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Francie Lynch May 17
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 1
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
deadhead Mar 23
an unbiased touch
so gentle nevertheless
free of prejudice
Penny Z Mar 4
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
I just don’t penpal normal people
I penpal prisoners and convicts
Of the female gender
For I know what it’s like to be in their shoes
Being misunderstood
Circumstances against you
Prejudice
Just play nonsense against you
I penpal these ladies because
I am one of them I could’ve easily been one of them
Caught in a rock and hard place
Yes I have been in a rock and a hard place too
The tree people with gentleness and kindness
No matter their living situation
Piercings tattoos and gauges
The one person it might mean that they are rough looking and mean
But to me I find piercings tattoos and gauges
To be beautiful
Piercings tattoos and gauges
Someone would think that that would be a prisoner or a convict
But for the girls who want to look like Britney Spears
Who really is a convict or prisoner

Definitely not the person with tattoos piercings and gauges
If they don’t judge a book by the cover bit
Please don’t judge me
But I’m not loco Or Loca
I just have emotions and they are valid
Yes I have done bad things in my life
Yes I have done extremely stupid stuff in my life
But please do not judge me
For I have done a lot of good on this planet.
Dear auto hawk of Talklife
I am not who You think I am
You based me on my past and deleted my posts
Based on my past mistakes
I am an overly  emotional Young woman
Please do not mistake me for a psychopath
What a social path based on my poetry
What is wrong with you
Honestly
Why
Recently I came to the conclusion that our body's are perfect, it's taken a long time!
The fact is we are all truly beautiful and diverse in shape and size.
I no longer look at the symmetry; lips, forehead, broad or narrow faces, chins, noses, jaw, eyes, cheekbones, how clear and smooth is the skin; how tall or small the frame.

I've come to realise that over time, these comparisons are a form of physical nostalgia; just a combination of shapes reminiscent of the many people we have loved or admired throughout our lives, and that our body image has become a measure of our perception of our physical self, our feelings, our positively and our desires.

I've come to the conclusion that all vessels embody the beauty of the individuals they carry; because everybody is both body and soul.
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