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japheth Jun 2018
close your eyes
and listen
to your favorite song.

close your eyes
and listen
to the sound of your mom
preparing your breakfast.

close your eyes
and listen
as the gentle wind comes inside your room
and gently blows on your face.

close your eyes
and just listen
to everything
but your problems;
to all the little things
that makes you smile
and not worry
about the problems in your life.

close your eyes
and breathe.
take time to breathe, my friend.
relax.
Mars Jun 2018
I never believed you could help me.
How could you?
You don't know me
You've never stepped foot into my shoes.
All I had to do was talk about my difficult circumstances
While you listen and play the part.
How does it feel knowing you didn't help me? not one bit.
How does it feel to falsify your motives,
when all you really wanted was wealth.
Wealth.

All these recommendations from doctors,
Therapist,
Therapy sessions.
But all you could recommend was high doses of drugs.
Meditations for my depression?
That would be too easy,
Here are some pills,
It will help you.....
So they say.
You said the same thing
You said the same ******* thing to my friend,
It helped her,
It helped her.....
It... helped... her...End her life.  
It helped her...
It did not help her.
It ended her life.

You failed to convince me that these drugs are good for me
So you ended my sessions short.
Because you realized,
Money was more important than helping me,
than helping me get through the rough days.
You said I didn't need you anymore because
I am "okay"
Guess what?
Guess what?
I've known this all along,
All along
That..
I am "okay"
I have gotten used to this painful life,
and this is what "Okay" looks like.
It looks like struggle
I am stuck,
In a predicament that I have now gotten used to.
I mean I had to
even though days are not actually "okay"


Now I sit here going through the same fight to win
Everyday is a constant battle
Seems like I am ...
Seems like, I am losing more days.
Winning, but those are just moments.
Just moments
Now I sit here going through the same fight to win
You've just reassured me that,
That this is my life
A therapy session
sessions
cannot fix.
Adam Holmstrom Jun 2018
I exist in fragments
scattered over years and moments
of love, of joy, of pain.

In fragments held by people;
I hope they need them someday
if only a brief remembrance.

In fragments lodged in places
where I've been or have wished to be,
where I loved, I laughed, I cried.

In fragments in your heart
that I broke myself for.
Those fragments I may not find again.

I exist in fragments
broken but knowing
that maybe we all need a fragment of me.
Savannah Mason Jun 2018
I am down in the cave.
     Eyes open to the darkness.
Sheltered from the elements.
     But this shelter leaves me
          naked and exposed. Unable
to hide from myself.
I feel the familiar ache begin
     to rise in my chest.
Followed by fear.
     I want to run.
As I look for a way out,
     I am met by his eyes.
I slow my breath
               and stare.
It is only his eyes I see.
     But I know them.
I feel the space between us
     as an offering.
     A shared experience.
For I am not naked
     and alone in this cave.
He is there.....
     naked and exposed in the darkness with me.
Without touch
     I feel him.
Without words
     We speak.
I search his eyes.
It is then I see the flicker of
          fear.
For we both know this is a rare find.
We know the ecstasy of such a treasure.
Without moving
     We begin to dance.
The flicker of fear hidden.
Now replaced with a pleading to trust him.
And I know I can trust him.
He will not leave me alone
     in the cave when
     the wailing escapes
     my lips like a cry
     of an animal caught
     by his predator.
He will bare witness to that pain.
He will make sure it does not swallow me whole.
I will trust him and
     wrap myself in his
     steady presence.
But I know it will
     not be enough.
It will leave its' own cry.
His steadiness falters
     with this protest.
He fears I may be right.
He wants to protect me
     from that familiar cry.
He wants to run,
     but does not.
He wrestles briefly
     with his own darkness.
Words escape me and
     I assure him of my strength.
Of my willing participation
   in this space.
He knows I am accepting this gift of presence,
     but his fear tells me
     he believes me when
     I say, "It won't be enough."
That I know only love will heal this ache.
For when the wailing escapes full force,
   I will need skin on skin
     arms and legs wrapped in another........
The healing touch that comes
    from knowing where one ends
     and the other begins.
This sacrifice is one
     he cannot offer
     and I cannot accept.
Love will be the ultimate
     healing
and this cave only holds
unrequited love.
Yet we stand in the cave together
          Unmoving for now.
This is a long poem written for someone who sat with me through some very dark and sad times in my life. If you took the time to read it, I thank you.
Aaron LaLux Jun 2018
When words are not enough,
and the world won’t get off her back,
she dances the Devils way,
She’s a princess,
wait she’s a queen,
wait she’s an angel,
wait she’s everything,
a Goddess,
the hottest performing artist I’ve ever seen,

and she’s dancing,
dancing is her therapy,

I mean,
I’m not James Brown,
but it’s a man’s world,
even if Rihanna runs this town,

