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Robbie Gunn Feb 2017
Thanks for giving me access to my unconscious. You've gave me the ability to realize the truth about myself, I am to sensitive. At the beginning you where fun and sociable, seeing you in moderation made me happy. When I heard the news of my father's untimely death you where there for me, the escape you provided was appreciated. However I've grown dependent, I never properly grieved so those emotions of despair and misery still follow me. I have become jaded in my anxiety ridden life.
Did you guess this was about drugs? cannabis to be specific.
It's been awhile since the last time
I saw happiness upon your face
I can feel your heart, I can feel
Those memories' trace
I know it's hard when there's a distance between your soul and your body
But you can't fill this space

It's been awhile and you're still standing here
It's not your eyes
Your vision can't be clearer
It's all because you see
Your reflection in a dusty mirror

Can you ever do something
Your mind can't accept
But your mind can't bear what your
Heart for years had kept

You're so strong
You could for long Time handle that pain
It's not your eyes
Your vision can't be more clearer
That's all because you see
Your reflection in a dusty mirror.
softcomponent Feb 2017
you're not going to read this, and why would you?*

it would be either
of me to expect even so much as a text;
as if our separation implies the ******* of a proverbial
Berlin Wall* between us,
where less than a week ago we were the same *country,

our landscapes of rolling hills,
city skylines,
and forests
so overgrown
that only
of sunlight
could parse the ever-greened canopy,
phasing into one another seamlessly.

We may have been our own provinces,
but aside from small street signs declaring
Welcome to Jen
Welcome to Kyran...
aside from separate cognitive centers of self-government
your shock-blue eyes and fleek eyebrows,
my navy-blue irises and grey,
sunken sockets,
we were a willing confederation of persons,
                                                                ­        and betrayals---

In our past, and provisional separations,
it was your betrayal that pushed us both
into the doldrums of love-lost confusions
and self-hatred;
not that there would be much value
in assigning a blame
with hurt still attached,
because the point,
it seems to me,
was that we somehow made it through everything together.

There wasn't a personal adversity we didn't learn to conquer
---until I began to fade away from you--
lanky, thin, often broke, and depressed,
I retreated.

I cocooned myself in studies of the past and the present;
for some reason, despite my overwhelming love for you,
despite the unspoken commitment I had made
to you
in my head
so long after your second infidelity
when I realized I was finally over it
and that I loved you more than I'd ever loved anyone before
--and in ways I never could have foreseen--

I backed-off,
I fell back,
I disengaged,


I essentially abandoned you.

After your impulsive infidelities,
when you admitted you hadn't been
nor were you in your
"right mind,"
you promised you'd get better.

You saw councilors, therapists, psychiatrists,
and psychologists... and you did.

You really did get better.

You overcame all that had been pulling you so low and so far into the darker vicissitudes of irrationality.

And yet, when it came to my own faults,
inadequacies, and disengagement,
I lacked your courage.

I didn't even try to overcome them.
In my self-imposed screen-gazed solitude,
I often thought of how much I loved you;
of how I hoped you might just wait out my confused disengagement
like I forgave you for your betrayals which had,
in their times,
hollowed me out emotionally for months on end.

The thing is, you wouldn't have blamed me if I'd left you then.
You would have understood, and let me go,
regardless of the heavy pain in your solar plexus
and the hollow feeling in your heart.

Though it never came to that,
I now have the chance to do for you what you'd have done for me.

I don't blame you for leaving.

I understand,
and regardless of this heavy pain in my solar plexus
and the perceptive hollowing of my heart,
I will watch you as you go,
        I will wave,
I will live with the weight of regret and memory,
and remember what you wrote in a poem once
when we parted ways after your first infidelity.

Sitting in the university library, reading on Moses,
what went thru your head was

"closure feels more like i can go on without you, i’m glad i met you, however an emptiness drenched in self-regret will always remain."
(Bu Ert Jordin by Frida Bark--listen while reading for added effect.)
You know, everyone’s always moving so fast.
And yeah I’m here,
always here.
I’m tense. Everyday I walk
Can’t help but feel
that one wrong move and you’ll lose it all.

