would notice
every little thing
a drop of a pin
would mean
a world of difference
in my head

I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I'm smart
But lazy
I don't spend
enough time on
what I should
I'm too privileged
I complain
(As I seem to be doing now)
I don't understand
what it's truly like
to not
be

I do as I please
It's not
that I'm not a hard worker
But it's like now,
when I know I have
two essays
and two
speeches to write
(And science homework)
But,
here I am
writing poetry instead

I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I've repeated that,
how many times now?

I wonder what got me started
on this furious
ferocious tangent
...
I think it was...
another poem I read

About how poets
have something wrong
with them or other

I began thinking,
what about me?

Who's to say?
...
...
Probably me
Because I'm me
And I get to decide
who I want to be
...
Is what an optimist would say
Cheesy
Not cheesy
...
I'd
like,
to believe
...
...
I
need
to believe
...
...
...
You know what?
***** it,
I WILL BELIEVE
Um...all I know was that it was me talking myself into going from uncertain to determined but I'm really not sure where I went with that. Hope it's relateable or gets you thinking!
Ken Pepiton Oct 9
Forwards and fore words are cult if ations, (cultureshapen)
words we would find mean more

than their idle kin dread, (a play)
if we had been reared
starting now

A push from behind,
*** put padding for a reason,
Mrs. Marshall said. Second grade.

A word, to the wise, is enough.
Acculturation.

That's the clue that leads to leaven,
and a little leaven...
you know, or say you do, of course,
we've known yeast
resurrects in our bread, for eons and ages,
Good Lord.

We know how things work.

If we be honest,
some,
a little bit, we know how things work.
Sayin' hon, I ain't sure I know what honest was.

To tell the truth, I don't suppose anybody knows,
wit'out attention's terrible price,

secret price, only the paid and payer know it, ever.
Sacred makin', sacrifice,

that's a one time deal, for real.

A mortal man can't know until he dies if he unbelieved all his
lies, but his try's are said to give him some -umph,

----
What manner of men are we that it is given unto us

to be? That is an answer worth paying attention to chase, per
haps. Not, to be or not to be, what choice, before now? You know?

Remember, we asked. Together, we agreed,
that greed will draw us to the treasure,

do you mind my taking greed from agreed and making it work.

it does work. it is an essential elemental,
desire is another word they use, but that gives it more
purpose than greed, and calls for more minding of the process.

Once a reifying action has begun we must maintain our equilibrium,
or
find ourselves falling, once more, into dis-traction
on life's slipper *****.

Slipper-iness has meaning.
Ask any little princess planning to grease her foot with KY.
It can be good or bad, not good or evil.

Squeeks from the audience, sometimes signal gasps,
as agap is crossed, like a spark,
mnemonical daemonic algorythms, those ain't bad you understand?

The Intelligence in Re-al, 's'no accidental instance of order over chaos that just cain't quit,
that ain't it.
Geeks as you know geeks,
Gates, Jobs, 'nem, A. I. Imagineers,
did not write this algorithm of life, as it turns out,

The Idea of *** seems not to have needed help
designing a safeground,
where kids can play.

Sam Harris axed me, vicar-iously, Do you believe in literal
re-sur-rection of some formerly
living thing/ any?

Yes, yeast, I do. It seems dead, only our knowing it's not
and proving other wise de-ifs the possibility it's dead, now alive.

It's like that cat box, Schrödinger has.
Anything is possible, *** knows, Jesus even said so,
wit' ***, all o'this is possible,
save lying and dying and failing to be good for me.

Living, it seems, is the deed we do
to prove living forever is worthy of trying,
happily ever after, starting now,
if you wish to stay mortal and never know,

you can't.
You know you die, so you die.
Forever,
that goes on.

It's **** to try that with no triumph in sight.
Alone, especially.
I heard the phrase Jesus Bomb during the JBP/Sam Harris talk on youtube. I thought it might be fun to make one. If you notice, the poems posted here, byme, time as proven flow together onward.
girl gonzo Oct 6
myopic frames on a stern temple remind me that once he too wandered recklessly and felt ardent
empowered by time on his sleeve
there was nothing he couldn't conquer and nothing standing between the open air and breathing it in
i suppose the difference here is i grab the breath of air and hold it in my pocket for when i stop being so nervous

marshmallow heart
the road only goes one way and the streetlights hover and coil eternally, you can never meet the epilogue
a drive-thru drink in one hand while you feel your hair tangling into a mess of a beehive, the one that likes to unwind in soft tendrils on a weak pillow
heart racing for the constant fueling of a near empty tank telling you to go further this time, this time
time isn't yours


holding in a cough
i too have tried to drown waterbugs
my cheek pressed against the tiles of a kitchen floor, hand perched languidly as my fingers make circles in the tiny swamp i made in the middle of the room
but i forget laying there until i hear my own soul walk in with bare feet addressing the elephant in the room, the one that hasn't left since i was sick with bronchitis that winter years ago
and i want to tell her to come here, to come back inside myself so it doesn't feel so cold this season of frost but she brushes me off with the temperament of a child
"i don't exist, i never did" the words dawdle back and forth from her back molars to her incisors  
and i remember when i felt like i was dying when i hopped from one state to the next but realizing a little to late that if i were to go back my dread would jump on the back of my shoulders and force me to look it into it's shiny face and show me the mild nuisance of what it means to be alive
so my soul closes the door and i hear the keys rattle and i myself sink into the warm arms of someone i spent my entire life with
a small note on the existence of what it means to have a soul in a universe that is obsessed with facts and evidence
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