See,
she’s been suppressed all her life,
and I’m not just talking about Rihanna,
I’m talking about every girl that was ever forced to be a wife,
just to survive in this life,

she was touched by her father,
or brother or cousin,
when she was just a little girl,
I know we all wish it wasn’t,
but it is true,
so what’s a girl to do,
when she’s a clean 13 messing with The ***** Dozen,

this isn’t battle of the sexes,
this is war of the worlds,
wants to be a woman but she’s just a girl,
no No Doubt just burnt out nerves taken turns,

she never asked to be born,
with the burden of being beautiful,
but she refuses to conform,
she is attractable irrational and radical,
so when it’s all too much,
the stares and the catcalls,
the aggressive forceful touch,
the nails across her back like a blackboard,
and the moans become just white noise,
she takes it all in,
she forgives the man because he’s just a boy,
he is an angel even if he has fallen,
she takes it all in,
and she uses all of those abuses,
as the fuel with the tools which induces,
an allusive state of truth which,
allows her to move with intuitive smoothness,
and lose herself in the music morphing into what a centrifuge is,
separating fluids transforming what was otherwise useless abuses,
into a truth that cruises and confuses the stupid stooges,

she dances,
in a statement of glorious refusal to submit to their ideals,
she is more than a princess queen angel goddess,
she is fire burning up all preconceived notions of *** appeal,
the real deal,
dancing sweating cleansing her soul and her pores,
moving faster in progression refuting repression,
overcoming an obsession of oppression and knocking down all doors,
she is not a possession,
though she is possessed when,
she’s a dancing expression of how we all feel and more,

no words are enough,
she shows what we all feel,
she reveals what,
was before thinly concealed,

she is the perfect expression,
of imperfect circumstances,
she is poetic stanzas,
she is the paint on the canvas,
there is no question that she is the answer,
and all of this is made clear when she takes it all in,
let’s go of everything and dances…

∆aron L∆ Lux ∆

#strength #metoo #dancer #ballet #blackswan
Sindi Kafazi Jun 2018
Poem, poem I wish I had you in the palm of my hand,
Sometimes I read each word, with this hunger
Devouring it, quickly

Sometimes I gaze at each word intently, looking for eyes, windows,
Maybe to the soul of the one holding down the pen
Or beating the keys

But most importantly, I’m looking at the shape of the words, the font, the way the word looks happy or sad, the feelings the word describes. The soul of the word.

Some words are thrown into the notebook, computer screen, broken iPhone screen
Fortune cookie,
You name it...
Randomly like
when babies have babies

Some words are carefully thought of,
like settled down rich folks bound by their calendar, scheduling their love making to hopefully, fingers crossed* concieve the perfect child.

However, once they end up on that page, they become their own person.

They see themselves one way, they show themselves another, maybe a reflection of their creator

But the world is free to read between the lines
Judge them
Analyze them
Or fall in love with them....

I’ve done
Most
But really for the most part reading poems is like taking.a warm bath in a cozy home,
While the bitter winter lives on
Reading poems is to go for a long walk
Away
For some
Air.
julianna Jun 2018
He's embarrassed,
I'm just too much to bear.
The way I have my body
And the way I cut my hair.
He's embarrassed,
There's a problem in my walk
Even problems in my posture
And the way I like to talk.
I was never really bothered,
I didn't really care...
Until he was embarrassed of
Me, his daughter.
He's embarrassed I go to therapy.
Me, his daughter.
He's embarrassed I have anxiety.
Me.

I guess I'm just too embarrassing...
fs yousaf Jun 2018
I gave you worth in my life,
while you thought of me
as a free item.
I was valueless,
and easily replaceable
by the next warm body
that entered the room.
The carpenters house is never finished.

The dishwashers roomate leaves passive aggressive sticky notes on the faucet.

After work, the cook does not make dinner; the cook finds dinner.

The retail worker will not hesitate to call you an *******.

The bartender
can not hold a relationship.

The caregiver
can not bear a child

When the lobbyist comes home, there is no talk of money; there is no talk at all, only passion, hands and coffee.

When the lobbyist does not come home, there is plenty talk of money; prepaid hotel suites, passion, hands and no coffee.

In the *** workers free time, the *** worker does not give body to strangers; you will never find a lover more faithful than the *** worker.

When the prophett dies, the prophett keeps living.

When the artist is not painting
the artist is watching.

The worlds most powerful leaders have a dungeon in their basement.

The sociopath can know what is right and do the wrong thing anyway.
The sociopath doesn't need a job for that.

It just happens...

sometimes...

The sociopath is working on it.
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