Today is my birthday
It is neither here nor there
September third
And I don't care..
There were ages I thought
I'm doomed for sure
My ego lost wages against-
Anything inside of me pure.

In my life constant improving
My one single goal.
With that
Because here I blow!

Feeling really numb to my birthday. Not thrilled or unhappy.
Just ok
Posting this not as a poem-
But came out of head no reason

My eyes Crack like dried paper,
onto the desk at 4 am,
I'm not sure if my maker,
is a lion or a lamb,

Stuck between the present,
and the task at hand,
life is rarely pleasant,
when you can see through the sham,

I open the window, ash seeps in,
I can never duck get win,
Friends, my patience is wearing thin,
I know there's places I've been,

Not in the linear fashion of thought,
but inside the sky of my minds eye,

past, present future,
everything that can't be bought

Thanks for the read
- Matt
Marsha A Jul 5

I love the way your eyes light up whenever you look at me.
Little did I know that all you ever see was her.

In your eyes, it's her whom you see. You see her in me.

Lord - if only I could be as wise as I am witty
Within as much enjoyment as I measure my melancholy,
Another thousand years of things have I to proclaim to you.
For in such a reason my mind lags along
Wanting you here inside of me to say them to.
But alas, aren’t you so far away now even as you hear me?
And what is such wisdom to a foolish heart anyway?
Yet I sing not a melody of broken spirit,
I sing of you, you who teach me daily – of fortitude
Blended with tender qualities which make you such a precious thing.
The kindest of protectors whose passive courage holds up
More than I could ever hope to overcome.
With little wit and in my truest form I must say to you,
Is it possible that you forged me out of some mistaken being?
For I feel as though I must be your total opposite.
For if I was made of the same cut as you, perhaps
I could know you more.

“Even the great oak can be cut into smaller and smaller segments.
But did not each part once live as the whole?
Is that not what we are?
What cut would you be if you were not cut from me?
What sap runs through my trunk that does not runneth into your bud?
I myself watch as you flower into your abundance.
But even the smallest of trees, the Dogwood, its leaf does bleed
Upon the whitest satin tenderness in display of my earthly sacrifice.
Think upon yourself like this:
Even upon the creation of the earth, it appears as if the lands are separate.
Were they not once a shared shore, similar to your soul.
I laid them out postulate by the great ocean’s force.
Yet is it not also true that what appears as two great separate
Bodies above the surface,
Are they not actually joined together underneath the abyss?
Neither ocean nor any rift could ever separate what roots below.
So I can hardly do it now.
To thee and thine art, which is at my root,
They are the object
Of which these acts of mine are directed.
Indeed, do I not interfere with your every project?
You rise and you go to sleep with me on your brain.”

My heavenly father - your mastery is but a sweet interference.
And if by your interference I manage to conduce any
Segment of happiness to you,
May they all be the proof of my affections of thee.
May all my inquiries become just one, one holding your honor,
Your conduct and your truth and your regard for my every direct step.
Movements measured within my desires with your assistance and assurance
Of those things that support all life.
Do you hear my declarations?

With the warmness of his hand on my shoulder with my eyes closed
Focusing on the light within me - I listen and then I know,

“Dear one, one day we will again return from another delicious walk of your deliverance.
A walk that we will tread upon a thousand years all over again.
Here in my garden I will watch as you
Swing your arms walking within my covenant with you.
Should we pass the great oak tree cut into pieces we will ponder
The us that once laid there.
We will count the rings that measured the years that
Bear witness of the time we were separated.
I will have you always beside me, as I do with all of my children.
For hours and hours we will share in the wonders of each others' council.
I will look back on your art form, and I will admire you for it!
Every trinket that you have ever given me has within it my equaling force.
If for no other reason than for the art form that I inspired in you.
Just always try to remember that I walk hand in hand with you
In this life or in any other.
One ring around another in a never ending circle of life.
Be like the mightiest of Oaks,
Grow tall so that you can be seen by all.
All the while reaching higher and higher toward my skies.”

I seem to be either always in or near to a state of meditation.  I sincerely hope that you can see the truth I am giving you in everything that I write.
Beau Scorgie Apr 19

You're a good mummy,
he told me
you give me food
every night.

I thanked him,
told him how happy
his words made me,
but I began to cry.

