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slowly and softly,
we drip back into our own little worlds,
composing the structure the we each need to survive,
yours being the complete opposite of mine,
but that's okay,
because a drop of wax can build a new candle,
and all that candle needs is a spark.
a sudden burst of excitement!
because, wow, we have something to talk about!
and we talk and we laugh and we smile,
sometimes by ourselves, and other times in each other's company,
and we never think this fun is going to end,
because how could it end?
the pleasure has only just begun!
in the beginning, it starts out like this:
you talk to me, I talk to you
back and forth
we don't really know what we're talking about,
grasping at various ideas until we find some sort of connection,
and once we've found that connection,
it has started.
As gunfire
round position
was hostile
to foment
a spider
there against
its mayhem
while Miranda
made us
brighter if
a discriminate
cry ready
as toll
cross nation
yet deliberate
soliloquy aside
blue smoke.
A Noteice Made Legal Now
Taylah Sep 2017
One Person
Two Person
White Person
Black Person

Asian Person
Indian Person
Old Person
New Person

This one has no food to eat,
This one has a war to beat.
Say! What a lot of people there are.

Some are dead,
Some have no bed,
Some even have no roof over their head.

But why are they
Separated from each other?
I wouldn’t know,
Go ask another.

Some are thin,
Some are tall,
Some are fat,
And some can even be quite small.

From there to here, from here to there.
Trump wants to create walls,
So, we can’t travel anywhere.

To get water,
Some have to travel,
Barefoot, on sharp gravel.
For miles and miles
They have to travel.

White, Black, White, Black.
White, Black, White, Black.
All distinguished from the colour of their back.

Some have two friends,
Some have one,
Some have ten friends,
Some have none.

Where do we come from?
A long, long way.
From a war place,
Come here to be safe.

We see them come,
We see them go.
Some come legally,
Some come by boat.

Some are tall,
And some are short.
We’re all different,
But we’re all human.
Yet, we’re singled out,
Just because we’re men or women.

Is it okay to scream and shout?
*******, Straight, Bi or ***.
Is it good to call someone out?
Did you think it was okay?

Black, White, Old, New,
***, Straight, Man, Woman,
Asian, Indian, American, African,
Don’t you realise we’re all human?

It’s not a reason to be rude,
Just because I am different to you.
Inspired/ Based off Dr Seuss' One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.
Colten Sorrells May 2016
Smoked out,
I'm choked out
I'm feeling kinda dumb
my eyes look like they're gonna bleed
my face feels kinda numb

I hope nobody spoils
all this happiness I've found
it might just **** up everything
to have someone around

listening to the radio
just tryin' to let my mind flow
I feel this sense of dread
And I'm paralyzed
'til I realize
it's all just in my head

in color
as hours fly on past
the only thing I don't like
is that it don't really last

but that's okay, I figured out
exactly what to do
I'll just pack another bowl
about every hour or two
Cave Man Oct 2015
Your life was created
you deserve to be celebrated
Each soul is living heaven and ****
this makes many stories to tell

The wise man lives life simply
the ignorant can't even be fitting
they're so about possession
this world needs recreations

The legend gives life form
coming straight out of the dorms,
with a poetic soul to give emotion
and a rockers heart to devotion.
the man is like a shaman
yelling on stage yeah man!

with the smell of marijuana in the air
there is no time to spare,
Give in to the alternate reality
where its nothing but being happy
Kyle Kulseth May 2015
In the space between paychecks,
walking back and forth to nowhere
in a post-wage, first world shooting gallery,
                         we make
bland backgrounds,
                                dull grey blurs
from miles of stretching, chain link work weeks
                       sore legs stride fast
                        all the same.

Think of climbing but your lead feet won't play.

Blaming long nights for stiff necks,
wax poetic. Piling losses
pin each stanza to our thin, unrav'ling sleeves
                            we'll take
our chances
                        with cheap drinks,
cheap thrills and priceless conversations
                       swelled tongues talk fast
                       all the same.

We're taught to pave the roads to our own graves.
Yasmeen Hamzeh Jul 2014
She's fizzled out,
that bright young swallow,
her dark irises that once held a shred of talent have lost their luster,
when will you give up on this paper version of a thrill?
get back down and feast your eyes
on this locked chest,
open it and find nothing.
That road will always be waiting for you,
never go looking for it
you will return hardened and empty,
you might cut the last string tied to you,
get back down and feast your eyes
on this old man waiting for you to make him smile,
his lamenting fingers balled up
pushing away that road you are looking for.
No use in remembering each stalemate,
tip-toe your way back to the emptiness
it will hold you in its arms and keep you safe
as waves of sand wash over the possibilities of that smile,
she watched as each string snapped,
she watched as they bled away years,
that road wrapping around her eyes,
effectively rendering her sightless.
The aperture will nuzzle its way closed
with each caress of the emptiness.
She shall hold the trifling prize,
she shall get back down and feast her eyes
on that old man swelling with pride,
she shall be empty and hollow,
but she shall finally witness that smile
the one he longed for,
the smile her kaleidoscope had drowned.
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