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"ONLY ONE WAY"

There's only one way I know of to get rid of a problem, and that's to solve it.
#c9_fm
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2021
Often
I disqualify
Myself
With a simple
Mindset

If I'm not
A part of solution
Probably, I'm the problem

Thus
There most
Be a way

Order in the chaos
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Facts
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2021
You're not alone
Shivering with cold

Let's light the fire
Genre: Minimalist
Theme: And that fire is love
Author's Note: Take this humbly with a warm smile. When the winter get too cold and  If you aren't warm, then you better find a reason how to avoid cold.Life is way too short, nothing more worthwhile, left to say.
photovoltaic Jan 2021
I'm not melodramatic,
I'm just pragmatic
beyond any
reasoning
for thinking I've
got ******* rabies,
or something.

I think this time
i'm dying.

I think i've
lost my mind.

Blurring the fact and the fiction
Whilst simultaneously
fixing
myself up
with a girl
named panadol

Bite the tablet, elixir
Disintergrate
Mouth's a mixer

I think this time
i'm dying.

Saline solution
to all your
problems.
©Wilbur
yea that was such a good pun i couldn't help it
the reason i have been dead is cuz I'm drawing
cya I'm probs not gonna come back here for a while lol
Jay M Apr 2019
Walking to fate
Door opens
Familiar face
But even so
Not all things familiar
Should be welcomed with embrace

Waiting
Discussing
Then
The new solution!?

No
Only anger
Impulses
Thoughts still uncontrollable
"Go, go.."
But that's not what they're supposed to say.

Still the same thoughts
Unchanged
Never caged
Not for long in the least

A cure?
Impossible
No such thing could be
Even if it were
Without me knowing
It would be buried
Deep inside me
Beyond that of which I cannot recall
Cast to the lowest it may go

Tears, screaming, pain,
Everything becoming dull
My reason for being made null
But still I remain
Still I drag myself along
This rugged road
Feeling so much
But nothing at all...

- Jay M
April 15th, 2019
dailythoughts Oct 2020
make noises in your head so you can’t hear your heart
Phoenix-Rising Jul 2020
i remember
the first time i thought
taking medication was a bad thing
a thing
i would be better off not doing

i remember
wondering if it would make me a different person because
if it’s changing my brain, and i believe my brain is what makes me me, isn’t it changing me

i remember
taking it anyway, because it was supposed to help, and it did . . . sometimes
but it kind of made me worse,
the first one did anyway, but that’s another story

i remember
taking the second kind and knowing
that this was helping
it was making me feel better,
but then

i remember
my cousin telling me he didn’t need medication, that it wouldn’t help him
plus,
he was strong enough without it anyway

i remember thinking
“doesn’t that make me weak”
and i didn’t want to be weak
so i stopped taking
my medication

i remember
my cousin telling me i wasn’t weak either way
that i should take the meds if i needed them
but he also said “throwing meds at a problem isn’t always the solution”

so i remember
deciding it wasn’t the solution i wanted
i’d find a different one
i would be fine on my own
so now . . .

i remember
when I was taking medication
the lows weren’t quite so low
but
the highs weren’t quite so high either
This is not me advocating for anyone else to stop taking any of their prescribed medication.
Bus Poet Stop May 2020
“for when the mind has no solution to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement, the poet’s desperation equals theirs”

The Bus Poet Stop “The Glass Shackles” ^

                                              <|>

~this one for Eliot York, who gave us a great gift - opportunity~

                                               §§§

The mandated city buses are largely denuded of passengers,
so the drivers, peruse the enriched, enforced silenced life of the
streetscape, and as they pass, call-out a fisherman’s plaintive wailing,
“here we are, where are you, do we exist?” Too few nibble “I am!”

Bus Poet Stops, stumbles on an older writ, now seemingly prophetic,
once again, he is back, living in a glass shackled confinement,
his 16th floor perch, besmirched, the mirthless empty outside well matched by the isolation inside him, a new kind of shackling bereft.

For these glass shackles are not new, but different, the glass is poorly blown, cloudy, pockmarked with air bubbles entrapped, useless
for fresh breathing, many containing a question mark, some ask
what, others when/where shelter, all, harsh pleading tones, why me?

“For when the mind has no solution” poet wrote in twenty eighteen,
unaware that this predictive value would return to rent & render mean,
his composure, no longer a savior, now he weeps copiously for thee,
those that he, in prior life, came to save, now too, another faceless face.

no, no!

Your writing saves self, and a thousand more, you infiltrate, penetrate     our conjoined quiet, giving name to each of our unsalted tears, no fear poems that make us say, Merry, Merry to us all; God bless us, every one! Bus Poet head-hung, shamed, pained, looks away, mask-covers-gratitude.

Rough and tumbling times, we discount ourselves blameless, but voices
say time for gifting varietals of solace mysterious, this! is your business!
words, instruct to touch, to transport us on a poet’s bus to Delirious,
enable arrival+survival to destiny’s destination, “for all, a good night!”
^ https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2575579/the-glass-shackles/

Fri May 1
twenty twenty

in anno autem coronavirus plaga
3:00pm
from NYC, the. epicenter
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