Images of mothers,
some place else,
somewhere I am not,
flooded me.

Images of mothers
whose children
cry out in hunger.

Images of mothers
who hold their children close
because they have
nothing else to give.

I don't know how it feels
to tell a child
they cannot eat
for a third day
in a row.

I don't know how it feels
to watch as your child's ribcage
becomes more defined.

I don't know how it feels
to be truly helpless.

I cry,
for the image of mothers
whose tears remain unheard.

That maybe someone
might hear me
and ask why.

Ink Apr 14

heaven is simply a place on earth
and hell is the magma
we'll eventually all fall into

the ground is cracking
and it's not long
until it splits underneath us

our world is breaking apart
from our preoccupied actions
of violence and hatred

while we search to gain
money, power, glory and purpose
we actively lose our minds

this heavenly place is the first world,
full of ease and ignorant bliss
and the fire of the third world is from our firearms

they do not suffer so we don't have
they suffer because we let them
and so the fire blazes on

our craze helps mute their cries
and the sounds of the splitting ground
as the hell-bound rush up to engulf our sins along with us

I find it terrifying that I'm able to feel so strongly about the issues in our world one day, and the next I've reverted back to caring about problems so minuscule.

We think so much about theory, about if people are good or bad or if God exists. If stopped thinking so subjectively sometimes, maybe then we'd be able to deal with the horrific objective truths of our relative realities.

border towns and underground existence
where does the first world end and third world start?
there third and fourth worlds in every city
on every corner
consequences of occupation
po-lice proxy wars
how we got border towns?
when each neighborhood lies on some border
between white and Black and Brown
Rich and Poor
first and third world
first world the colonizers
third world the colonized
second world the ghost of the genocides
it took to preserve capital's wretched glory
the first world will be the first engulfed
in fiery ruin

Ma Cherie Feb 26

A smile hides the searing pain,
pushed up close an cheek to cheek,
her love for him she gives in vain,
a knotted throat she mustn't speak,

People see just what they want,
a beauty with a smiling face,
she hides the bitter truth behind,
her well lit eyes of tempered grace,

It's not she doesn't love him,
she adores his every wrinkle,
it's just she doesn't see the same,
her eyes no longer twinkle,

Hopes they daily deeper go,
to places that she'd rather hide,
she dare not even mention them,
too many minutes to abide,
wanting her to go again,
an not be at his beckon side,
to stay is wrong you say,
does she not have any pride?

She's in the same place over,
an over again-
it seems,
it's Groundhog day,
so she reaches out a tired hand -
again and dreams,
as the alarm again will play,

Her dreams are but a distant place,
a summit she can't reach,
a shore to call her heart back home,
a hauntingly familiar beach
with some shells around her ankle,
an scarring from blood-sucking leach,
painful is the bite you know,
her freedom brought by what it teach,

With her toes beneath-
the wave of coming fortune,
the one he says that cleanses all,
as it dies before it gets to her,
well she thinks that thing has got some gall,

She takes a calming moment,
and the deepest poet's sigh,
as she is ever grateful,
this is not her sad goodbye,

Thankful she was watching,
with the other useful eye,

Safe from certain disaster,
watching the angry wave,
dissipate unto it's own oblivion,

an blessed she can still see -
with her eyes completely shut.

Ma Cherie © 2017

I added some at bottom...Hope it all now makes sense...about an abusive ex that I NEVER wrote about before
Olga Valerevna Nov 2016

We left each other on the floors
of peregrine facades
and procreated tendencies
by everything we sought
before the sowing season
brought another year to pass
there had to be a harvest
we could gather really fast
in this was our perdition
- an obsession with the time
in making it a servant
to the holes inside our minds
for every time we forced it
to remain a second more
we compromised the very
things it had for us in store
as we created cycles so
destroyed we life itself
in giving up each other
we were left with nothingness

the third book.
Dhaye Oct 2016

Why I always have this feeling when I enter this room
I smell the scent of cologne which is not from yours or mine
How about the color of curtains, it's not my favorite
And there's an extra empty glass beside your glass of wine

I feel like I am no longer welcome when I enter your room
I don't see the smile on your face like what I saw before
The music that you play is no longer my favorite one
Everything I see and feel reminds me that you care no more

Inspired by the title of a movie about an unusual love triangle (a man,  a gay and a woman).
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