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In the summer night
Two lovers
a senior Lama
And a common girl
Couple
And have their ways
With each other
Under the summer Dipper.
Lama Yeshi Tsang
As we cuddle
And make shy love
The poppy falls
On the floor
Only to dry up and be forgotten
Amoung the dust
But the night will be memorable.
As I pick a poppy
From the poppy field
After our coupling
I am reminded
Of you
My love.
There once was a boy named Steve,
Who couldn't pull up his sleeve,
So he gave it a tug,
And tried a hug,
But yet could not pull up his sleeve.
Poor Steve!
My first poem. A weak but funny one
rgz 12h
Contentment is a fleeting thing
Descendant of the peace but then
Oversensing will begin
Commencement of the mortal sin
Empty out the medicine
Then resentment will set in
Ten steps towards the loony bin
Guess I'll never make it since
Contentment is a fleeting thing
What a coincidence
s v e n 13h
《s.ven》

Remind me again --
About all of it.
I want to remember,
I need to remember --
So I don't repeat myself,
So I don't fall or trip on my mistakes.
If I do that --
What was the point of
Remembering it all.
I want to stay away,
I need to stay away.
Even though,
I know -- my heart is aching to get hurt again,
To embrace the toxic thoughts of past,
Relive old beginnings,
To restart.
To catch new aches and pains,
To fall and trip,
To stay and live it.
To remember all of it,
To walk into a new beginning
With you in it.
(imitated from Patricia Lockwood’s **** Joke)

The woman joke isn’t something you choose.

The woman joke is something you get used to.

The woman joke it almost becomes your livelihood.

Remember when you were little, boys had cooties, but so did girls. Imagine what would happen today if you said boys had cooties-

Nothing.

You’ll hear the woman joke when you’re way too young. The ones telling the joke probably won’t realize that the joke they’re telling isn’t a joke at all. But girls have cooties and they always will.

You’ll grow up, but nothing will change.

The woman joke is now commonplace. The norm! How can a joke be so common normal? The only people who think the joke isn’t normal are women.

The woman joke is when even the President can make the joke without consequence.

But you can’t.

The woman joke is that if you make one, it suddenly isn’t funny anymore, men will look away in disgust, and other women will say you’re degrading them and yourself.

It’s just a joke, you’d say. Even though you knew it wasn’t.

The woman joke is an expected icebreaker at a party that you learn to laugh at. When you go home at night, you shake with rage but know there’s nothing you can do about it.

How can such a joke exist? Because you do.
Brooke S 14h
When the nights get too cold;
And there's nothing warm to behold
And all of the trees that used to be green,
Become withered and mean

When the old righteous stare,
Becomes more than you can bear;
When the birds don't sing the song
You used to hear all morning long

When the nights get too cold,
Suddenly you'll know

So make a shelter where you'll be safe,
From all the yesterdays and its mistakes
From the coldness of her hand,
and all the madness unplanned

Still sometimes the winter air stays in your chest,
It's only what it knows best
But sometimes it lingers just a little too long,
Sometimes it lingers just a little too long.

When the nights get too cold;
Hold onto me, don't let me go.
Life can exact a heavy toll
Unless you pay heed to your whole;
Your mind, your body and your soul!
Star BG 18h
I take a breath at morning light,
moving in depths of heart
where gems of words pour
and emotions sprout.

Where light integrates dark
and dreams manifest.

I take a step at daybreak,
where baby day unfolds
and diamond words get worn
on sleeve to write thoughts.

Where steps of dance balance
and light expands.

I take a moment at night
where stars of twinkling words
center behind eyes as diamond verse
to be woven upon page.

Where hand follows heart,
and heart beats with gratitude.

I take a breath laying upon bed,
aligning with gift of sleep.
A sweet place where I dream,
scouting out places of grand mystery.

Where beating doorway of heart
and songs become words dear.
whispering with morning birds
to scribe a poem but again.
Inspired by Sobbingsoul. Thanks you are a gift
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