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Hannah Jones Apr 4
Cut the pretense.
We both know
--we as in me
and myself
looking in the "I" of the beholder--
that you're scared.

Every fiber
of my being
fights against this pen
this hand
these thoughts

What to think?
Maybe forcing thought
is my form of rebellion
You can't invade
if thoughts are
my barricade
so I build
piling high rhymes
pseudanymes for good times
--words that are not my own.

What do I own?
I borrow my words,
my thoughts,
my emotions.

Do I go through the motions?
Or have I learned how to respond
as anything besides a ****
in a game I don't even
know how to play?

Just stay.
If you're in quicksand,
sink.
If you're thirsty,
drink.

And  t h i n k.
Think for yourself.
Your mind is your weapon
as is your heart
so play your part
with courage
for you were cast for a reason.

Embrace your season.
Bear the cross
and let it be messy.
Nobody believes that it's easy
so stop resisting
and start lifting
Let yourself be strong
Let yourself be weak
Let yourself  b e.

Your strength is your presence.
Your weakness, your solitude.

"Yourself to yourself--"
too near, or too far?
Can you even determine
proximity
when reality and reverie
blend more often than not?

Be at peace.
Stop resisting.
Know where you stand,
and have a seat.

We've been waiting for you.
Prompt: resistance
Result: unnamed inner demons coming to light
You have no idea how much I just want to hold your hand.
And it scares me that I might end up doing something unplanned.
Every second that passes it makes it harder to withstand.
Specially when you make me feel like I'm in some wonderland.
could your hand be my ticket to paradise?
I've lived the kind of pain they write about;
In the tales of heroes, who came and went without
Salvation or celebration,
And, instead, became close friends of doubt.

When luck leaves your side,
And there's no one left watching . . .
There is no martyrdom.
No heaven to fall from. No damnation.
                Just nothing.
                Nothing and no one.

But I won't let myself succumb
To the temptations of self-righteous certainty,
False justifications, or egotistical self-mutilation . . .
                      Just to bleed on those who lay
                      Below my lowly elevation.
                     Not like you.
                     I am not made like you.

No longer, will I distort my own view
And lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.

               It's true.

               I am worthless *******,
               and even I can hardly stand it
               when I speak about myself.
But this time . . .
It's about more than me.
And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth,
That I was given and didn't earn,
On those who showed me how to learn
               And to never become like you.

Yes,
I am judgmental and self-loathing.
I am selfish and I am wrong.
I am naive, and strung out and strung along.

                                But I
                                  am not made
                                             like you.

                                             I am strong.
OpenWorldView Feb 19
Passive resistance.
With words against tyranny.
Beacon of courage.
"How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause ..."

Sophie Scholl (✝ 22.2.1943)
Arianna Jan 13
I invited her for tea
At this cool place
Downtown, but she
Suggested a visit to the sea
Instead.

I know not the source
Of her fascination with the ocean,
But to thither we went
With a thermos of hot water,
A box of earl grey,
And a dog-eared translation
Of Sappho.

Antigone:
Conversation was always sparse with her,
But we understood each other
As only the truest of friends can do.

I didn't dare mention her brother.

It's been rough...

She gazed at the water,
Eyes flicking from the waves,
To the poem on the page,
And back,
Again and again...

Maybe there's something about Sappho,
Our spurnéd lady of ******,
Her fragmented voice
Laying scattered
Like pottery shards
Across leather-bound leaves of paper,

Washing up with the waves,
Poetry shards
Littered
Across these so-called "sands of time",

Although

I can see in her eyes
That Grief is blind
To the poetics of muddy shores.

For her lips, that once wailed,
Once railed against against grave injustice,
Now make no sound.

For what has passed
Has passed;
And nothing remains
To say now of the past.

But her thoughts cannot hide
Behind silent lips and eyes,
For the eyes, having seen truth,
Cannot disregard it.

First Creon, and now
Her own gaze
Betrays her,
Steadfast and unwavering
Before the fickle laws of men.

I know
She often thinks of Thebes,
As soon I too shall reminisce
Upon my native land:

          Great kingdoms permitted by the gods
          To rise high
          That they might more bitterly feel their fall.




Dare I ask, O Fallen One?
An afternoon with Antigone...

Aaaand, in case you're curious to read Sappho's work:

http://www.projethomere.com/ressources/Sappho/Poetry-of-Sappho.pdf
Weeping willows daughter,
Why do you cry?
What do you mourn
That has fallen
To the soil
And withered?

It is
The immigrants fear
As their child is ripped
From their ****

It is
The child’s blank stare
When they are refused
Education
And forced to be
A wife

Destitution,
Desolation,
Desecration.

These are the tears
Mother Earth cries
For her children.

This is why my grief
Grows
Isaac Ward Dec 2018
"Fight back!",
"Don't take it lying down!",
I frown, as the meaning fades and cracks,
Resistance is more than mounting an attack,

"The wheel will turn.",
"The buildings will crumble.",
I mumble, their disapproval stern,
Resisting is failing to learn.
I have a tumblr now! I share my poetry over there too, so if you like what you see, follow me!
Justthispotato.tumblr.com
Shahibrah Dec 2018
For it's the time that repeats every night, with a sword in my hand and an armour bound to my chest, I have to fight that evil soul on those dark, villainous lands where it wraps me in it's devilish thoughts.
For it's the time where I struggle to escape those ominous shadows in search of dawns first light that will set that evil soul to   fire and let me enter a new day with a new fight.
Fear is a natural human emotion, and it is something that everyone experiences in their lifetime. What matters most is how you fight your fears, and whether you let them affect your life.
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