The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

From The Complete Poems 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop, published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel.

It's all real
It's no spoof
Hence why I call it the truth

I spit heart
I spit mic sound
I'm real deep
I'm profound

Just learn how to get down

I feel the people's life
From the fiber down
I'm going for the crown
Never backing down

If you saw me in the street today,
You wouldn't recognize me.
You'd see a woman whole,
A woman independent, harder.

If you walked down my street today,
I don't think that I'd know you.
I wouldn't see the boy I knew
From back when we would study.

When we studied happy endings,
I'd forgotten it was practice.
I forgot that we'd be young for years
And how we both were growing.

We learned a lot those days,
When we both grappled with rejection;
How to handle hurt and hate
And falling out of puppy love.

The girl I was thought that was it,
As silly as I was in school.
Remember what we said?
How we would move out in the snow?

It's funny, really, nowadays,
And look at us, both happy!
I never thought in high school
That we hadn't met our matches.

We were practicing for them,
And I just didn't realize at the time.
I think we practiced well back then,
I think we make them happy.

I dreamed of us again.
The table you set down, the candles you lit, that silly little frown, when you said not to spit.

I dreamed of us again.
The  music in the air, the scent of bulalo, how I played with your hair, "welcome home mahal ko."

I dreamed of us again.
The scent of you lingers,
Your skin soft and fair,
With a brush of my fingers,
I swear that you're there.

I dreamed of us again.
With your eyes shining bright,
As we look upon stars,
I remember our fights,
As love turned into wars.

Tryna stay sane but it's hard
We practice being the same and for that we don't know truly who we are
I need to release myself but I don't yet know how
I have the weight of the world on my shoulders and honestly I'm  feeling bloated like a cow
We share this planet together yet we treat each other oh so foul  
We all wanna be content but no one ever teaches us how
There so much jealousy going on
And not enough people to put in work for it to get gone

One could know from a look,
     that his eyes belonged to thousands
         and they all belonged to him

And she could tell from a look
    that he would continue to **** thousands
        at only her every whim

So they took to the mansion
    dark and daunting to the temptation
        to throttle, to lay claim to fear

As all who came across him
    knew he was something to behold
        kindlessness engineered

And the darkness that was them
    corrupted the darkness of the world
        gathering it forever close

Her pet, her protector, sure
    His queen, his beautiful master
        an unlikely pair at most

Within him were a myriad of hearts
    his own swallowed by the endless hoard
       her demands, a beacon home
Resonating with his madness
  
If it weren’t for him and all his souls
    she wouldn’t have stood a chance
        she would have been alone...
In the darkness.