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topacio May 26
you threw me far flung
away from myself,
an act of hate and fear.

but it feels good
i have to say,
to look at myself
objectively from this point
so far from the beginning.

i am on the outskirts,
looking back at myself
with love,
and a dedication
to walk through
this new fire,
in an effort
to make myself even
bigger than before.
neth jones May 12
withdrawn from our colour
retreat to the basement
with unillustrated lives fled
reflush our pallor
and flesh out lily liveried
astray from the light
scarce
bottled mighty in our culture dish
and reinvent
look ** ;
to the silverfish !
Casey Sep 2019
The story we read in class today talked of the narrator's father
seeing his home of Italy as an old country he left behind
to carry on with what he started in the USA.
I'm not so sure that that's good.
When you forget where you come from, you forget yourself in a way.
There was a part of you that grew up and learned about life where you
used to preside.
Why would you want to lose that?
Thinking about it now, I do realize an obvious answer;
perhaps your hometown wasn't too great of a place
for someone like you, or maybe growing up there had bad
experiences.
In my mom's case, she left behind the city for the country.
She grew up in (REDACTED) with people she knew for forever.
But she always told me that she knew that as soon as she left for college,
she wasn't going back to that place.
Having to go out and buy cigarettes for your parents because they
don't have their driver's license will do that to a person I guess.
We do these things called quick-writes in LA class which are short, 5 minute responses to a poem or prompt or picture or short story that the teacher provides.
topacio Sep 2019
i don't know
how many times
i need to reinvent myself
to eventually get to myself
with every milestone
that is a mountain
the hurdles i swerve over
taking a piece of me into it
at times a fair offer
a lesson for a limb
an eye for an eye
until it has swallowed me whole
and there is nothing left to learn
and nothing left of me
but the blank canvas to start anew
Alice Jun 2019
I no longer bleed
When I pick up the pieces
Of my shattered self.

The puzzle is almost complete.
I can see a familiar face
Through the jagged cracks;
It's the forest through the trees.

Her smile is genuine,
Warm and bright.
She is as radiant as the sun
In the cleansing light of dawn.

A single, salty tear
Rolls down her cheek.
In that moment,
Her burdens are shed.

Hello, Old Friend.
Michelle E Alba Mar 2019
True bliss comes
in reinvention of the self,
when zero
expectations are held.

Yet you still
have full faith
in the numerous
possibilities that await.
Forgotten Pages Jul 2018
I held myself together
Through the fire
Through the cold
I held my heart together
Through the lies that had been told

I let myself unravel
Feel the darkness
Feel the rain
I let my soul unravel
Giving patience to the pain

I stitched myself a new life
Always dreaming
Something more
I sewed my hope together
Stronger than I was before
Wick Jan 2018
I'm in a mess lately
but don't worry
its a good kind of mess
I hope. Probably.

I have been unraveling
pulling the strings
breaking myself apart

tearing down the foundations
whereupon
I have built my old life

gone with the worn down facades
farewell to the faded walls
to the ghosts that haunt the halls
Oh I say to you

Adieu!
Adieu.
and upon its remains
I will build anew.
we are travelers in motion
playing banjo and hopping trains
headed from nowhere to nowhere
lusting for a higher purpose
away from this mediocre town
in this substandard state.

staring down the sun
like gunslingers,
squinty-eyed,
name calling,
spitting in the
dusty streets
and pulling iron
ready to draw.

there are cracks
in the sidewalks
outside convenient stores,
that look like new routes
on the way to terminus

sifting through
the mountains
and the valleys,
across the rivers
and over the bridges,
down the scattered
highways where the
bums are dying in
the forsaken streets
of crumbling castles

the tractors causing
unnecessary traffic
in wide open spaces
of the rural areas,

midwestern farmers
plant rows upon rows
of corn and the one
firework shop stands
alone surrounded by
nothing for miles
all around it

the sky shows its reflection
in the buoyant lake like a
mirror looking back at its
own idea of itself,

horses gallop freely
at grazing ranches,

endless journey’s
through the cold nights
of the desert wastelands
and the stars shine through
like pinholes in the intergalactic cloth
that keep the hyenas away from laughing
and viciously attaching the reinvigorating
green muse that communicates without
the use of words and shows us the way....

under which tree shall we lay?

not even our
reinvention
is an inviolate

but we not tulips
you could easily
pluck from the
moistened soil,
we are dandelions,
deep rooted in the
hard concrete

and we will
overcome and flourish
to find ebullience

like pieces that fell to Earth.
Always looking for a new place to live away from here...a search for reinvention.
b e mccomb Jul 2016
I spent awhile
In a honey-barbeque
Chicken salad of
Cynicism.

And then one day
Instead of Frank
I was no longer Bryan
But a better version of my Mondays.

Or was it the
Lesser form a
Thursday takes
When you're alone?

I have a desire
Shaded in the glow
Of a stained glass
Display an hour away.

A wish, shrouded in
These filmy layers
Of forgotten words
And remembered sayings.

To be half of one
And twice of me
So I stopped seeing stars
And dropped the peace-sign for a dash.

Reinvented myself
To break all molds
And here I stand, slightly
More intact, I'm back.
Copyright 5/7/15 by B. E. McComb
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