maybe if i tried harder
maybe if i thought faster

it would have made the pain more bearable
and make me feel less shameful.
maybe if i tried harder nothing would've happened
what a shameful world we live in,
where we cannot even protect,
the dreams of innocent children,
where we cannot give shelter,
to another religion in our home,
where we cannot provide schooling,
to our students without being shot,
where colored faces are shot,
without standing a chance of justification,
where citizens are classified,
as second class citizens based on their race,
where occupied citizens are treated,
as prisoners in their own country,
what a pathetic world we live in.
DEW 5d
Her death was like quicksand
I tried to escape the grief
I tried to run, swim, crawl
but, like spectral arms,
I was dragged back beyond the precipice
down into the gravely depths
down into my despair.

I sought after her and found crumbs
but the trail of bread yielded only hunger,
hunger for perhaps her scent
perhaps echoes of her voice as she fades
into the distance
perhaps her reflection trapped in a mirror
any sign that she were still living
but the world had closed her chapter
and my hunger became a fasting...
I once hoped for love everlasting,
but my truth will never be love ever-after.

Just when I thought hope was forgotten,
I found an envelope with her name scrawled upon it.
Her crest engraved the wax of the seal.
The torment of her abandonment sunk into me once more,
and the quicksand trickled all around.
How dare I imagine her again?
How dare I open this audacious package.
I pry open the letter with haste,
mouth dry, tongue limp like dry wood,
eyes bulging,
my nourishment is within this envelope, of course!

within it, I find cobwebs and shame.
A picture of her I had never seen.
Her arm wrapped around the trusted embrace of a suitor
and I cannot penetrate this world she has found,
I do not belong.

I burn the picture...
With each spark of the fading image,
somehow I am freed
and the chains she bound to my soul are now vines
I reside in a fortress, barren, but safe.
"Darling?" I hear.
My wife peeks down from the stairs,
"Supper is ready..."
Of course.
Of course a mistress can never be real.
She will ever be a phantom.
And phantoms can never say farewell.
They were never there.
I'm thinking about this feeling of never being satisfied:
of having what one desires only to realize,
our desires are just dreams...
and dreams, when fulfilled, are not guaranteed to be truths.

Moreover, the feeling of having far too much,
more than we can consume,
more than we know what to do with, but we continue eating,
and realize a man can be bottomless,
despite always being filled.

Anyway, just musing.


Skia A 7d
I live inside the shadows,
For there is comfort in being out of sight,
I fear you will see right through me,
If you hold me to the light.
Saddal Diab Mar 9
“How are you?”
“What is new?”
A question as rich as a  promise
A sincere invitation.
You are my repository and the branch I grasp

Like an eager child
I bring my selves forth
All of them are welcome
My inner life trembles
A  mélange of anticipation and nervous excitement

Pain, yearning, doubt make yourself known
Unfurl and unwind
Derail if you must
Pour forth and expand your crevices
And just as well
Shame be banished
Myrrdin Mar 7
I struggle to get air
Beneath this mound of earth
I've buried myself in
So ashamed to be this dirty
I've forgotten
That beneath the mud
Is where seeds grow
Sounds of static,
fill my head,
a constant buzzing,
a growing dread

Cheerful laughs,
gloomy smiles,
anxiety and depression,
building piles

A mask, I wear,
to hide the old me,
few have met him,
few have the key

I hate myself,
though no one knows,
they only see my screen,
a happy face shows

I’m ashamed of who I am,
and the mask that I wear,
the things that I’ve done,
and the things that I’ve shared

No one can see my pain,
and honestly, I’m okay with that,
no one needs to worry,
to think I’m but a spoiled brat

My mask is my lore,
my mind, impaired,
my heart, fractured,
but I’m okay, I swear
I'll laugh off the bad ones
Grin at the good
Pretend that I don't care

Sometimes I can push it away like an annoying bug
Sometimes I can't

I'll feel the tears
I'll feel the shame
I'll feel jealousy

To tell you the truth, I don't think I can do it
Thoughts for the two upcoming months
Jo Barber Mar 4
When you left, I didn't blame myself,
though many others did.
My brother, my own blood,
held me on the cross
for the wrongs I'd committed against you.
When the blood money came in, I didn't
when he kept it for himself.
Why would he share those shameful bounties
with the one who caused the bloodshed?

I could wash away the guilt from all those who blame me,
but the one thing I could never wash away
is thinking that you live among them.

I remember your last words to me
as though you just spoke them,
though I can hardly recall the
shape of your face

Piss off.

I thought that I could wash off these words, too,
just as I had done with so many other words,
but some things hang on to you.
Some things just hang
I have a friend
Who likes to come over to my Place
To play chess
And to reminisce about the great sex
He had with all his old flames.
I don't have much to add to the discussion.
My sex with my ex
Really wasn't all that great,
Especially considering
That my marriage
Ended in a
I don't really feel comfortable bragging
About the awesome orgasm I had,
Masturbating in the shower.
Because I'm not comfortable having this discussion,
After awhile,
I lose interest in chess.
Chess is not like poetry.
It's a highly competitive game.
In chess,
There is no tolerance for mistakes.....
No room for failure.
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