"I never expect to see perfect work,
from an imperfect man."

This is a quote by Alexander Hamilton.
Alexander Hamilton undeniably,
one of the smartest men that's ever lived.

It is shocking how much we forget this.
Man, is not perfect.
Wait, excuse me, it's 2018.
People are not perfect.
Your teachers,
your parents,
your supervisors,
they easily forget this.

And it goes without saying that those people,
are imperfect as well.
When will we realize,
that people make mistakes?
But more importantly,
when will we figure out,
how to forgive.

Forgive me please,
if I forget to take out the trash.
Forgive me please,
if I do not do well on a test.
Forgive me please,
if I misbehave.

Forgive us please,
if we mess up.
Many people don't know much about Alexander Hamilton. If you do, it is most likely due to your exposure to, Hamilton: The musical which came out in 2016. If you don't, read this.

Hamilton was the Secretary of Sate when George Washington was president. He wrote 51 out of the 81 essays written for the Federalist Papers. He helped fund the first federal bank. He was heavily influential in Thomas Jefferson becoming president, and he died in a duel with both his best friend and his enemy. This is also how his son, Phillip, died. (Phillip died before Alexander)
Elliot Mar 5
its silly
how good
you make me feel

even just
the brush
of your fingertips
against my skin
can leave me
for more
Elliot Mar 5
i want
nothing more
than to hide away
with your hand
in mine,
      to leave,
      to run,
      to laugh,
      to cry,
to forget this town,
      this place.

to forget what its like
      to exist here.
Frank DeRose Feb 26
There we were,
Two lost teens,
Drowning in all we didn’t know
And all we felt.

It only makes sense we made the playlist we made,
Finding meaning in lyrics that told of experiences we’d had and not yet had.
Things we longed for and felt deeply about.

I was lost in my head, philosopher and hopeless romantic,
Seeking to learn how to be a
Simple Man.

And there was Skynyrd, words and guitar licks washing over me,
As I was told not to worry,
I’d find myself.

And there you were,
Sad and depressed,
Crying out for your

You knew love was no victory march,
Wainwright’s piano and voice giving clout to your every thought and feeling.

We each needed to Imagine,
Lennon assuring us that really,
It’s easy if you try.

So we sat,
Listening to the Sound of Silence,
Knowing we were the people talking without speaking.
Even as Simon and Garfunkel’s harmonies warned us,
Told us that the words of the prophets are written on the tenement walls.

And so we pressed on,
Hunting out that elusive American Pie,
Craving McLean’s country,
Lost a long long time ago.

We knew every vocal lilt and musical cue,
Singing the same old songs we knew.

And so we searched for happiness in the fields with the Wildflower,
Petty crooning and reminding us that we belong somewhere we feel free.

But inevitably, sadness would return, and we’d cry out— Wish You Were Here.

And though we were never a couple, Pink Floyd still made us feel like
Two lost souls,
Swimming in a fish bowl.

And we asked so many questions,
Questions whose answers we knew we’d never know,
Whose answers,
As always,
Were left Blowing in the Wind.

Dylan understood us.
We understood him,
As he spoke-sang and wept for humanity,
So too did we.

And desperately we tried,
To Turn the Page.

Seger’s sad, screaming sax sticking with us,
His cognitive dissonance striking a chord with us,
Here I go, playing star again,
There I go...

And you, knowing exactly what it’s like
Behind Blue Eyes,
Empathizing with Townshend and Daltrey,
Feeling like the bad man, the sad man.

And finally,
At long last we took comfort in the idea that someday
We’d climb that Stairway to Heaven,
Aching for the piper to lead us to reason,
For the new day to dawn,
For us,
Standing long.

And here we are now,
Years and miles having passed between us.
But still this playlist connects us,
Even as it did then.
Beer Cans
I remember the afternoon we spent alone in the woods
Putting bullets in beer cans
With amber filtered through the green
As if someone had taken reality and cocooned it in spider silk, softened.
But we didn’t embrace that softness, just left it hovering in the atmosphere
Because I was teaching you how to defend yourself.
That’s how I got you to tell me about the things your dad made you do as a little boy
And  impressed you because I understood why you cried for a week after.
That’s when I told you about my parents, a money marriage with fondness on a good day.
I remember the jokes you made when you kept missing
And I never forgot how your hands trembled-
You hated firing that gun, even at beer cans,
But I wanted to make sure you could defend yourself
So you told me I had a Lady Liberty complex,
And I said no;
I had a Mamma Bear complex.
To which you replied that I didn’t have an interest in being your mother,
I wanted to be your safety and your fresh start; your guiding beacon of strength.
And maybe you’re right. Lady Liberty and the Independence Day.
I won’t forget you as long as I live.
[Rest of the poem isn’t here, but is on Medium.]
BlancaNigrida Feb 15
The music at the party is pumping.
All the teenagers are     jumping.
But I only hear  my  heart  thumping.
Alone   on the sofa and   slumping.
Stewing in   solitude,   a dumpling.
Starting to   disintegrate,   crumbling.
I feel a disturbance,   a rumbling.
I reach for my phone, I'm   fumbling,
For a text, a call,        something,
Anything to enhance   the    numbing.
I rise from my perch,  stumbling  .
I  collidewithsomepeople, they're grumbling.
Now I'm    falling  out  the  door,   tumbling.

People are laughing, tutting frowning.
They see me on the ground, but I'm
                                                             ­   drowning.
Tonight, we live like kings:
Hijack the prison and break out our dreams;
Kick off our shoes and rip our jeans;
Sing until our lungs burst at the seams.
Tonight, we are wild and free:
We’ll climb up skyscrapers and then ride the breeze
With our broken wings.
Tomorrow we’ll be damaged teens,
But tonight, we live like kings.
Imagine this, but the chorus of a song.
How easily we let ourselves believe we can put our faith into anyone, or anything, besides ourselves,
Without fear of falling into the demise we’ve created,
Even though the possibility of opening our hearts is the one thing that can break our walls.
We create barriers to shield ourselves, and our hearts, from crumbling and turning into our mothers, and that sad lady down the street.
The truth is, we are so fucking terrified of the weakness love brings,
That we'd rather suffer alone,
Stay empty, but stay unbroken.
In the solace of our own minds we become a butterfly,
Only we don't know how to fly,
Too scared to take the first leap.
Do we risk shattering everything?
So easily we make excuses and cower instead of fall,
Because our heart is our most guarded possession of all.
And There Were Three
Late mark Griffon engine Spitfire is sliced apart by German gunfire. Defeat! Spit pilot takes to the silk and bails. He saw his executioner executed. Swift justice handed out by a Tempest. No one said the Salamander was in service.

Volksjager peoples’ fighter, for everyone but only flown by the best, killed a Spitfire before  a Tempest killed him. Did the Nazi pilot perish? Unlike the Spit pilot? Eyewitness to his own shoot down. Advanced air war 1945, Armageddon beckons.

Enough! Time for a coffee and some biscuits, teen combat pilot dreams aside. I close my book and go to make a brew. No decaf for me. Need my caffeine before I battle the Luftwaffe in turbulent European skies. Shame I’ve no beer!

Never mind about being there, seeing history made. German jet genesis, almost mastering state of the art piston engine fighters. Back to my book. At 17 my mates were out chasing girls, I was in the skies.
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