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Being shamed
at having lived, survivor who hid,

ducked and covered, and lived, since

from when America
was a Grand Old Party, all righteous
free whites from foreign tyranny refuging

Come ye, to where the railroad grew,
straight across the Hunkpapa Lakota
happy hunting grounds
taken as
homeland
after the horses came
where

before the Methodists
Free Soil, and the making
of good Indians,
and relatively rapid fire ballistic devices
witty inventions circumventing careful aim
tedious patience selecting chosen heads
to remove from the great game,
played with boys
called young men, sent west, believe-ing,
we can take the land,
we can build a castle,
we can build a city and buy and sell
and get great gain, a city on a hill,
famed for sharing bombs, with
peoples of the book,

as sure as-
as sure as-

certain murders are not called ******,
American tradition holds tyranny,
under the banner
of land owners, requiring local labor
to eliminate hate,
by killing any who hate truth…

conserved order, leaders, managers, laborers,

and the cursed worthless good for nothings,
always bred to man the trenches, dig the ditches,

for which we now have machines, no slaves need apply.

Right, the Holy word for authorized readers.

We can all be heros, like

Caleb, whose land had giants, yet Caleb
had the conquerors's courage, his troops
had nothing to lose,
out of the wilderness,
into Ezra's exhortation, work or die,
Noah, Ezra, Joe Smith, same function,
heroic tales told
in Babylon,
under authority
from no less than the authority
of Moses, first witness to events in Eden,
whose will wrote the law, while atop Sinai,
obedient, to the letter, no lie, no lie
the command
not all of it,
of course, the ten commands,
one must clearly outlaw prevarication,
ah
wit wound windwise turning inward,
left and right, swirling axial role rights
tighten
time
BTW, jot and tittle
close inspection reveals,
"Thou shalt not lie" literally is not commanded.
Not one of 10 minimum obediances demanded.

Never the less, chosen to survive the womb,
despite definite spiritual cuckoos egg odd ducks.

Chosen-ness, excluding any not
of the blood, as determined, how, back when,
? serpent on a pole, no, what could determine,
who is included in the chosen to rule class of us

purging foul stench from shame on the mighty

by surging pride in rebuilding a people, a mind,

which when tuned
to prosperities patterns learns,
this is the old way, where good is, we sought.

We find, unnoticed,
here, held seperated, by God,
not our fault, we did not choose
to be chosen, truth, Essene evidence,
is all the evidence
of Genisis we really have…

circumstantial historical happenings happened
to us, each one, made
from two, made
from four, made us, eventually deemed equal,

by virtue of a kinsman's redemption, shoe shucking,
symbiology symbolism recognition, by right, taken,

my ownable, fungible intellectual property, the air
I altered through mediating peace where none ever is,

at the core spin, the one, big spinning polarity that is,
present tension, hold us, each, in mindful now, this is,

as we have agreed, words work thought, we make
believe a verb, we use love as if it, too, is such, a verb…

active ability accounting for idle word, as such, loving

called to become, shapen
by time, the steady course correcting

force pulling,
momentum pushing, coagulating mass,

from once, when nothing was,
but the unspeakably
sacred potential
of you,

the one, you,
never one like you,
your unique role,
the one thing only you are,
and only you may be, that is
the one law
of life
in our bubble
of being, is to be, any must chose,

to be like whatever one feels like,
as birds of a feather flock on,
each parrot or person perfectly
randomly conceived to mature,
unique, vibration of reality
as manifestly difficult
to get through without learning

the root of beauty, is not beautiful,
its functional, essential no light state…
grow up, grow down, grow weary
become old and become soil.

All men decompose, no contest, all tie.
Dust or ash, same difference, pride

lay beside the heretic's troubled cognitions,
say true, pride alone powered all our wars.

-----------------------

Ontogeny, whence came we hence,
whither go we thence here after?

Bards sent forth with vatic blessing,
go, thou gifted with gab, go
say thus saith he with power,

to take the breath and the breather,
and punish each wrong imagination,
as adultery, in the core, in the heart,

done, done,
done… In deed, remarkably

non staining, resulting in no outward,
shame on the man, taken in the very act…

what standard waves the same
whether winds blow north or south?

