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Erian Sep 26
the space between
a sea of stars
dancing high
gliding far

the space between
a world
full of scars
stitched together in my heart

a space between
the unknown and true
leaving me restless
leading me straight to you

but a space between spaces
wasn't that far
for us to cross borders
on runaway stars

the space between spaces
isn't that far
My Type Sep 14
I fear that one day...

ill jokingly say no,

and you'll say...

We rally for ‘safe spaces’,
And I say I want to ‘enable’ them.
But my own mind doesn’t feel so,
And yet I want to make spaces safe.

My thoughts are unsettling,
And they can un-safe your space
But I demand ‘safety’ for Others
As I forget my agency,
And practice it for Them.
As a person working on social development, I realize that I often need gentle reminders for myself- to practice my own voice and agency before I do it for the so-called 'disadvantaged Other'.
I let down my walls for you--
a complete stranger with sad eyes,
hunched figure, face down,
back plastered in dimly lit corners.

We held hands as we toured through galleries,
artificial sceneries, and slopes overlooking the city.
I let you sit beside me in craters other people dug up
just to see if you could fill in the spaces they left.

But you dug your own,
left me wondering how you could
claim love, promise me new planets
and then leave
just as they did.

I let down my walls for you--
even when I knew I'd risk drowning
for people whose words slowly turned into lies
once they decide to abandon ship.

I let down myself,
in hopes that maybe you wouldn't.
But you did,
the worst part was all of you did.

Now my walls aren't the only ones left crumbling
but my deteriorating furnished interiors
barely holding up the framework
of what the people I love keep tearing down.
Johnny walker Aug 16
Last night I didn't sleep at all
far to much on my mind to many thoughts of Helen In my head spinning like a carousel out of
Images flashing before my eyes even closed my eyes but they're still there teasing me with memories of my life before I lost
And Its hurts to see all thats
gone before knowing what I see I'll never feel again for I'll never stop hurting for
I'll never see her
smiling face
That I'll never snuggle to
her at night nor will I wake to the morning light to see
my sweetheart
laying there
only empty spaces
everywhere I
It’s not a place as much as it is a space,
What’s the difference?
A wise woman once asked.

It feels as though “place” is too much concerned
With the physical features.
Places have trees, structures, water.
Places offer food, drink, dust collectors.

To call it a place would emphasize the gross matter,
The sand, the salty water, the dunes.
The people, propped atop their colorful towels,
The chips to be munched, the ball to be thrown.

Places contain activity, interactions, things.  
You leave the place with sandy toes, burnt skin, salty hair.

To describe the beach as a space, rather than a place,
Acknowledges the whispers rippling through the dunes,
The whispers of three generations that’ve been coming to this beach,
The ebb and flow of conflicting feelings,

One moment feeling as distant from them as possible,
The next, reminded that they, too, have sat on this same sand, swam in this same water.

A space permits the existence of a spirit,
That brought smiles to the beach-goers, still propped atop their towels,
A space permits smiles in the wake of tears,
A space allows for memories, experiences, nostalgia.

A space allows you to throw the ball,
And feel that he is still sitting on his big, sagging beach chair,
Squinting to see the arm on his littlest one.

A space allows you to trek to the water,
Remembering all the times you’d fetch him a pail of it,
Pour it on him to cool off.

You leave a space with reverence, gratitude, tranquility.

A place is devoid of him. 
 A space keeps him alive.
Mark Boschi Apr 30
my bedroom/airports/empty reception rooms/anywhere at 2 am
vacant parking lots
hospitals at midnight
museum waiting lines in the early morning
schools during break
late night supermarket runs
waiting for the bus at 5 am
walking down the cobblestone streets at 6 am
gas stations at dawn
unfamiliar McDonalds on long road trips

their buzzing electricity is my alternate reality. stretching across my view with reckless abandon.
day 20 - liminal spaces
Jules AA Apr 4
the purple
crash like comets
into the grass.

hands filled with splinters
        from the oaken bench
when i moved to rub my eyes,
and through blood
    i can can see petals
            rather than prunes.

i remember once i
when you
a sapling

to dip them
    in a mix
of algaes
and dirt
so they can
take root
so that one day
they will be

and i sit
        entombed by a pile of earth
and insects,
and with every exhale
i root
myself too.
Eryri Jan 17
Friends with Star Wars figures
And friends with football stickers.
Friends with bikes,
Friends with footballs;
The road was Wembley,
The neighbours' van our goalpost,
No one seemed to care
That their cars were being bashed
By wayward shots and way-off volleys
Or their lawns were being wrecked
By 10 year olds with football studs
Crossing themselves à la Maradona
Before vital penalties,
Despite not knowing what it meant!
Happy days indeed,
Playing Block,
Headers and Volleys,
Sixty Seconds,
Laughing, smiling, laughing.
But that same estate,
Thirty years hence,
Is clogged with cars,
No room for makeshift crossbars
To help nurture future soccer stars!
Lawns are now tarmacked drives.
Children forced into sedentary lives,
Not by social media or XBox Live,
But by lack of playing spaces.
So no more cycle races,
Or street football with undone laces,
Just kids with nowhere to play
And no power with which to sway
Those ignorant adults who simply say
"Kids today, eh? Too lazy to play".
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