Yeah sure, I smile.
Yeah sure, I look cold.
Yeah sure, I don’t look scared.
But I am. I really really am.
I just don’t want you to see it.
I wear a mask. Believe me, I’m scared.

Okay I get it.
I’m just saying this in a poem.
In hopes you don’t
bother to read,
but hoping you
actually would.

I’m actually here just to tell you
You’re never alone
There’s always someone
in a million people that
try to look down
on you, on me, on us,
on them, on her, on him
And still feel tense and regret
Because they’re not this. They’re not that.

Get this. We are human.
If you can’t do it. You can’t.
It is no one’s responsibility
to live in the standards,
to be a living drone
of the flaws of society
or the stereotypes from
our brains.

You just be you and I’ll be me.
But don’t *****. Cuz the world doesn’t
always need one. Just be youself,

Really. I mean it. Just be you
in a way you hurt no one.

Not even yourself.
○ A poem by Juliet G. Jimenez ○

** Seeing how warmly everyone accepted my poem last last week really warmed my heart. Really, thank you everyone. Now, this poem is actually one of my older poems in tumblr and I just wanted to share to all of you that IT IS OKAY TO BE DIFFERENT. BUT SO LONG AS IT HURTS NO ONE AND NOT EVEN YOU IN THE PROCESS.

Thank you thank you so so so so much for the support everyone.

Happy reading! **
Why do you do what you do,
For many it is said for bounty adieu,
To live as long as they can reach,
Held in love that was not preached,

Why do you do what you do,
Made in choice and decisions anew,
Lined with the convictions of the soul and hue,
Written in stone or chanced by clues,

Why do you do what you do,
Searching for a golden cue,
Cure for the soldered shame,
Living towards a blackless blame,

Why do you do what you do,
Is it for naught or is it for thought,
Is it for the righteousness in your mind that you sought?
Why do you remain watching by the side of the road, while they take the gold you have found by the cove, is it not right to not move in time, mimic of a sloth is that all right, then I ask you, why do you do what you do, let me guess for fame fortune and fortudious power asoon?
Samm Marie Jul 2016
Every place I turn
I can't unsee the horrors I've known
I can't say I have had it the worst
Not by a long shot
But it hasn't been butterflies

No three year old wants to see
Random men in their house with
Their mama when their daddy's not home
And no six year old should have to see
Parents so enraged
And divorcing
Nor should their best friend's parents
Feel a need to adopt them
Even temporarily

No seven year old should
Feel they need to be twenty-seven
And like they aren't allowed to cry
No ten year old should be forced
To choose which parent they like best
Under any circumstances

No twelve year old should feel
Any desire to harm themselves
And watch blood swell on their arms
No fourteen year old should think they're
Wrong because they believed in love
Nor should they feel jaded

No fifteen year old should contemplate suicide
At all
Especially not so thought out
With a grand scheme and everything
Just two months before their sweet sixteen
No sixteen year old should feel betrayed
And forgotten
Or unworthy of any kind of love

Every step I take I am reminded
That life is a widening gyre
Mr. Yeats, you were right
But I can't accept that to be
The only plausible possibility
Which leads me to believe
That with every step I take
Though my heart is torn to bits
By this minefield called life
I get a little bit
Inspired by the Sara Evans song
John Go-Soco Jul 2016
Fear the stillness whers't thou find
the dreary life and idle mind,
wherein thine own reflection lies
a baleful thing with glassy eyes.
Let horror of this fill thine heart,
to maul thy slothy core apart.
Ignite within thine blighted soul,
a fire that should cleanse it whole.
Let passion rouse it from thine state,
that thou shalt grasp the skeins of fate.

Thus boldly stride a person who,
was born, hath died, is born anew.
Stagnation can indeed be a hateful thing which most of us, at some point, find ourselves in... waiting, just waiting.
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