Whose mind opens to recognized
authority, memory verses from childhood,
neighbor hood vacation Bible school,
instead of camp, great revelation,
instead of hell, your default after,

if, you wish otherwise, believe the good news,
it works, with patience, perfecting itself,

Magnificent, magnified,
eye to eye as any little child's messenger
app proves, there is here an interface,

a way,
a portal for important recognition
apropos your purpose driven life,

imagined, along mystical wilderness trails,
far as ever imagined from the maddened masses,

gravity, initially retracting reasonable doubt,
God, Elohim and Hermetic orderly revelation,

leaves us being, recent, new thinkers, thinking
original thoughts, using multifaceted wordforms,

holy invocations, declared knowns, all the people
said Amen, yet,
but

what if, the one turning universe, rewound,
stopped, sistere, reverse course, stand sun still

leave, this POV. Reader reading life in a book,
thinking time from a bottle, an ancient amphora,

thought possibly the uncorked source of story,
the Epimethean suggestion given hope, enough.

Make believe, let us pretend, behave as knowers,
leave us establish order, here,
believe my most used me to make you think

you know, what I mean, you hear, what I said,
filtered through beans in your ears, been there,
done that, read about it, heard tell, one time,

suffer not
a novice,
to teach or preach, eh, there oughta be a law,

lie not, one against the other brother, truth
is not elusive, after all's been said to judge me,

to weigh the worth of my time taken up, thunk,
functionally funky, rough shod, taken strength,

turning universally tightening chirality to work,
two wheels joined tighten toward forward
motion, heuristic conditional ifery, by word

righty tighty, taken to the left side, axially,
loosens and leads to wheels falling off,
and yokes breaking and oxen becoming
barbecue.
-----------------------

Through the industrial spinning
wombed men, leaving children
to fend for themselves, child wise,

never allowed to learn the art
used for casting spells to alert
receivers of magic papers read

as auspex read
the birds and feathers
informing ready readers
look up untested lies,
famously leaders seer's
methods for redemption
of unentertained mobs,
drawn by word of free bread,
too lowly for even the hucksters,

A poet's voice, oh, Emma, beauty,
make the New Colossus bow in shame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!"
cries she
With silent lips.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning
to breathe free,
The wretched refuse
of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost
to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" (1883)

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma_Lazarus>


Whose to shame, whose to blame, who
are we to say, we whose nation is so good…

steal from some mind feebler than thine,

self preserve,
within the life
after the womb,

where
in all potential variation
a we acquired local order
involving cascades
of coincidental
instances when next depends
from now,
by a thread, twisting
some how,
should the whole truth we swear
to tell, have fallen into JWST awful true,

look at us from a million miles away, wave,
make noise, holler like the last who in whoville.

What good does it do, who are you to ask?

A truth, fitly twisted,
takes any time paid attention a pinch of worths
good to know,
possibly freeing many children's convinced
fear
of holy wrath, likened
to a raging man,

stilled at the truth,
survivor
of a devious plan
to undermine heaven's command
to turn, universally, inverse, obverse, turn to

see men as trees, ently walking, literally as if,

we may say mankind knows the hero myth,
we may say ourkind knows the messianic version,
we may say kindness knows the kindest way

to say, God sent me, I am here to help.

Hey, sky pilot, what can you be proud of today?

Don't let an old vet make you doubt the whole
truth you are sworn to know beyond all doubt,
truth you serve, guardian of the story, faith tells

children, wordlessly, knowing seeps in, science
occurs, with first lottery lost, with last ditch crossed,
face to face with former soldiers lost to lies, true,

If, my son, you can keep your head…

ah, Kipling, I have wept with you, I, did not die.

My warrior days left me alive, did you feel that, too.

Common Form, we form, whatsoever we
agree, as ghostly reminders of spiritual facts, brave
is a spirit, diffidence and confidence, as well, mere

states of mind, kind of like standing, still, sol-stice,
sistere, tortuga, shields up stand, take the blow,
settle all accounts, love your neighbor, suffer
situations beyond mind's control, sequencing

Hallelujahs from trusters in horses, who deal in war.

