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Blue 1d
there is no guarantee
that we will ever be free
I can't tell you why
the rain pours
and the people mourn
there is no guarantee
that we will ever find peace
I can't tell you why
we go to war
and why he called you a whore
there is no guarantee
that we will ever be happy
I can't tell you why
half of us are on anti-depressants
and why we are fighting the resistance
I can't tell you why
there is no guarantee
Mandalina Sep 27
Please, never stop telling me about your day.
Tell me how frustrating it was to get through and how you somehow managed to get on the wrong bus.
Tell me how embarrassing it was to walk in late on a lecture and how everyone stared.
Tell me how relieved you were when you found out that you weren't the only one forgetting to read that book and how much you laughed in that one discussion.
Tell me how much you freaked out when you realised that you weren't prepared for that seminar and how you got lost on your way there.

And tell me how you got through your day with all ups and downs thanks to the warmth and comfort you feel as soon as you get home.

Let me experience your life with you and focus on that,
instead of dealing with my own.

Joy B Sep 19
How do you tell someone
something big that you have done?
Will they hate you?
Will they love you?
Will they tell you to run?

You will need to have trust.
It’s important. Please, you must.
You have to risk it
You’ll be okay.
Just wipe off all the dust

And tell your beautiful story.
The world will see your glory.
No matter what
Please open up
Feel free and please tell me.
Sachiko Sep 8
You know it is hard walking alone each day.
Every footstep that I see it makes me brave.
Nobody knows how anxious I am when I look at my steps is getting further.
So, I build up my courage and take a deep breath.
Before, I start walking again I know I shouldn’t look back.
As I look back on my fear will come and change my route.
As I walk alone, I see the world.
It scares me how real and unfair it maybe.
I try to hold back my tears as I want to appear unbreakable.
I am naive to think happy and grind can make me unbeatable.
It becomes unreal to me.
A month of pretending. I am tired.
I’ve been fooling myself to keep positivity as my armor.
It didn’t protect me at all instead it ruined me.
I don’t walk as much anymore.
I ride my way back home.
I blast of music keep me conscious of what is real.
It continues to make a distance from my own bubble.
They made me feel bad for being myself.
As I sing my heart out inside the moving vehicle.
I am not just singing instead I am pouring out every emotion that I stay away.
I cannot get away from what I truly feel.
It made me shiver.
It made me feel.
It made me human.
It made me, me.
This is me. I never tell my bad days to other people as I don't want to be a burden to anybody. There are few people that I only say what I feel because I know they'll never gonna leave me. But it feels so exhausting for being not real, and for thinking that what I feel is not valued. It's hard to be sad when they always see you strong. But you can't deny that you are also human. And you are breakable, fragile and emotional.
Arcassin B Sep 5
By Arcassin Burnham

Many people come with many different
Some are savages , and some claim to be,
But what you say is distant memory, to
encourage the capacity of idiocy in these
human beings , listening to what they hear,
Are you kidding me?
For example , the white and self-proclaimed
wholesome american could go and blame
the black man with anything they're handling,
Which is why I don't go interracial anymore,
Bitch that's how I'm feeling,
I'm a anxious 21 year old with no censorship
but I'm surviving,
To get out my words is what I struggle with
on arriving, I'm telling.

I would like to tell a secret
It is from my heart
Drawing a wonderful pattern of it
It floating up
Free Arrow releasing towards your heart
Asking one word
Do you know it?
the love means knowing another feeling
Fog-grey paint on wood…
Imprisons willing hostage…
It jars - jams handle door to floor
Uterine prison seals hermetic hermit

The fawn as naked innocent born.
Cow mother forages for food…
To earn!
Boy buck lay prone; ears twitch.
Waiting to exhale.
Wolf pants foul -  
turn handle -
entry permit?

On eves gone by wolf violates fawn.
Cow mother oblivious in her providing!
Crept in!
As fawn feigned sleep…
Lupus leered, licked - abused like prey

This night young deer escapes the hunt
Lays quiet, tremulous.
Wets itself!
Chair holds!
Patriarchal coward creeps back to fetid lair
Brief reprieve?
Grow strong - pray another day!

©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved
When the fairytale becomes the nightmare!
A M Ryder Aug 29
Find the blue bird of happiness
Find it, and be cured
A simple task he says, one of three
I'm not sure what the next will be
But he'll tell me
He'll tell me..
Bryce Aug 19
C'mon out to the rattled caves
the deep-sea malaise
rested in the grey metamorphs
of an ancient coastal chain

Where Sisyphean slips of tectonic rifts
pull the molding clay
like play-dough
and old rock that turns anew
churned into
great catacomb stele
Babylonian towers far away
from the great

Surrounded by the immumerous trees
the military sharpness of their pine
quills writing their mark in the dirt
for a hundred turns or so
only to be rearranged
into the great intercontinental soil

And on the aggregate
held open the mists
of the vast expanse of ocean
beyond L.A
and stole the fruits of the tiny parceled condominium rainwater
from distance far away
angry men shouting--
"Give us back our life blood, GOD DAMN YOU!"

Filling the tanks of their fleshomobiles
running around and sweating it out
trading it for cloth and wiping their brow on
brown shirts
perturbed and disobeyed

But that great man with the chin muscatche
brought the rough riders out of their dome
into the frontier, riding trains
Off they go!
Seeking paradise in the sands
and the trees
and the coastal breeze
of a world owned and seen
by the world
by man
and by all these things

It would be grand

But that rock has been seen before
in Luarentian islands long ago
or perhaps a great FUJI-SAN of the west coast
worshiped by critters and dinosaurs
You are late to the game, sweet dreamers, you!
These monuments give to honor due
not you,
no sir did you build these things?
did you mold these things
with the patience of a father
with the consequentiality
of the womb
and a motherly affection
for all things true?
the gift is for you,
remember your father's gifts
sweet princes of the earth
because they will outlive you.

And I walk along the stream
stepping upon these little bits of Yosemite
Pulverized mountain rocks
Renal Stones of the diseased
to which the water flushed out deeply
and cured the grey things from all that left them
hoping for more than just selfies
and sticking it to god's face
laughing at half-dome
climbing it and getting the better of ourselves
Believing we have achieved bliss

When in reality,
there is nothing to this which we can reach.
pk tunuri Aug 19
When Successful people, On stage
Tell that their secret of success is "Luck!"

Then unsuccessful people, Backstage
Yell at their own fate, "Fuck!"
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