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Emily Glover Sep 2014
Everybody just wants something from you
All you do is not even for
The one who put their life on hold
The one that did the hours long
They go and take their money and run
Because they can and to them it's fun
CD Aug 2014
we do not see

the things unseen

the childrens cry

the mothers scream

we do not care

unless it's here

unless it hurts us

unless we dare

confront the things

we best ignore

the things that we

let happen
I wrote this in literally under a minute, no judgement. I was thinking about what's happening in Ferguson and how people who aren't affected by it don't care.
Camille Marie Aug 2014
Love,
   a feeling I truly miss!
To love another,
   ah such sweet bliss.

But,
   for one to love another;
   is to first love thy self,
For,
   when love fades,
   your shattered heart
   is what you have
   left.
Selfies,
I can smell the desperation,
from here.
odors  of worry;
rippling anxities of uncertainity.
two dimensional,
instantaneous impressions,
pixelated presentations,
and
Teenage frustrations.

up tilted camera.
held against the light,
Illuminating eyes ,
and eradicating spots.
that looks like a good one.
Vicarious representation;
of how good
one could look,
fallible and hopeful.

big bosomed dame
showcasing blessed cleavage,
pulsating the adolescent
bulges.
delivered to
metal passenger,
thereafter shown
among peers.
networked to unknown.
Friends who'd never
met eye,
or
touched skin,
or
even spoke.  

self conscious
cropping of images.
fat and fearful.
wasted hours,
dying for love.
False dream of
captivating the messes with her selfie.

The very ugliness
of impressions.
Oh, how shallow we've became.
The denial
of the impact of aesthetics.
laughable,
torrents of judgement
Skinny,
fat,
ugly,
behold their desperate eyes behind the selfie.
Glance down on the selfie with objectiveness ,and open yourself to the thought process of each individual, on each selfie they take. All the billions of flaws, among all the billions of people; with each picture we take, the heart pulsates at possible notifications. The child like glee we feel when we think we look good, The somber sadness that peers over us when we feel we look bad.
Do we all negate
The other—for justice or
For recognition?
Amitav Radiance Jul 2014
We are nudging out nature, in our selfish interest
Almost trying to outdo nature and create our space
A space devoid of any beauty, mechanical churning
Deafening noise, drowning us in the decibels
Haze from the industries, making our vision blurry
Oblivious to the perils, of where we are heading
Are we leaving or building a safe abode for our progeny?
We can live in denial and continue to march ahead
Trampling many natural dreams in the name of civilization
Or measure success in different parameters
As success can’t be at the cost of defeating the purpose of life
I could tell you how to write a poem
Playful phrasing, not too quick, not too strong,
Be graphic and persuasive, appealing to us all,
The want for supposed meaning and a silver tongue
Is the truth beneath our fall
Heartfelt sentiment, articulation,
Let’s entice some Pharisees to avoid any tribulation

For the bouts and shouts of living out
And extravagantly exhibiting oneself to all and everyone—
Clichéd, now it may be,
There’s truth in that I see
Can we find apparent happiness
All appearance and accreditation,
Let’s be certain we’re (clandestinely) drudging for recognition,

Yet, I can never tell you what is true in writing,
The slow path? That’s what I long for,
Or profess, in the world of colorful mosaics,
I am the truth! The way and the light!
I’ll set you free! The God of Wonders!
Can’t you see?
I’m God, I’ve always meant to be!

Heaven help me,
I didn’t mean to pretend
But I believed beyond
What even I could comprehend..
I’m not God, this I know,
But is this—
The way I'll go?


**It is my end…
Sometimes we all get to be a bit inflated, and we end up losing ourselves... It's clichéd, I know, and I apologize, but I do wonder about my own self at all times.
I could recite the lies that I cunningly crafted in dolor
Speak of all iniquities that none have ever acted,
Not upon me, no, this creature in not worth the effort, the time
Why don't I mope and wither and lie

The novelty of clinical, irremediable sadness
Induces but a fellowship of loving, caring madness
Still not accepting, I reduce the waiting kind
Why don’t I recoil and shiver and cry

Perhaps now, in my profusion of bellows
I opine that I’ll dance in the tenor of a trance,
I’ll sashay within the shade of the treasured tree of woe
And there I’ll make certain,

Of this much I have destined,
Among the shadows beaming still,
In a moment’s testing cry
I will tremble and quiver and die...
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