Do not ever allow yourself
to reduce the incomprehensible miracle
of your very existence

to basic questions of self-worth.
Do not ever allow your boss to write you off
as nothing more than a worker

who is failing to meet
some arbitrary set of expectations.
Do not ever allow a bully to tell you
that you are nothing more than a child

lacking in physical strength.
Do not ever allow a politician
to boil your being

down to a cheap distillation
of inside jokes and snickering, racist
circumlocutions.

The fact that you are here,
today,
alive and present
and reading these words
is a stentorian, staggering miracle.

We are,
all of us,
perhaps guilty
of occasionally forgetting
this fundamental fact.

But we must remember,
you and I,
and every other being with us,
that we sprang forth from nothing—
absolute oblivion—
into awareness and consciousness
and individuality, and personality
in this gargantuan, freezing, largely empty universe.

Allow me to remind you
that that idea
is entirely incredible—
the purest void was somehow spun into
the totality of your being—
into the infinity of the present moment—
a Möbius-strip mindfuck
expanding outward in space and time
reaching toward all directions simultaneously.

The fact that you and I are here is miraculous.
And the fact that you exist is a miracle.

Do not ever let
our sickly civilization
try to tell you anything to the contrary.

Take me as I am - with my ambitions
And moments of unprovoked passions
With my thirst for knowledge
And entitlement to privilege
With my constant self-doubt
And subtle confident pout

Do not ask me to re-direct
There is nothing of myself I will review or correct
Do not ask of me a change of heart
Nor to allow a stranger to claim my part
Take me as I am - with my stubbornness
And moments of empathy and kindness

I saw an extraordinary man
Scared to face his time with death
Fight that possibility with only his breath
As inhaled hungrily so he could live again
Against all hope and faith
He lived again from his own wraith

He became weak, childlike and mad
He kicked and fought but refused to be had
In lucidity he told us of his fear
In madness, he shared with us what he held dear

He trembled over his own lifeline
Clinging to the possibility of an incline
He taught me that hope lived on
Even when a body seemed to have moved on

He showed me that strength, in its purest form, existed in vulnerability
That courage at its rawest, was the epitome of  your own incapability
Conquer both and you become invincible
Embrace both and you are indestructible

It was a journey, a ritual, a rite of passage
The autobiography of sheer will and grit
The story of a man of extraordinary courage
An inspiration that triggered me to commit

Stand true to myself and live genuinely
Rise against the odds with dignity
See past unfathomable challenges
Knowing that reward lies in the forehead’s sweat that life scavenges

I’m scared to say yes to you because then who will I be ? What is to be loved unconditionally ? To not worry if someone is prettier or smarter or a threat to me. What is it to have our own house, in our own town with our own things. I have waited my whole life to be happy , and here it is infront of me the chance , why can’t I grab it ? Why can’t I say yes and run with open arms and leave the past behind , is it because all of the trauma and sadness has become part of me , because I don’t know how to accept stability without feeling like that’s it. That’s the end of it all , how can it be the end? It’s never been the end of the sadness before ? How can I trust you won’t leave like the rest. Build me up into comfort then only look at me when I’m undressed. Laying with me but longing to lay with others too. What if one day you wake up and realise I’m just not for you. I’m scared ... I’m scared but I want to be brave, it seems you were carved into the exact thing I need , the thing that would have saved me years ago. Please hold on. Please wait for me. I just need a little push I could never find anyone as good as you. They don’t exist. Your the light I never had , just please don’t go  but take the darkness away slowly because the brightness hurts my eyes.

I am lost
I don't know where I am or
Where I came from

I am lost
I don't like this feeling
I'm losing everything

I am lost
Will I ever be found
I have wondered for so long

I was lost
But now I'm found
It was a long road

I was lost
But now I'm found
Now I'm on common ground

I’m the opposite of perfect
I am not the most refined
Eloquence is not my nature
Speech is not the place I shine
I am flawed in many places
What some say of me is true
But this one thing I have learned
Blemishes aren’t worn by few
So we all have our shortcomings
And we all may fail at times
But the thing that makes us special
Is how we view other’s crimes
For when we may make a mistake
And one chooses to forgive
Do we follow that example
And say this is how we live
Or do we condemn and complain
With hate and pride every hour
Without taking a single glance
At the person in the mirror
When you pull each other down
It proves this one thing is true
I may have a lot of blemishes
But the **** one is you

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
- Emily Dickinson


Waiting for the angry sky to spread across the mountains,
Shifting its vehemence from the high plains
To the undulation of dark pines
And valleys
That meet at the wild boundary lines
Of the Dakotas.  

