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Aaron Beedle Mar 26
To me it's strange, the way they speak.
The poets of the ivory peaks.
The ivory's gone, but it's some other thing
I can't afford. That luck won't bring.

Their words are nonsense, their tales obscure,
and I endure
strange sentences and structures
to be a part, and perhaps procure
an understanding of the
heavy handed
application of articulation.
The inebriation of contemplation
of words and rhymes.
Perhaps it will come to me in time.

It is the story of my life.
An unavoidable,
like pain, like light.
The door is open, the hands invite
but the hearts are frozen, with hands that write
about love and romance, pain and longing
where is the tale of the brothers belonging
and sisters working the marathon strings
of shifts to pay to raise a child.
The horrors of a society gone wild.

Where is the working class writer of poems
the wordsmith trained on the limited knowing
where is the voice of those rarely heard?
Where are their stories? Where are their words?
About: So much art is dominanted by the middle/upper class. What barriers do poorer people face in getting their art into the world? Why might exposure be significantly easier for middle class people?

I grew in a poor-ish area of Birmingham and there was essentially no support for art. I drew and wrote a lot, but I never received any support from teachers, I was encouraged not to pick these subjects, and there weren't any resources available. By the time I was a teenager, I'd completely dropped the idea of writing. It took until the age of around 27 before covid lockdown accidentally facilitated my artistic growth and I was able to pursue a creative career. Prior to that, there was nothing.
Gideon Mar 8
Twenty-five cents.
To most, this insignificant amount of money is spent with little worry or care.
Twenty-five cents.
To me, it’s all I have. I worry I’ll die with a quarter to my name.
I care about the number I see on my phone screen as I check my bank account.
Twenty-five cents.
A trivial coin given to a child to buy a trivial toy.
Twenty-five ******* cents.
A pang in my gut as I see the history of every purchase,
every dollar spent, every card swiped.
Twenty-five cents.
It’s all that remains.
Arcassin B Feb 16
By Abpoetry

Suffered my whole life.
Tryna' keep a job , keep the checks flowing,
Keep the momentum of the ongoing,
I was a pawn of the unknowing,
35 jobs and still nothing felt right,
A black man can only build so much foresight,
Odds was always stacked against me too,
I needed a outlet , I needed to fight,
Then I soon realize being a slave wasn't really an option,
They want you to work til you still in a coffin,
Third eye banged and punched out of my Noggin,
**** prosecution and **** being an object,
A number , a gear in the cog wheel,
Meditate now , I could feel what nature feel,
powers been growing , I don't derive from guilt,
Ask me what I know , you won't believe in the matrix still,
Job / School / Prison , same thing,
Please , bare , witness, vibrate,
Everything , timelines happening all at once,
So in Another I'm probably rich for god sakes,
Been thru a lot , So if Another ***** Tell Me That She Don't
Want Me Cause I'm "Broke",
I Didn't want you anyway.
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2025/02/ungrateful-heffas-featured-on-real.html?spref=tw
Man Feb 13
He belongs to it
As a citizen of the nation:
Another voice among the crowd,
A plebian shotuing outside the assembly.
Raise up your hands, my compatriots,
And let them hear your opinions!
Is the conduct quiet? Loud?
Have you dampened all other noise out?
Do you have an ear to listen?
It's a re-run made parody
Having been so shoddily done
From being so poorly conceived
By a lack of understanding.
I was never his queen.
I was a beggar for love,
for respect,
for a partner.
I was never rich in love
Trinkets Jan 26
poor brainwashed people
dressed in suits
born in time unordered life ensues
taught nearly all not nearly enough
believing life is tough
believing in what humans should
themselves
with too much power
believing into
existence hell
on earth is swamped
with minds creative
a dying earth not saved
with science made unable
ideas are ranked
by suits valued importance
paying for a voice to only
thoughts of suits feeling
not heard must make a stance
poor brainwashed needs of self
realisation not in correlation
of the need for salvation
greed unimportant next to being
the one who looked down on the rest
poor brainwashed suits believing
themselves to be the best
the world continued burning
the right ideas through fear
kept mute
must not be overhead
when suits see fires
lit in tribute
King!
My coronation was a trial by fire.
A heavy orchestration of pain casted upon me was my test of ascension
mechanisms of a divine imagining
that which has stretched me beyond thresholds of innocent humanity presented me another edge to my identity
sharper
Cutting deeply into my flesh, that divides like the most tender choice
yet
teaching me equally valuable lessons  
furthering my progression, in life.

