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mars Feb 2017
my soul is poetry.

the inner linings are the stanzas
strong and protecting against the white barrier of a page
or the inevitability of time

it flows like free verse
or runs like rhymes
never stopping, never starting, endless against the hourglass
which is my beating heart

the hollows of my chest are the words I never say out loud
but I spill out on paper like the confessions of a sinner
it is there they are finally allowed eternal rest
and are free from damnation

I am the twists and turns of a sonnet
a side stepped soliloquy
a dead end didactic

I am this
the words i write
the things i feel
the being i am

and i am poetry
It's hard to fathom
How we spend so much time
Thinking about one person
I might be in the minority
But I'd rather stay there
Hard to say I never cared
Hard to say I never dared
I'm not a soul that likes abdication
I will become a mind of interrogation
Because I analyze everything up and down
That's just who I am
I spend some of my time thinking about you
When there isn't much going on
It passes the time when all my other options are absent
In reality, they're just distractions.
You're the best kind, and I want to become more immersed.
zebra Feb 2017
before
we
know
kindness
we are silly moons
a primal scream
ids
gaggle of wants
having not yet understood
our own vulnerability
and its connection to others
the agony of self
uninitiated
by the sacrifices yet to come

in effect a criminal mind

as a child growing up in brooklyn
my friends and i would
make a mad dash
out of ching-a-lings
chopsuey restaurant
after eating sumptuously
with out paying the bill
electrified with terror and excitement
at the thought of being grabbed
by a chinese boogy man
and laughing breathless
when finally
out of harms way
sadistically delighting
by the panic
we caused
as some red faced hyperventilating waiter
caved trying to catch
five little hell boys
fury fast

all adults
were filthy rich
compared to us urchins
idling in the darkness and tenements
sniffing glue
in a number 2 brown paper bag
hole in the pocket poor
slow starters
uninspired
pressing through
the dragging weight
of a barren world
not yet knowing
we too will toil endlessly
worry sick for loved ones
and quake at endless indignities
trying to eek out a living
like the waiter we robbed of his pittance
on this Sisyphean rock

our lives
stretched out before us
a white knuckle ride
between hope
and quiet desperation
struggling not to be swallowed
through pitted black holes
and fake floors
into downward mobility

our pin ball souls
like small metal *****
jarred and knocked
from one ringing bell to the next
in a turbulent game
player or not
without an inkling
of the fated
dark signature
written into our genes
by deaths hand
before
we
know
kindness
Martin Narrod Jan 2017
the world is a world it is a word and it spins spinning, spinning, spinning, around and around, and this is the world and it spins, spinning around and around and we are here to see it, to see it and watch it spinning spinning around, here we are watching the spinning, the world, it goes around and around and around, spinning

Let me touch your skin, your skin your skin, your skin is so white, the whitest I have ever seen the whitest I have ever seen, white like the snow in the mountains, the mountain snow, so white, so clear, so snowy white like in the mountains, and I want to touch it, I want to touch it, let me touch it. You are like a *****, your skin is filthy and you are disgusting, so disgusting, let me touch you.

How I love your hair, your hair is amazing, it is so long, it is so incredible and so amazing and beautiful, it is like great big rounds of silk and satin in a great round, let me touch your hair, let me touch your hair, let me put my nose to it, let me put my mouth and lips to it, and my face to it, I want to breathe the same heavy awesome air that you breathe, I want to taste the same air that you have found. Your hair is like an old carpet with stains, let me touch it.

This is the world, here we are, watching it, we watch it, we watch it spinning, it spins around and around, and it will go forever, it or we or it will go around and around and around and around, spinning, and we will be here to watch it, spinning, spinning, spinning, around. You are like the end to the day that lasted forever and forever, never ending, but now it is ending, and the day was never ending, but no more. And the earth will spin around and around.
Dear kid you are the picture
of heart on well worn sleeve.
You oiled every wave of
raw emotion
and etched it on your own face.

Each time you draw a tear
the cascades fill your sorry eyes.
Far cry from masterpiece,
or symphony
but your truest portrait caught in time.
Dawn Anderson Jan 2017
---
To let people run over me
I have a tendency,
I'm a doormat off sorts
With bristles that are coarse
And the personality to match,
What catch.
Dark Delusion Jan 2017
I was the happiest person alive.
Until someone destroyed my imagination.
S A L Jan 2017
I looked into your eyes and saw a beautiful mind, everything you look at, everything you touch, everything you do and say you do it in a beautiful way.
You, yourself are a beautiful person in everything single away.
Little sister what a beautiful you
Gill Dec 2016
Sometime when you're feeling important
Sometime when your ego's in bloom
Sometime when you take it for granted
You're the best qualified in the room

Sometime when you feel that your going
Would leave an unfillable hole
Just follow these simple instructions
And see how they humble your soul

Take a bucket and fill it with water
Put your hand in it, up to the wrist
Pull it out and the hole that's remaining
Is a measure of how you'll be missed

You can splash all you want
when you enter
You can stir up the water galore
But stop and you find that in no time
It looks quite the same as before

The moral of this quaint example
Is to just do the best you can
Be proud of yourself but remember
There is no indispensable man

©The Bible Friend
Here's a lovely humbling poem I'd like to share with you - 771, Taken from the Encyclopedia of 7700 Illustrations, 1979, Signs of the Times by Paul Lee Tan
samantha page Dec 2016
I'm just a normal person,
or so another may think.
If only they could see in my mind,
oh, how my normalacy would shrink.
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