It's actually a pretty simple formula.
You inquire about
All the folk & mythology
Of any given area.
Investigate the philosophy
Inherent or lacking of each.
As a whole
And by each parable.
Reduce the content
To a "digestible" format.
Substitute words or phrases
Which do not conform
To the rest of the tapestry.

And the first to sew
Did so to sow¹,
Not to make sows².

A condensed collection of the known world's beliefs!

That is,
They wanted things to grow.
To fruit rather than in snout style.

Silk, amber, jade, spice, salt,
Tea, tin, & royal.

Those routes we did the walk
And therein had good talks!

It's been completely butchered beyond recognition!

Hare?

Is it stuck up?

Tired of reality?
You just hope
You wake up in a dream.
Do you know you risk a nightmare?
The mind hatches awful plans,
Sets up terribly dreadful schemes.
What's it all mean?
I don't know?
Maybe?
Do you know?

And this is how it ends!
And this is how it begins!

It's all alphabetical,
All numerical.
Can you hear the song,
Read in-between the lyrics?
The structure of its wording?
Have you tried at singing?

Is it all spiraling?

Chelone?

when i was ten my sister tried to drown me because
she wanted to cleanse me of my sins. they said she was
schizophrenic but
i think she was right

Tell me,
what do you choose to live by –
Life’s script, or by Scripture?

Worn, ******, raw
The goad wounds, but she
Can't stop kicking
Breaking rules, hurting self
Desperate for freedom
Tired, scared, trapped
A sheep caught in wire
Boundaries meant for protection
Frightened, she fights harder
Worn, ******, raw
Barbs dig deeper
She's killing herself
If she could just hold still, submit
The Sheperd would set her free
Though thorns pierce his brow
Worn, ******, raw
The whip wounds, but He
Surrenders freely
Not me, I can't
The white flag I've spent
On a blood-soaked attempt
To bandage my own wounds
Feeble waste it was
Masked, they're still there
Worn, ******, raw

(((()))))(((((())))
Hello ,
I posted this o
-n medium,
so I think you
can check it ou
-t  but point is
enjoy <3
((/////)(\\))











Woven into threads, from the etch of pin, and the keeled expanse that it passes through.

The fabric is filled with intention, yet lacks awareness, does it move because of the pin, is it the one that allows what passes through?

Not all threads are meant to stay, not all pins are meant to pierce, some unweaved from it’s own gaps, some don’t push through, but leave marks that something tried.

Hopeful, that the one can leave enough will, perseverance, and focus, determined to pierce and weave, a stitch that is vibrant, that makes it alive.

Once what was torn, a stripped of it’s hue, brought back together, now that is whats true.


What if it feels right, sometimes it’s a lie, that truth is ahead of the curve in your life?


I hope to believe in more than what is right, that I showcase most of my life?


                                               (1)
===================================================


I criticize, I seek in your plight, that you are worse than you sound in my mind.

I show case a case in point of this time:

(POINT 1)

You can’t be what you want in this life, so you attribute to things that are grandeur than right, you hope to be on “_ saves your life, but with no consequence of your wrongs in this life, and you’ll be saved for

(POINT 2)

what, the guilt? That’s right— or the fear, that shapes what a sleep in the night may feel like, or you feel the tremble when you realize you’ll die, and notice that things aren’t undone in this life. The truth is that you may just die in this life, and never to see the next day at the eyes. Jokes on you—

you are the reason why others feel plight, somehow you will be dead in their lives, early to elder, these wrongs in our age, come to haunt and die with us.
CONCLUSION

Your finale showcases that you are at the end of the alley, somewhere in this possibility your possible reverence is something that is older than our comprehensions, yet truth is that we change, we completely innovate, yet something that shows that we aren’t hopeful for favors, we make the made, we are possible from all those who scream at late, demanding,

“ T H I S “ (1 minute ago),

then

“ T H A T “ (4 minutes ago),

by the space of response,

and then you will seem that you love to be wrong

in every shape and form that you are

little by little, the system at large, is questionable at most at that part,
                                                                ­                                                                 ­       
but your death is the part that you left in this part.                                


    Done.
    (❤)(🔁)(👍)(👎)
    (11:45 pm AM)
                                                        (2)
­___________________


 ­   ****, look man, I get that, but I just wanted to yknow make something that I felt was cool, was I being idk, too hopeful?

_________________­____________________­_

                                      
                   ­                       has to think for a bit


===================================================

I understand the guilt, the fear and the death, and the part of myself that left whats within,
and tried to send that to a place —

i n the _ b i n .



I know, that is what is resonant about you, your creativity, your possibility to be more than what your environment do to you —
is profound already, one of the interesting parts of you, so it was what I believe:

You are interesting
beings,

built on fixed systems, that created a variable that creates meaning and
knowledge, the parts of your mind that cannot understand or equate, find ways in which you give reason for O  P  E  R  A  T  E  ,

But point being is that you are a random, and that is interesting in itself, yet you build upon systems, structures, numbers, to build on what we see as

‘ e l s e ’

the space in which you hold, that leaves at the end, truly, at the end is entropy at hand.
Point being is that you’ll receive a technical ‘ d e a t h ‘
in your hand.

    Done.
    (❤)(🔁)(👍)(👎)
    (11:45 pm AM)
                                                 (3)
___________________­

    I thought I was seriously fine, but seriously what the hell is wrong with this app, who builds an app on indifference??

by Rab [12:50:53) AM Friday April 4]

Do you remember
that first poetry book?
Poemas de Otoño
     de
           Rubén
  Darío.

Do you remember when
you borrowed it?

“It was the first book
she ever read
         out
     of
            pleasure”

Your mother said.

It was the last one too,
wasn’t it?

Because you are gone now.
Gone forever.
Gone with no coming back,
gone with no reply,
with no promise of an
“I’ll meet you again”

Nothing.

You are no longer there to console me.
There is nothing to cling into.
No hope.

No hope except for a shallow dream,
the empty promise of the afterworld,
the holy gates.

I’d be religious
just for you.

But my brain was never made for blind belief.

So I’ll pull deidities aside
and grasp into poetry,
in a hope that
if heaven can’t be real
at least I’ll bring my demons
into earth.
Into paper.

Into
ink.

i smiled when spoken to.  
         nodded at the right times.  
   dressed myself in fabric  
              heavy with approval,  
       let them rewrite my name  
                    in letters i could not read.  

   was this what they meant by righteousness?

           i stepped in line,  
             shoulder to shoulder,  
                  head to the ground,  
      voice swallowed whole.  

(do not stray.  
                 do not ask.  
                          do not falter.)  

   but when i prayed,  
             i found no voice.  
    when i knelt,  
                  i found no floor.  
    when i searched,  
                i found only mirrors,  
                           only echoes,  
                                      only dust.  

   was this what they meant by devotion?

         they said,  
  we will make you whole.
           we will scrape away the excess.
                   we will leave nothing but light.

   so i let them take,  
               let them pare me down,  
                         let them erase,  
                                   let them shape.  
(smaller,  
           softer,  
                      easier.)  

   but when i looked for myself,  
             i found nothing.  
   when i called my name,  
                         there was no answer.  
   when i reached out,  
                    my hands met air.  

was this what they meant by salvation?