The throne is uncomfortable to me.
They lament to me, constantly, that I will “grow into it”
this, abominable seat of my dubious existence here
it’s vast backrest, comprised of a fallible love
petrified skeletal appendages – arms
and various metacarpal complete with long, gnarled, and bony fingers.
It does, whenever I should take a seat, reach into my back, to give a malicious massage to my soul, yet, it does become a shield, of sorts, protecting me from the multitude of tormented souls that fall behind me.
My back
it becomes stressed
all the while I am approached by the denizen of our lower realm.

In such
I am a mastermind to the humbled classes
the discarded region of society’s social classes,
wherein the poor persists, without fruition, in attempting to escape a den of poverty,
akin to the various ways that obstreperous children may try to exit a room secured by vigilant adults
just to reach a room filled with never-ending sugar.
This realm, it is where I am directed to guide.

My crown
oh
it is cumbersome and burdensome upon my crest
heavy is this appointed ornament
to me it is a compliment to the curse
to them – it is a highly important adornment.
Unbeknownst, however, to the masses that wander under moonlight shows,
it slows my pace
akin to stepping double-time through moonlit painted snow
cold.
At times, it causes me to perceive that I am entertaining them,
a frost king
it penetrates my flesh and bones
corrupting my other sanities
now, no doubting or second guessing
hands, that gripped my head many moons prior delivering me from my greatest vessel, were immediately replaced
Excruciating!
I can recall
the unfathomable pain that saturated my newly emerged head
crowning into light that glared proudly from high above - divine!
My departure from a blessed, blood and sweat drenched ***** concluded with them crowning me.

I stand triumphant still
Moses would smile feverishly upon beholding the liars I have killed
Souls that I have saved.

She graduated the highest of class
remove my concern and the drugs would have taken her away
he could have walked away
a worker with no employer
his jobless gains
were too weak to sustain.
The child was a storm between he and the weary lover
filthy, she always thought
lack of maintenance and how the sheets wore their stains
though, he never gave up
his loyalty to his firm – begotten her diamond rings
six mouths that, gleefully, devour his sufficient gains.
lo
remove my torment!
That he could behold my struggle
lo, if I had failed to set an example he would have walked away

Oh!
My throne and crown are brutal to me
agonizing
acknowledged
appreciated
in life I will persist to possess my position gracefully
children now grow as men of learned minds
therein those gloomy alleys of sordid squalor
I serve with, merely, the shards of a broken, yet, celestial knowledge
and, I pray, the most high father will accept my offerings, from my most meagerly harvests.

Lo
most high father
my coronation was a trial defined by struggles
of survival
of the most furious fires!
I am ready!
I think.

Jonah Singleton 2024 ©️
Safana Dec 2024
In the heart of a bustling land so grand,
Where the sun kisses the earth with a golden hand,
Lies a shadow, deep and wide,
Corruption sleeps, in every mind it hides.

From the whispers in the market’s hum,
To the corridors where power’s drum,
Beats a rhythm, slow and sly,
A promise broken, a silent cry.

Dreams of justice, pure and bright,
Fade to gray in the dead of night,
For in the minds where hope should bloom,
Corruption weaves its silent loom.

Yet in the hearts of the brave and true,
A spark ignites, a vision new,
To cleanse the land, to break the chain,
And let integrity reign again.

So rise, oh people, with voices clear,
Let not corruption breed in fear,
For in unity, our strength we find,
To banish the shadows from every mind.

In the dawn of a new day’s light,
Where dreams take flight, and hearts unite,
Let honesty and truth be our guide,
To cleanse the shadows where corruption hides

Poor wounded Soul,
trying to survive
Life's Trauma,
from one powerful blow.
All that your soul needs,
is to feel at ease,
careless and free,
just feel the nice breeze,
sit back and relax and
Have no worries.
Let go of it All,
The Pain, suffering,
worrying, and sorrow,
Leave yesterday behind,
push forward to tomorrow.
This agony that you endure
won't Last long,
So try to be strong,
it is only a test,
REMEMBER:
WHO'S ON YOUR SIDE, and
In this JUST REST!!!!!


B.R.
Date: 11/23/2024
Just a reminder if you are here!!!
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