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Sam Feb 23
You'll never know what will last until you were scarred by the past.
REBEL, Copyright © 2020
Sam N. de la Rosa
All Rights Reserved.
Sam Feb 22
I never thought once
That before making mistakes,
I would regret first.
Hello! This is the first piece in my new poem collection called "REBEL".
There will be 50 pieces of writings in it including prose and essays.
I will try to upload 1-2 writings everyday. I hope you find it relatable and entertaining at the same time. 😊

REBEL, Copyright © 2020
Sam N. de la Rosa
All Rights Reserved.
There’s nothing to interpret in defiance.
Once you find a set, put place, position and stand.
Work up the vitality to speak in brutality!
There’s no point to declare without defense.

I want to **** in the wind, because *******.
Replace my mind with a button.
Press it, I’ll regurgitate your rhetoric.
I bet you get off to that, stripping autonomy.
Just tickles your ******. Makes you giddy.

I’d starve myself.
But I would eat a bullet if you had your way.

Without a situation, your just without motivation.
Writing in clear ink,
paralyzed in double think.

There’s nothing to interpret in defiance.
A set, put place, stand, or position.
Dissent should never be conveyed,
unclear, blurry, or in repent!

Opinion shouldn’t be followed by different!
Just stand in on stage, speaking sense!
Those that matter will respect,
others will fall to the aspect...
Luiz Jan 21
Memories

always there
never spare
to scare
they stare

and snare
relentless
they swear
my despair

not a prayer
to breathe air
never fair
always tear

here and there
mentally
everywhere
I'm elsewhere

back in time
times behind
hit rewind
as tears flare

past glares
I dare
warfare!
beware

prepare
nightmares
rip to pairs
memories

to replace
and erase
no space
for disgrace

give it face
past deface
earn my place
win the race

up the pace
live in grace
life embrace!
She shaved her head,
the kind
that rebels do
in the past.
She lit a cigarette,
and blew off
tiny clouds of smoke
that she believed
could conceal
her thoughts
privately.

The thoughts
that deprives her of her sleep.

She drank
liquors of despair
of what she described
of her first taste of tequilla
-bittersweet.

Yet
she managed to look up
, raised her camera.
She pointed,
aimed and shoot
for that moon
hanging in the sky.
The moon that witnessed
most of her sorrowful nights,
the moon
who saw every tear drops
that seem to reflect
a little sparkle
with the stars light.

She picked up some debris
of the shattered mirror
under the lamp post,
and studied her face.

Her stare went blank,
it doesn't anymore show
thousands of stories
of resentments,
of remorse
and trepidation
but
fear and hopelessness.

She's gone numb and cold.

And with a sigh,
she let out the words
slowly,
"My heart has cried a story that a writer couldn't even tell"
Mikey Kania Dec 2019
entering a classroom that
is not a classroom

my pupils inside: i haven't seen them for a long time
i want them to listen to me
yet the pupils aren't listening; they don't (want to) perceive me.
all the time i look at them, they look into another direction.

they aren't rebelling or trying to sabotage my lesson;
my lesson that isn't a lesson.

it's an encounter between an older person and
younger persons who aren't young anymore but
who haven't grown up yet.

the pupils changed into beings-in-between.

i can sense that they have become independent.
the pupils don't need a teacher anymore;
they aren't ready for making a living either.  

many teachers need to be needed.
most pupils want to be autonomous.

teachers will be disappointed by the end of a day.
pupils dislike school by the end of most lessons.

dear athena, that's wired. isn't it?
therefore we need to think about it. we need to ask ourselves:

WHAT has to be changed?
Have a great day at school. More or less.
Mikey Kania Dec 2019
please understand my
behaviour as a sign of
rejection

no one no
one no one
no no one

is entitled to judge
me

really: no one

(except my family and
god feel me)
+ ultrasound
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