"Should any ask why we died,
  Tell them, because our father's lied."
Free to publish any where, I said. Not my intellect's property, in truth.
Therapy is knowing somebody will think with me, and our agreeing may make a political force gone holier than any, humble itself under local face to face truth that killing does to a national mind dedicated to justice in truth.
Kira Botkina Jun 9
I can feel it — faint, confined.
It's still there, but undefined.
Just suppressed,
and drugged to rest,
by a pill I couldn’t mind.

My brain won’t think, it slips, it stalls.
Like echoing in padded halls.
It’s wrong, it’s still,
it bends my will —
the silent weight that gently falls.

Traces of fear, of thought, of grace,
drift like mist through a flooded place.
I sense, not live,
no flame to give —
just shadows I can’t face.

Like perfume trails that softly cling —
of fear, of love, of everything.
They haunt, they stay,
but fade away —
as if beneath a wing.

They’re trapped inside, they do not spill.
All smothered
by that morning pill.
It crushed the tide,
the storm, the chill —
the scream I couldn’t will.
Phia May 29
What if all of this has been for nothing?
What if I’m not meant to be saved?
The Calm May 25
Peace is something to die for
To dive for
Deep into uncomfortable waters where confrontations swim quickly with sharp teeth of yesteryears hurts, scars and disappointments
To wrestle against the currents of emotional immaturity and pride in the deep and dark abyss of normalcy.

Hiding hurt in plain sight, veiled, covered up like dirt under the carpet so that no one can see the harm that has been done but never reconciled.
The narcissist within you thinks you know the reason behind everything you see or feel, you’ve already figured out a story where you’re justified and as for me, you say I should let it go.
Life is too short to relive old pain.

Your peace is a false god.
Your peace has won no battles , your peace has no scars , your peace is nothing but a curtain that hides the ugliness of human condition that you are not emotionally mature enough to process.
Your peace is the absence of conflict.
My peace is its resolve.
To stitch the wound
To mend the heart
To soothe the soul
Again, to start
Anew, with you to know you deeply,
To love you deeply.
If life is so short, then why are we waiting
To start again
A poem, a prayer, a therapy session? Maybe all three. Praying for all of you that hope to love someone deeply and work through hurt and pain with them
Tayler May 20
i lied to my therapist.
i’m not really sure why.
i feel a comfort in her office
with her helplessly millennial decor
and cozy lighting.

even with a bright smile and warm greeting,
a welcoming conversation.
a look of concern flashed across her face as she asked me
i lied.

i’m sure she could tell.
it was nothing against her.
i felt shame.
an impulse in the place where truth makes the most sense.
i still lied.

i ponder the reality of my lies
small things.
big things.
things i tell myself.
if i can’t even tell myself the truth,
of course i would lie to others.
but i don’t want to.
i don’t like lying.

i wish honesty was my policy
but it still seems to be people pleasing to my core.
i’m frustrated
i’m hurt
yet i’ve done this to myself
how could i?
8 years of therapy
therapist after therapist
nothing worked
I gained all the skills I needed
at psych wards
I never used the tools given
from the psych wards
but today is the day
therapy is not helpful
for me
but I will write my new beginnings
use the skills
do research
take my meds
and heal
I will do it by myself
because I have learned
that I am the only person
that I can rely on
if therapy helps for you, great! but it hasn't for me
Ashwin Kumar Apr 30
You have wrecked my mind
Made me overthink, to no end
Smashed my positivity to pieces
And worst of all, destroyed my happiness!

You have wrecked my mind
Only pointed out flaws, never appreciated
The pains I have taken, in order to change
And ultimately, trapped me in a cage!!

You have wrecked my mind
You may think you are kind
However, I know you are not
Your hurtful words say a lot!!

You have wrecked my mind
I hope you realise the damage you did
However, as a very close cousin of mine says
I am a fighter always
And though I may not yet have won
It is only a matter of time before I win
And you will not get any credit
Because, it will be through my own effort!!
The last few sessions with my therapist have played with my mental health, lowering my self-esteem and heightening my insecurities. Hence, I decided to write this poem as a coping mechanism.
Nishu Mathur Mar 26
In the afternoon
Below a grey blue sky
I hear the chatter
Of the magpies.
And they talk in bird talk
In words unknown to me
As they bob their little heads
By the amaltas tree.
Glad I am to hear them
I listen carefully
Happy to be in their -
wondrous company
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