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Marri Nov 2019
Your chest grows tight,
As your heart shifts to get comfortable in its bed.
It's always been restless,
Beating out of time with the music.
Maybe one day it'll learn.
Maybe one day it'll know its place,
Under the thick protective armour of ribs,
Muscle, fat, tissue, and skin.

When even tucked away, where the naked eye can't see, it's not safe there.
It'll never be safe,
The heart is fragile.
Delicate, even.
The heart is alone.

Your chest feels tight.
Maybe it's your heart shuffling to find the right rhythm again.
It's always felt offbeat,
But you didn't know better.

The heart is ignorant;
But ignorance is bliss.

Right?

The heart doesn't know any better.
All the heart wants to do is to come out, but
The heart doesn't know how hard red stains are to get out of shirt sleeves.
Or how messy tears are when they fall,
Or how hard it is to convince yourself that life is worth living.

Please, Heart.
Stay protected in your brittle cage.
The world is cruel, and cold.
The world is pain,
And it is not for the faint of heart.
Words stain like red wine on your couch
and you try so hard to erase it out
but remnants will remain
and even when you no longer see it,
it will always exist in your mind
and you will remember,
memories and feelings will rush back
and you wish you could remove that stain--
that scar that won't ever disappear
in your mind as easily as you removed
that red wine.
Be careful with what you say when you're angry or in pain. When things cool down and you say, "you didn't mean it", it becomes hard to believe it because everything was said and done and you can't take that back. Forgiveness can happen but remember that they won't forget it, you permanently scar someone.
R B M Jul 2019
Stain glass window
Broken on the chapel floor
Sometimes I wonder
If it's even worth it anymore

Every day a new rock is thrown
But all I see is the color fragments
Hit by the rising sun
To show me there is something to gain from all this pain

This world has about a million ways to get me down
A million ways to make me frown
Yet even after the rock has been thrown
The stain glass window's beauty still shows

This beautiful stain glass window
Shattered all around
Still shows its color
Still shows the sun

Stain glass window
Broken on the chapel floor
Looks like Hell
But still shows Heaven

Broken but beautiful
Stain glass window
Stain glass window
Broken but beautiful
Anastasia Sep 2019
there's something about you
that drives me insane
something about you
thats takes all the pain
something about you
soothing like rain
something about you
that lingers like a stain
there you are
in the back of my mind
every single second
every minute
all the time
waves crashing
against jagged rocks
im falling for you
i don't think i can stop
Karisa Brown Jul 2019
Rotten
Displaced silence
Took presidency
Over anything ever before
And never once again
Beginning to account from
Where she left

She flew for a minute
Then touched earth
And decided
It wasn't her cup of tea
Why sit with
The normals
Why retrace the
Same look
The same composure
She felt very much out of place

But look wait she said
There's a higher ground instead
I don't desire enough quit yet
Still I want to finish my making
I've forgotten a few steps
Along the way
See I've been undertaken
By hardships
And bills and kids and life
Its all taking a very long
To allow and to claim
And to find myself some piece of mind
All my own
I had completly forgotten who
I was
The black brain void I called it
Sepped in one night and she forgotten
How to leave it
So she stood there
Frozen
Running in place
Not making a silent
Yet screaming nothing
All day

The empty took hold of her and made a martyer out of a prince
The principals thumb ruled her own
Hell she Forgot she even had a voice
Dominique Apr 2019
The wine stains won't wash out
I hope you do soon, though.
Poetoftheway Apr 2019
coffee stain memories (an aging love)

our dozen or so mugs,
all white, her color of choice,
accumulating stains of black-brown coffee
that the dishwasher poetically concedes,
a decade plus of drinking, now, oh-now,
****** and can’t be removed

the lips of some are chipped,
the lips of some are chapped,
but they remain employed
for first coffee is a demonstrable
affectation of affection that losing
would be costly

but one of us soto voce, quietly whispers
the radical ionized idea,
shouldn’t we replace,
this should-not is an update, a cognition of
a bridge too far,
both agreeing, both conceding the symbolism,
the heart acknowledges a momentary thrombosis,
for the losing turnover is a winless loss

messaging in and about,
an aging staining love losing

~
A no ki tov tuesday poem
11:36 tuesday ki tov 16/4/2000+nineteen

http://hebrewmeanings.blogspot.com/2016/04/ki-tov.html

“The third day of Creation [Bereshis 1:9-13] is the only day in which the expression “G-d saw that it was good” is mentioned twice. This expression is mentioned both following the gathering of the waters which divided the seas from the dry land, and following the sprouting of vegetation and seed- bearing plants – both of which occurred on the third day of Creation.
As a result of the fact that Tuesday had a double portion of “ki tov” [that it was good], Tuesday is considered a particularly fortuitous day of the week. Many people specifically plan their wedding for this day. When moving into a new house, many people plan to move on Tuesday. Many people try to start a new job on Tuesday.”
Carl Lapse Mar 2019
Even if it only glitters in the sky approaching the city,
as your vision blurs and smog suffocates your lungs.
We all return to gaze into the faded stained crossing,
to remember when two fading breaths drifted apart,
eyes glistening in the hourglass of two twisted hearts.

I pretend these eyes see brief clarity beneath,
this path of split ends of unkempt dreads.
Not much to send but I'm tempted to lend,
a broken sentence with no pretense.

Kept fighting rewriting reread recollections,
staring at dead stars lighting my reflection.
Seeing what is and what could be there.
What is and what could be tangibly unaware.
Like what was and what wasn't we are both here and there.
Forgetten remains conciously aware.

So now I sit smoking a ciggarette,
Fighting to write something of sense.
Staring into pixels of kaleidescope pills.
A constant reminder of concocting thrills.
Beginning to burn out and all I wrote:
What fades away turned to smoke.
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