The distant sound of thunder shakes the ground
And does not rumble like a gentle summer storm,
But implodes within the atoms of the air
Like somewhere in the night
Exists the frontlines of a war.

It draws ever near.

And it is enough to scare this little bird away;
Yet, she sings into the dying of the day,
And bravely turns to face the
Driving wind,
Wings extended out and in
To the torrent of the rain.

She is accustomed to the pain
Of singing all alone
Abandoned in the darkness of a soul
That has almost given up.

But as each storm approaches, I am beginning to trust
That she is always there.

Her bright wings flutter in the deepest hollows of despair.
Her colors light the air between the clashing of the clouds
And when the lightening flares
I can see her
Suspended there
Still.

I reach out to grab her.
Surely, she cannot survive a storm of this magnitude,
Not this time.

But you take my hand in yours and tell me,
“She will be fine,”
And even though the sky is falling
I believe you.

Seagulls peck away at forgotten remnants.

A knot of women gossip and giggle
as they admire the young man up the shore
performing pullups, sweat rolling down
the lines of his back. Two men walk by
holding hands, sharing a kiss
before the sunset. A woman relaxes with
an ******-mystery-thriller and a
Jennie of Morris Muscat all for herself.

And an old man lies on the sand, ****
and propped on his elbows, his toes tickling
the rising tide as he stares out into the sea.
He always hated his body. Hated being
underneath his skin, his fat, the hair
on his back, his inadequacies. This old man
plans to die here, in this new land, his senior
getaway. But at least he will spend his
final days at this beach, wetting his feet,
taking in the rising moon’s cool breath.
And he’s around people who understand
his need for freedom, who wouldn’t
make him feel ashamed for being him,
for just being born human.

A young man arrives, staying in the backshore.
He strips to his boxers and hesitates,
looking towards the waves for strength.
He then throws them off and plops down,
holding his knees to his chest, a smirk on his face.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
(Alek the Poet)

Separated like the freezer and fridge.
Cold shoulders has led us to our own ridge.
I should've checked the nutritional facts to prevent this from happening.
Because to be labeled "Great Value" with a bunch of fillers is baffling.
I brought spices to the table.  You brought your frozen cell-of-steam.
But after frostbite, you scream, I scream, "Who made this ice cream?"
It's like Blue Bell knew chocolate and artificial flavor would collide.
Because if our love was like ice cream it would be called the "Great Divide."
Good thing its not sweet.  I'm seasoned well without your freezer zone.
Although I'm organic and raw, I still live on.
The Chill is Gone.
By:  Thrystan Tate

Looking through the things
That she's been through
Picking up broken pieces
That's been crushed a long ago
Years cuts her happiness
Stuck in some horrible places
A four corner room
Where she can't shine and bloom
Watered by a poison water
Dying little flower
Would she found the way out?
After a long chaos, the sunshine came
The one who would break her walls
Return smiles on her cheeks
Pick her up piece by piece
She only believe and hoped
One day someone storms will pass
Clouds will became blue and wide
And she will find a man
That she can call
The worthy one

I feel ashamed as the fire went out already.
It took so long for it to lit.
For a while it hasn't been that steady.
Maybe I'm not supposed to be fit.

For only a day and I'm already beat.
I don't sleep very well.
I blame the the weather and the heat.
But I know it's not the reason I fell.

When I look in the mirror I am ashamed.
The extra that's still visible on me.
I want to be seen, be famed.
But what I see is not what I want to be.

Asleep and tired, from my own urge to be freed.
Empty inside, but it will be worth it, you'll see.
But I'm not stopping this until I see what I need.
Yet I miss the days my fire was easily lit by me.