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natalie Nov 20
the moon sets in the sky
like a bird knows how to fly,
many people travel by
they never wonder why.

days go by and by
are you living on a lie?

when you speak do you think?
do you ever stop to blink?
have you ever felt the brink?

you have to come to terms
the reality flame must burn,
you cant live your life like this
if youre living like a fish...

trapped in endless water,
do you ever even bother
to look at yourself and say
there has to be a better way.

there has to be happier days,
a tree with perfect shade
an unflawed picture in its frame
life cannot be a waiting game.
Amy Nov 19
I did not

Nothing ever made sense to me
Why would they do that
Why would they say that

I never felt like they felt
I never spoke as they spoke

It felt unfitting, unwanted
There was always a wall between us
Nothing I tried to built
Just something which appeared

Scars always seemed to tell a story
A story I was interested in
Until I carried them on my own

Suddenly they felt heavy
Heavier then they looked on others

I thought they would make you strong
They do
But they are also a burden
And always will be

Nothing will ever let them disappear
You can just learn to live with them

That´s just part of life, I guess

Still, I wonder why me
Keebo Nov 18
***
Is it a battlefield for love?
Or a wicked game of lust?
Is it a good time and fulfilling?
Or is it a meaningless rush?

Do you have *** because of connection?
Or do you **** just for the attention?
Do you have *** to feel like a new person?
Or did somebody **** your innocences?

Do you see *** as a gift?
Or a symbol of nothingness?
Do you see *** as important?
Or escapism from human conversation?

How do I see ***?
It’s better than hanging from the ceiling
How do you see ***?
I’ll be waiting
Anemone Nov 17
I've forgotten how to speak
I've forgotten how to smile
But if I sit down and just think
Perhaps I'll remember for a while

I've lived a life by many names
By many faces, old, and new
I've seen my reflection fade to dust
And think, perhaps I can do that too

See my smile
Of course you do
I've made sure it looks convincing
But look deep into my eyes
And perhaps my mask is slipping

Have you ever looked at me
No, really, looked at me
What do you know, what do you see
Perhaps it is a truth, but candid is hard to be

I often think to myself
What would the doctors say,
If they could get a hold of me

That was a joke.
Funny, is it not?
Perhaps there may be more this than I had originally thought
Chad Young Nov 17
It is the capacity only to act for myself.
It is the capacity neither of self-subsistence nor without
self-reliance.
It is neither the epitome of wisdom, nor the epitome of
ignorance.
It is not the epitome of beauty nor the epitome of
ugliness.

Lack doesn't make for worry and excellences
are counted as special gifts of life.
Like a ****** pressed between my fingers is my soul
in God's Presence.
Thus, do I recognize my karma as not the
best, but not the worst.

It is surrounded by pretty, but not the equisite.
It is surrounded by clutter and dirt, but
not grotesque filth.
It is as a middle ground from which any quality
would cease the ground's existence.
It is not mommy or daddy, not child and not adult.
It is not old nor young.
It is not sun nor moon, but star.
It is not perfection, but comfortable imperfection.
It is not as fair as pastel, nor as gaudy as neon.
It is not known, but not unknown.
It is not host of a soul, yet does not exclude
any soul.
It does not grasp, nor release.

"Why is your skin orange?"
It is joking about vanity.
It is not slack, nor is it strong effort.
It is not wickedness, nor is it judgement.
It is not righteousness, nor is it evil.
It is not astray, nor is it unastray.
It is not a party, nor is it loneliness.
It is the monk of reality.
It pretends not to harness all of my memories.
Nor does it pretend not to conjure memories.
It is not shadow, nor light.
It is the plastic-self, unable to be immortal,
and unable to abide mortally.
It is the spirit of self, yet the spirit of others.
It is not empty, nor full.
It is construction of the simple.
It is construction of the difficult.
It is cleaning the toilet.
It aligns with no group, nor does
it not exist in any group.
It is folly through shallowness.
It is wisdom from shallowness.
It is not pure, nor does it lack
purity.
It is not popular, nor does it fail to get attention.
It is desire, not not sin.
It is her, but not Her.
It is resurrection, but not life nor death.
It is not heard, nor listened.
It is not unhealthy, nor is it strong.

boyhood crushes.

It is not power, nor is it incapacity.
It is not opinionated, nor is it opinionless.
It is not blood, nor is it light.
It is not long, nor short.
It is not curved, nor straight.
It is not solid nor gas.
It is not water nor is it not a liquid.
It is not salt nor is it not saline.
It is not belt, nor backpack.
It is not car nor home.
It is not bed nor is it not rest.
It is not gold nor bread.
It is not giving nor hoarding.
It is not meat but it is cheese.
It is not poor, nor rich.
It is not career nor retirement.
It is not fair, nor unfair.
It is holy, but not pure.
It is not heresy, nor help.
It is not metro nor country.
It is not the center nor is it the side.
It is not age nor mind.
It is not body nor heart.
It is not skin nor bone.
It is not brief nor long.
It is not sink nor swim.
It is not lesson nor tale.
It is not story nor biography.
It is not virtue nor vice.
It is not a lie nor a truth.
It is not shallow nor deep.
It is not structure nor process.

