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wabisabichii Aug 23
we often think that
our enemies are those who hate us
loath us
deceive us
cause us pain

but the real antagonists of our lives
are really just ourselves

even as for those
who foolishly say they love themselves
they just can't accept
the hatred deep within

we have unrevealed battles
with ourselves
other people aren't of much importance
embracing ourselves matters more

we're so enthralled with
the affairs of others
that we start defining ourselves
the way we perceive them

we try to free ourselves
from the ideas that we need to be
like them
and yet
our minds become our own prisons

we're our own enemies
we're our own foes
we're our own rivals
and we're also our only hope

the key to our minds are our hearts
and maybe one day
we wouldn't see ourselves
on the opposing side
29th january, year 2018
Dante Jan 17
What is peace without the passions of rivalry?
Your touch on my skin without the blood that pools under your nail?

How measly your love would be
without the honeys of sin.
Dante May 2019
There is no loving without wickedness.
There is no loving without rivalry.
Chase me. Fight me.
The sting of the sword announces the winner; be sure to kiss me after.



.
Stephen James Mar 2019
as the thirteen watch
their shogun locked in struggle
the final blow slips
a haiku
Tanaya Jan 2019
Will I ever prove that I exist? What do I exist as?

I may try and be a shadow to you
trying to protect you from the scorching heat,
but will I ever know that you're a night wanderer?

I may try to be the rainbow
for the silver lining in your storm,
but will I know that you constantly live in a drought?

I may even be a nightingale
filling your ears with music divine,
but when will you tell me that you are deaf?
Deaf to my yearnings and my cries,
and blind towards the tears
that wouldn't come out of my eyes.
Deaf to the rhythm my heart beats for you,
And yet I keep making the music.
I keep making the music.

I keep making the music,
perhaps to prove that I exist.
But what decides existence?
Do I exist?

I exist in nostalgia,
when people remember their first true loves.
I exist in memoirs,
of the greatest rivals they made.
I exist as the guidelines,
of the way they shouldn't live their lives.
I exist in their sensations,
illuminating how comforting a touch should be.

Yet I need to prove that I exist.
Why?
It's clear now.
I exist.
And you do too,
even if it is as a reader or critic of a this mere poem on this website.
I know you're there.
Lauren M Dec 2018
Vital parts, missing.
This has to mean something.
Held together by a face,
saving face, but still coughing.
“How bad is it?” A head, shaking,
nothing we can do.
I suppose this is what you wanted.
Right?

White teeth flecked red, peppermint breath.
Slow down.
Slow down that heartbeat.
Why you?
Why does it have to be you?
Bet you’re loving this.
The sky, slashes of sunlight over the hills, shades of blue and green.
It has to mean something.

Just listen. If this is the end...
Fear messages, helplessly echoing words
that have always been said by the dying.
Eyes that suddenly reveal the mortal behind them.
And promises
from the one who, shocked, finds an unexpected answer,
both kind and true, ready at the lips.
I never doubted your courage.
Pink spittle, the derisive reply.
Familiar tone, familiar grounds.

Go away. Go.
The dark, the dulling.
Night draws itself upon us both,
the cold, the quiet.
The steady vigil of the stars,
the baring of the grim moon
and the endless darkness in between —
it has to mean something!
should any women
try to form
a cosy partnership with him
she'll put a cleaving wedge
in between them
it is quite plain
that she won't tolerate
that kind of thing
going on
apparently she's got to be
the only paradise bird
he'll ever see
a few of his prospective
consorts were  told
to scram
and not to be tempting
him
with their eyelash
batting scams
a casual observer
might well say
she's pretty **** good
at vamoosing
the rivals
away
Feliz G Apr 2017
Can't everything just go back to where they belong?
Back to where nothing was ever wrong.
I've cared for too long,
now I can no longer hear your song.
I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one who hasn't moved on yet.
Mio Seanachaidh Feb 2017
I know it's a mask
I know it's a game

You're a liar
We are all liars

You pretend in front of the world
I know the real you

We're bitter rivals even until the end
We laugh and smile at the world masquerading our feud as trivial matter
However, behind closed doors it's an all out war!

The two halves of you are deliberately parted
If the world knew who you truly are and what you do
All memory of you would be instantly shamed and your good name would be tarnished - forever ruined

I know you; a girl with a humble start
You came from nothing
​You've clawed, lied, cheated, and schemed
You've broken hearts and did damage

It's ok; we've all done it at some point in our lives
We are all despicable and wretched souls

You are Joan
I'm Bette

Our feud is so bitter, toxic, and complicated that its intangible yet pure palpable

I don't know how it all will end, all I know is this:

Golden rule of life: never underestimate your rivals.
It was the most notorious cat fight in Hollywood history. In the blue corner, the formidable Bette Davis, and in the red, equally feisty Joan Crawford. Both magnificent actresses on top of their game, both festering with barely concealed hatred for one another. But what could have caused this? Was it mere professional jealousy or something deeper?

A little investigation shows that these two cinematic giants were reduced to duking it out over, what else, a man. Namely, the slightly less legendary, Franchot Tone.

Their claws continued to be out for one another for the remainder of their days, until Joan was the first to pass away from a heart attack. The tragedy did nothing to diminish Davis’ acid tongue; “You should never say bad things about the dead, only good…Joan Crawford is dead. Good.”

Hard to believe their mutual loathing could endure for so long, whether it was love rivalry, or mutual insecurity in such a precarious profession?

The only two who know the answer are Joan Crawford and Bette Davis!
Dreamer Apr 2016
Her
A beautiful soul is my enemy, a fake smile is what I see... worsening everyday, everyway. Her eyes are always honest... always sad.
"Trust me! Everything'll be fine " I can't say this to her.
Because we're enemies.
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