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It's limited,
With small radius.
Area with He and them.
We are clock’s hand, over a day
In the middle of responsibilities...
A pathway across many generations,
Initially tough, then reshaped to be......,
Outside world is a dream, vice versa.
Some cracked, some stucked into it
Some think we're dumb,Despite
capabilities—Because it's a
Circle, ends where it
Starts....
ahintofpoetry Mar 19
Control is a moment fleeting,
A fading feeling in-between fate.
Therefore, it's said that love just happens.
Clearly, it's a lie too great.
"F*ck you, my puppeteer..
A Fool you make of Me!"
But when I look up,
I see the strings strung tight
around fingertips of mine.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Don't look back to me like that at all.
"Who is to blame of the land?
Why, it seems control was in your hand.."
'Verkering' is Dutch for relationship, but it's older meaning isn't used any more in this time, which is 'something that happened'. It inspired me to write this poem.
Claire Mar 12
I woke with too much purpose this morning.
I swear it was me
who split the dark sky open
like pointed steel through wood.

The sharp hack of existence hit
when I visualized my wallet
on the kitchen counter,
leaning against that vase
with the snake on it.

Second in line
at the grocery store,
cart overflowing.
Ruya Mar 7
there's an ocean behind her eyes
an ocean in which she drowns
it's unlike any  
for no light reaches
perhaps,
it's the waves
which she can't pull herself out from
they tug her in
they drag her back
and she pours in
she melts
she returns
as if she had never left at all

there's a desert behind his struggle
and between the sun-kissed orbs
that loved to gaze on the sun
there's a hollowness he feels
it was as if he walked around
on naked feet
and upon broken shards of glass
but there’s a duty he bears
as if suddenly turning older
it meant becoming atlas
with the world upon his shoulders
and his own became ash

but he stays quiet
lips tightened shut
even if the silence weeps

and there's so much to say
but the words are already lost
between what couldn't have been
and between what was
at least most

and there's so
so many paths to walk on
but her bones ache
and he doesn't remember the last time
he had taken a breathe and had sat down

and they might meet,
between holding on and letting go
they might meet on the wrong road
or on the middle  
or in the end
at the right time
at the wrong place
and in between
just two strangers walking by

they might meet
in one gaze
in a single glance

and it would take little
to see the ghosts
of what they used to be
crawling behind
and the trail of blood
it would take very little
to see the ashes of dreams
upon their feet

to see the water
and to see the sand

it would take very little
Lostling Mar 2
If I betray my freedom
I betray myself,
Becoming a stranger in my own skin
Quietly echoing the voice of the crowd.
But if I betray the rules,
Break free and stray from the paved path,
I betray my comrades
I betray the people I lead
If I break free, I stand alone in exile
But if I conform, “I” do not exist anymore
Hope I could've swung at the branch of the trees, feeling the breeze of air and sun's breath through my skin; or ran along a field with my little feet along with an endless possibilities.

Could've held my little hand and led me to the path my feet desired to be.
Yet your hands were bigger than mine; for you are the creator, and I am just the Adam you carved to escape your horror.

Maybe if you loosen the grip that's pressed so tightly, and freed me from the chain of responsibilities you coerced myself to be;

Maybe, just maybe, could I swing at the branch of trees and ran with my feet and feel the breath of air and sun's breath rushing through my skin, and fulfill even the slightest possibility.
Fridays were always fun.

Jack was always the bold one, but once you knew him, it wasn’t that bad. You be surprised, once he got going, he became the life of the party.

Jerry was sweet and got along with everyone, though if you cornered him, he has one hell-of-a-punch.

Tito was smooth too, and like Jerry, got along with everyone. But became a bit bitter later in life.

Jim, Jose and Bulleit—man those three guys always got into trouble. They were ok at first, but we had a falling out as they fought with themselves and everyone else. Probably for the best not to worry about them.

And Mary. I don’t know how to explain it. She had a certain allure, an air about her. She is sweet, good looking, and super funny. No matter who she is with she can have a good time, down to party whenever.  

I suppose we all have lives now.
Too responsible.
But we deserve to have a good time, right?
It is a Friday.
I’ll be honest out of everyone I’d contact, it would be Mary. Maybe Jack and Jerry, only if Mary said she was cool with them as well. Anyone else though and the good times will not roll.
Aware of our poisons, we weigh responsibility as an adult, a want vs need or nothing in between. Reliance and aware of over-indulging. If you know what the names mean, let me know your poison is.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
At nineteen, I became a mother,
a title that shook the stars—
barely an adult, but now a world-builder,
my dreams reshaped by tiny hands.
A poignant reflection on becoming a mother at nineteen, where the joy of welcoming new life is tempered by the weight of responsibility. This poem captures the growth of a young woman as she embraces the challenges and rewards of motherhood, her dreams reshaped by the needs of a child.
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