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Bhawna Apr 28
It's terrible
No words said
Yet your eyes yell
Pinching aroma embed
Oh, well
I wanna be more innocent
To make your heart discontent
.....lack of words
Yenson Mar 23
In Red square
the cowards gathered
with green eyes and little minds
attack, attack its all for one and one for all

The white queen
and all her heirs are protected
see her white knights and all pawns
rightfully in white shining and stainless

See the black king
that is our enemy so attack
he has no knights and owns no pawns
easy target as we know his pieces have blacked out

In Red square
the cowards gathered
with green eyes and little minds
its all about colour and white is always right
we do it in the shadows and know how to spin the yarn
y
lua Jan 20
There's a feeling stronger than to loathe
Especially when your hand is intertwined with his
And he gazes upon the pearls in your hair
Your high brow, your blank stare
And maybe even the cut of your dress,
The lace it holds, the earring that sways as you dance
You know it, the way he looks at you
And if you will deny it, simply keep in mind
How he lets his fingers linger onto yours,
And despite the sharpness of your snark and wit
Maybe you'll catch yourself looking
His high brow, his blank stare
His eyes like pools of honey
And you'll know, there is a feeling stronger than to loathe.
a poem i made in 2019 that i found in my notes hehe
Purcy Flaherty Jul 2021
Elitism and dogma are deeply seated within all societies.
It's much easier to shun, or attack outsiders and remain safely entrenched in our own truths.

Perseverance, inclusiveness, honesty, kindness and welcoming each and every truth is the key to cultural success.
Celebrate the good.
Real change cannot be forced with militancy, and it's painfully slow, so much so; that the effects can only be seen from one generation to the next.

Anger is not a force for good.

(Satire & comedy is often an affective barometer for the things to come.)
Peace.
Francie Lynch Jun 2021
I am woke,
Yet living in a nightmare
Of prejudice.
Francie Lynch May 2021
We fell all the time.
It was a matter of balance.
Our inner ears and eyes
Struggled with gravity; and
Being upright is our gravest concern.
So, we always stood again,
Revolving around equilibriums:
Bikes, ledges and feet;
Everything was a test. Everything needed balance:
Wheelbarrows, roof peaks and checking accounts.

I've learned balance for adults
Is even more precarious.
Our words are heavily weighted,
And some more disproportionately than others,
With see-saw issues and teeter-totter opinions.

Isn't it easier to get back on the bike
Than walk back unbalanced arguments.
I scrub and scrub,
until my skin stings,

wondering why,
I don't look "clean,"

darker skin, darker hair,
they've led me to believe
there must be something ***** here
https://www.instagram.com/wutheringsbronte/
Pedro Apr 2021
I love you
just not that you
I love the you
I raised you to be
so understand, child
it isn't you that's the problem
that problem is you
and the you that you aren't
but I am here
waiting for you to return
to leave your heart of sin
and accept the one I own
to be cleansed
to be mine again
but never yours
no, never yourself
I am so tired of people being bigots and pretending they aren't
Penny Z Mar 2021
You tear our kind away,
those pesky weeds        
                                    that stunt
your plump full seeds  -
that steal and cause decay.
You landed by fortune,
fortune of the windy chance -
you earned it. What is different is dangerous
less valued - not worth a glance.

Warm soil in-between your fingers,
You have power here in the garden,
Pulling and wrenching the stems from
home
We’re unwanted, not needed
Not useful, not beautiful,
Not enough,
                      but too much.
                                    

Strong weathered fingers grip our necks,
Trampled under steel studded boots,
We seep into the soil disappearing,
Just like you wanted us to.
Suffocating ignored as grassroots,
condemned to be always taboo.

Weeding is good, you say.
Weeding is important.
It keeps the garden healthy, comely,
presentable.
We’re the intruders, thieves!
in search for better light.
Worn down we grieve.
why do you see not our might?

A garden improved

Standing up I arch my back,
rusty and cramped.
Tiresome work removing the
unwanted.
My hands scratched and torn,
the limp bodies neatly packed,
the garden is reborn.


The flora look uniform now
no insulting dark stems,
only the long strong boughs
of rightful King Oak,

and no more of them.


But a king without his subjects is a peasant.
With our loss fades your treasured soil,
your sterling root networks anchoring your  
flowerbeds of wealth.
We are the pests,
we stole your soil,
so why does it grow grey?
You wanted growth
I heard you say.
You can’t have both.

What a nuisance.
Us or the decay?

So I am a pest, you say?
Well, to that I say, we pests always grow.
Your tulips and rose corrode,
but you reap what you sow.
No matter the hate that spits our existence,
the sharp teeth of the chainsaw or
poisonous pesticide bidding good riddance,
we are green, and life sustaining, and we are resistant.

The aim is not good riddance,
but co-existence.
An allegorical poem on the importance of assimilation of differences rather than separation
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