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NefariusHD May 23
Warriors  

Those who try to hurt others only end up hurting themselves, my love, passion and kindness is too strong.

I am a warrior, I am the sword, I am the shield & most importantly the voice of reason,
If you can relate then you too are a warrior, it is a revolutionary time and if you cannot relate then perhaps it’s a time for change and or a reconsideration.  

Money, fortune and fame is not what we seek, it makes the heart weak, there is not enough space in my own or a fellow warrior’s heart for greed, pride or anything alike,
Hence,  
Those who hurt others only end up hurting themselves.

We look to leaders, prophets & gurus for answers yet lose ourselves in the process, we forget that they are just people, and at times become unaware that they aren’t all that different from us, the answers lay within each and every one of us and we must remember that everyone is a teacher.

The fight never stops, we must push ourselves every day, so, keep fighting, keep that fire going and try not to lose yourself in the process but if you do, don’t be scared because there’s always help, you just need to reach out.  

Don’t forget that we are not survivors, we are not animals nor are we predators or prey, we are human, we are warriors.

Hope you feel a little less alone,  
Thank you.
Gabriel Apr 15
She plays mother,
wraps a scarf around her neck.

Red, once,
a proclamation of this,
of who she is.

In her letters,
she writes of little strong hands
taking her
up and up to the end of the world,
the breathlessness
of love, in which she thought,
and afterwards wrote,
and afterwards danced.

The world takes her
and she paints her neck
with something beautiful;
there’s a lot here
about getting to the roots
of it all.

And from this,
something grows.
Something, now, is cultivated
in the passive tense,
and then poets flock to her,
their little strong hands
grasping against her neck
for a taste of the bruises
and the colours.

But she is a spiral in herself,
a coil waiting to snap,
she is the roots of it all.
And the world wants
what the world wants;
to dig it all up
and plant something acceptable.

Still,
the silkworm woman
will not yield,
caught in the effervescence
of spider webs and champagne
she sings,
she shouts,
opens her mouth,
and silence pours out
of the wound.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'Spiral'.
breathe in…breathe out…

poison in our waters, our lands
poison in our wombs, our mouths
when is daylight? when is nighttime?
i no longer taste, see, feel
the separation
but you can’t take me.

breathe in…breathe out…

i once had a thought
forget what it could be
something subtle
distant motion, hushed voices
a pungent stench
clenched fists, a declaration
no, my memories are a cloud of ash.

breathe in…breathe out…

i desperately fear  
and desperately need
the tainted oxygen
of gray smoke
dancing through nostrils, lips,
my blackened lungs
a dance that mocks my mortality
as i slip back into the darkness
of my mind.
Light and smoke
blossoms from the barrel of a gun
as they lay waste
to the only home I have ever known
and stake their claim on this land
where my ancestors toiled under a smoldering sun,
wrinkles on face,
sweat on back,
callouses on hand.

Stolen plunder
rots in gold and marble jars
while I watch my children collapse
from hunger
and my husband hang himself
on that old tree,
watered by the blood
of generations
gasping for air
under the banner of the unfree.

Tonight, I cry out
to Mother, Father, Aunt, Uncle,
since the voices of my children have dried up
and my husband’s body has returned to the earth,
but I stand, an emaciated shell,
nonetheless standing
with one more scream,
one last sob,
another step,
I shall carry this banner until we all become free.
The entitlement to our existence.
There is no room to breath,
the very oxygen in this room,
they only see how to monetize it,
how to groom it
for consumption,
irrespective of its destruction,
no concern for its disruption.

The entitlement to our air.
How can I reform that which seeks to destroy me?
That seeks to own me?
To own my wares,
shows no care,
demonstrates no sympathy for my racial
and colonial history.
No empathy to put himself in my shoes,
to see the trauma of the generational injuries
wrought by his ancestors.

The entitlement to our space.
Reform sounds nice,
but more than thrice,
I've been told revolution is the only way
to recover what's been stolen from us.
Reform is their message, palatable, told to us
so that they can keep their wealth, money, and resources.

The entitlement to our bodies.
They sold to us a lie
they would work with us
And we believed it because we wanted
to believe in their redemption.
Redemption is the lie reform embraces.
Revolution is the only way to break out of the cages
they set for us.
At its heart, it is counter to their goals,
and so it is labeled as dangerous,
increasing their fear of us.

With revolution they will be entitled no more.
Emma Mar 16
Rise up
Rise like the tides
Rise like the winds
Rise unmoving
Like mountains
If we die
Least we die with
Valour kissing our hand
Man Mar 13
how many protests have you watched now?
how many devolving into riots?
via violent actors, on either side
what was gained, for those we lost?
was it in vain?
did the pay outweigh the cost?
or was our venture defunct?
would civil disobedience had been better sought?
or a more brutal insurrection,
to rival those we've been taught?
just do like they'd wish
and lay down and die
Anger
I hid you far away
In a cave, black and grey

While you were gone
I lost my will and my song
But I now see you belong

Voices made me hide you
Now I have some fresh advice
Your truth is a fire, not all is nice

You are fierce
The guard of vulnerable and pure
Without you, I refuse to endure

You move worlds
You scream at injustice
You start revolution
You bring my power back
There's more, that's a fact

Please do return
Not to dominate or define
To push me into a life I would sign

The door is open
Let us see, speak, and feel
Possibilities are endless and real

It's time to get honest
Our journey won't be light
More of a dance and a fight
But I choose this as my right
Not forgetting my heart and clear sight
Sometimes I forget that angry is a healthy and safe emotion to feel when expressed appropriately. It's incredibly powerful and can be used for good when harnessed in the right way
Zach Blackmer Feb 25
The demos of France rise to light,
To silence the cavernous glut of king.

Paris glows a bright hot white,
As the echoes of torment sing.

The people gather all their might,
To snap the golden chain.

The masters of the people’s plight,
Claw back to save their reign.

As thunder cracks to end the slight,
Paris glows a deep dark red.

The fall of this great sight,
Fills our hearts with dread.
L Feb 13
Boy Oracle
Speaks Truth. Almost
Not What You Want to Hear
What You Need to Hear
Listening To Him Is Like
Scratching an Itch
One to Watch the Universe
Decay With
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