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a headline, a title, an instant self-commissioned
to live on, sponsored by these dying times,
a new poem, a different rabbit hole, a reflective surface
of in-between spaces, that separates letters, I am
that man, charter member, a voting citizen of the

The City That Never Sometimes Sleeps

the new traffic patters, i.e. no traffic at all,
messes up circadian rhythms, no trucks honking,
even the ambulances silenced, asking what’s the rush,
this year the cicadas, them too, took the seventh year off,
the strange silence wierded them out,
so they sheltered in place

our device, informs, it has been employed
20 hours 42 minutes of the last twenty four cycle,
don’t disagree, wonder only where the heck I was for
the 3 hours 18 minutes unaccounted

wasn’t sleeping, of that ‘rest’ assured,
must have been unconsciously
writing poetry, a voyage to my
beloved holy dark,
where nightly
he reimagines when things were
normal and empty streets were
a refreshing sight, a welcome change,
not a harbinger of the visible separation
between the living and the dead
Jace Joesph May 16
Still I think of an old habit, that I had once made to inhabit, it developed quick as a rabbit.
                              With how fast the crimson would flood, with mountain of tissues soaked in blood, as my body is tossed in the mud.
                                       In all honesty I still miss the rush, the gush,
                                                  That silent shush.
        But I'll keep my word,
Though i might be a flightless bird,
    I can still be beautiful even with the scars, is that so absurd?
Äŧül May 14
Our bed will await us,
It will be decorated, and,
With many flowers so various.

That night will surely descend,
From the heavens for me,
Just as for me you arrived.

We shall start a new life,
It will be our marriage, and,
Of two different Hïnđū cultures.

It will be an upgrade for us both,
That night will bring us closer,
Both to each other & to spirituality.

We shall unite as one body,
We are already one soul,
You know that, my fluff baby.
My HP Poem #1842
©Atul Kaushal
Keara Marie Apr 13
Purpose fuels passion.
When the universe gently pushes these songs into your life.... Child, you got to survive.
Eat your lettuce with salt and pepper.
Die die die inside!
Swallow swallow swallow all of your pride!

Spread your legs.
And lay those eggs.
No regrets cause you gotta make them proud and glad.
Your little naked chubby body on the bed.

Cute cute cuty.
Rare crazy beauty.
Pout your lips and touch your skin.
You are so tender, just surrender.
You will never really win!

Spread your arms.
Cling on to these charms.
And no resting your head.
You gotta find ways till you're dead.

When the universe gently pushes these songs into your life.
Child, you got to survive.
Eat your bread with salt and pepper.
Dead dead dead inside!
Stare stare stare at your dissaster left behind!

Ah ah ah. That does not feel right!
Planejane2 Jul 2019
I wish I could be that down to earth girl, but my head is too often somewhere in the clouds.
I wish I was that girl who is sweet and discreet, but my subconscious is verbally too loud.

I’m the type of girl who tries to be bad, yea I never made love, but I could never really be mad.
I’m the type of girl that frequently gets mad, I verbalize it, then somehow it’s backfires on me and now I’m sad.

I’m the type of girl who is a walking black girl magic hashtag. But never fit in with your circle of friends as I’m a drag.

I wish I could be that girl who is an insta baddie, but thankful that I can walk around in my own skin.
I wish I had a sense of style and stopped pretending that the right man will notice my beauty from within.

I’m definitely that girl who finds too much excitement in play fighting  & being a tomboy
I played with barbies and other toys, but when my male best friend called me, we always played rock wars.

I am that girl who over thinks. And overthinks how much I am overthinking
I’m that type of girl who try’s to be cool, calm, and collective. But over does it when I’m winking.

I’m that type of girl who is often admired but is never desired

I’m that girl, no I’m that *****, no, that’s not a term of endearment. I’m that woman, that is heaven sent. And I’m not meant to be like those other girls.
n Feb 12
she speaks mindlessly
she fills the silence with noise
she's angry.
she needs control.
something needs to be fixed.
but she doesn't know how to fix it.
she speaks long enough for everyone else to shut up

i told her i loved her.
i told her i was leaving.
i told her i needed space.

and for a moment, she said nothing.
Anya Jan 12
The ring of iron songs
Like hammer and tongs
Speaks words of each page
With knowledge of every age
Bhill Jan 10
What IS it about
It changes without notice
What WAS it about

Brian Hill - 2020 # 10
Really, you have to ask?
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