Samadhi.
Laying in bed.
Invited and welcomed to a seat at the table
Navigating the gift of a life that you paid for
Wouldn't it be easier to be told which way is best
Would I trust the decision more if it didn't come from my chest
Or would it come to tears, me blaming you for the heartache
Is the lesson better learned from my own mistakes
Safeguarded on every side
Walking in the favor that you will provide
But planning long term for a future that may not exist
I''m no longer sure I can justify it
Here we are and I've finally found the root of it
Conflicting desires with the power to ruin
The question on which all else is contingent
What do I want
And what do I want to live with?
11.2020
imparo Nov 14
what is the point of being deep
    if nobody dares to dive its depth?
Midnight Thoughts
Dante Rocío Nov 9
I give you the freedom
to interpret “We” in general
or as just Us
two

may your Intimacies show you
what will guide my pendants
of thought kindlings.
I leave it undisclosed  too.

We are evanescent, Juliet.
Yet complete in how shattered we are.
A fractal.
We can’t trace our fingers over tangible frames of the ways of Connections,
clogs of the paths
Love cracks
from what we believe we have already surpassed.
We know we have no capacity of learning with clear logic
how We work,
what Philia makes of Us
and what we make of it,
how the seeds of uncertain Passions
find their way through
and out of Us.

It is indeed a huge insecurity of ours:
trying to find, trace
(on a lone garden wall
made of bricks and creepers),
and keep in our fragile handling
what these feverishness coming
out of hand do with us.

But then we
stand behind the other
(optionally or not: of our self still),
in the same way
uncovered,
insecure
and trembling
if I make it right, or rather we make it right.

The hands of both parties come
in one click and then
though we accost errors
we make our perfectly imperfect
clingings with some glass in that wall
as we again and again come
and will come into
lessons,
which seem new
but stay one and the same

or saddened by the world ideas that will keep on putting us through questioning “Who am I?”
with our silences filled with answers
that we will keep on becoming
and accomplishing without ever taking sentient notice.

I take you as we are.
You take me as we are.
We stay strong in that pair
of trembling hands that
though they do not know
what is ahead of them
or already as Them
when it comes to Love
or any pure emotional arousal
we make of ideas, we accept it.

We won’t ever encompass it
but it encompasses us.
We welcome how much we don’t understand
our bodies or how all of that
and even more flows
and will flow,
we are it,
teary from resilience.

Errors - not
Broken - not
Nought these names made up for perceiving *** and bodies,
these measly words as enough as one isolation to a whole abandoned waiting room at now

I stay in full apprehension and readiness
of what I come to exist
as and what feeling becomes me,
I won’t chain myself to
the scheme we might draw
with chalk on that garden wall.

And be that too alongside please,
simply of.

I am, will be there,
standing,
unpassing,
going through all the same strangenesses
alike,
yet kissing each
and every one
on their ivory breathing ribs,
because they only seem
to be deformed
and at unease.

I will stay in Love.
I will stay outside of it.
Without naming it or putting it
to any formality

let all these questions be a waterfall on you and welcome each and every one of them.

We don’t have to understand them.
We just will be.
We will stay as questions and just let it be. We don’t have to be apart.
We don’t have to be bound for eternity
with pacts or our bodies entangled.

I simplistically. approach.
these hurt questions with a stupefying tenderness of giving
each and every one of them
a chance to.
A thin line of peach freeze.
Sentinels of senses themselves, my arousals of then.
Phronemophilia stays unswayed. I am still in the same bliss.
Let see where we as consciences will grow and shape to.

In the end
it is seen
that loving anyone or anything
was only the pathway to solely harbouring ourselves and Love itself.
It is unchanginly It.
Same verily sacrum in choice of

then

now

lest ever.
Coming to meet your mirror once you’ve considered yourself fully mended already leads you to reflect upon all the lessons you’ve taken in already and undermining the stability of your development. To rejuvenate or rehearse them again bare and undone.
Carol Staples Lewis made the same affiliations in his works and pondering when a senior devil meets his junior acquaintance, telling of his own experience, going again through their wisdom and what the younger one should reflect upon.
Yet now this is not about God, morality, sneakiness or any other machination.
This, is On Love. Gibran-like uptake to go through what That is beyond human relationships and models.
Dedicated to my mirror, here my trial of what I’ve come to learn myself in that matter to my own junior. Testing me.
Rishant dey Nov 8
Lost lost , everything is lost
The Only thing remaining is, frost
The memories which strike the eye,
Will soon die!
Bye bye lost love , bye bye

All those days together,
All the love letters,
Never hope anything better.
But now , why everything is scattered
Hey,, what's the matter?

All the broken line
All the bad designs
But that was the only lifeline
Okay ..., that's fine
But oh..... lost love will you define !!
Was it because the time was offline?

Why everything is changed now?
Is it because it's the time ,  online.
But ......
She should be his life now
Because she has turned to his wife now

But ,now...
No love ,no pray
The only thing is betray!!
Why lost love ,why please say?

Why the things has changed now?

Why only thing is their quarrel?
Why Both of them think , they have the better moral !!

Can you answer me , lost love why?
It's a poem bit rhyming style , this poem is trying to express the feeling of a teenager comparing older days (basically 90's )  with now . More over that he is talking about his parents and questioning to love  (here love is personified ) . Remaining read and enjoy.
Sarah Flynn Nov 5
you ask me
who the "you" is
in my poetry.

you want to know
who I'm referring to.

you're assuming that
the identity matters.

oh honey,
you have it all wrong.

I don't write these for you.
I write these for me.
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