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Joanna May 24
If we had more love, to see with our hearts and not just our eyes.  

If we had more love, to look past ourselves, and say 'I will try,'
to remember less hurt, and hope in the joy.

Reach out to another without the ties. Make light of frustration,
and say 'we will try,' to look with compassion and forget the games.

Use our lives as markers when there is so much pain. If we just
had more love.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
annh May 27
And my uncle says charmingly - as always:
‘It seems like only yesterday, mon petit chou.’

And - for the umpteenth time - my brother-in-law shakes my hand off:
‘Wow, congrats on the DOF position!’

And - like clockwork - my best friend puts a ******-happy arm around my shoulders:
‘To be perfectly honest, y’know like, you don’t look a day over thirteen, cross my heart.’

And I think to myself (******-offedly but politely, as you never know who’s telepathic around here):
’I could sit here fixed to this very patch of fading upholstery for the next 365 days with a flute of champers in my hand and still travel as far as you all believe I have, achieve as much as you unfailingly give me credit for, and look as fresh-faced as my oldest nephew...apparently.’

And then it occurs to me:
’Beneath the ill-contrived compliments and the misplaced confidence; despite their infallible ability to misconstrue my every word and complete disinterest in what and why I read out aloud for a living. They turned up. As they do every year. And we annoy each other. But we wouldn’t have it any other way. Santé!’
‘Families are messy, immortal families are eternally messy. Sometimes the best we can do is to remind each other that we’re related for better or for worse...and try to keep the maiming and killing to a minimum.’
- Rick Riordan, The Sea of Monsters
Planejane2 May 19
I thought I could get over you.
I laid under another man
And I can’t get over you.
I ****** myself on top of him again.
And I can’t get over you.
How can I be tied to him
& my soul still belongs to you.
vern May 8
we are tied to our fates with a thin red string
they are strung to our love, destiny, and death.
the young man who lost his lover
is fated to fall for another.
the new mother who holds her child
is fated for a beautiful destiny she cannot imagine.
the person sitting alone on the bench
is fated to lose his life to someone.
none of these people can see where their strings go
they live as if there are no red strings tied to their fingers
and attached to the sky.
only the watcher of our fate can see these red strings.
she grieves for the some of the strings
the saddest lives are the smallest
smiles for other strings
she sees those who will have full lives
and she sighs
the watcher cannot see her own strings
unlike the others, she is not ignorant of fate.
she is aware of fate, embraces fate,
but she does not know her own fate
was she destined for eminence, luster
was she destined for a lover, a heart
was she destined for death, sooner rather than later
she will never know
the burden of the knowledge of the red strings
weighs her down
she does not have a fate, a love, a destiny, a death.
For she is the watcher of the red strings of fate
and only the watcher of the red strings of fate.
I've loved the concept that there is some invisible red string that ties you to your soulmate. However, I wanted to reimagine it as something that ties you to any fate you have. Sometimes I feel like I am the watcher of the red strings. It's just a sense of hopelessness and emptiness that maybe I won't amount to anything or will be enough for anyone. That's a lot of emotion, but I hope you still enjoy this poem.
I catch a glimpse of myself
in everything
a miniscule glimmer
a tinkling whisper that floats into
my consciousness
I see it in wild beasts
who flash a feral grin
I see it in the wind
as it tears across the trees
It is even in the sun
when it folds into the horizon
"Like calls to like"
Some say
and believe it to be true
Clenched fists
choked laughs
trembling lips
A ravaged piece of me contracts
at the aching heart I know
is within that beautiful exterior
Perhaps, deep down, our soul is sewn
of the same material
Perhaps there is a single stitch
that binds us together
And all it takes is a single
snip
to cleave it in two.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
What brings us together?
What tears us apart?
Em MacKenzie Jan 29
I savour the coffee taste on your tongue and on your lips,
it’s reminiscent of my throat when a word slips, or when each pill drips.
The less and less I sleep,
the more secrets I keep,
whisked away in stolen conversation
but all the thoughts; lost in translation.
Squeeze the trigger, pull the plug,
I now figure you’re just another drug,
I won’t get clean; this time I’ll overdose,
I couldn’t hope to wean when you’re still this close.

So turn up the boiling scalding water,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
Submerge yourself or don’t even bother,
appearance doesn’t matter when you’re never seen.

I was worried I’d be trapped on a different side,
resulting from the bleaching of the darkness that I tried to hide,
covered in a soft pastel portrait of a stranger,
who balanced pleasure and pain with no thoughts of danger.
I admit I’ve written letters before
as a safety net,
at the time it meant more,but you’re still upset.
“I’m cautious while being reckless,
always nauseous but please respect this,
I’ve been done for years,
and now it’s gotten too trite,
my lip quivers from the tears,
where once I just used to bite.”

So get out all of the soaps and the oils,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
Replenish the lukewarm with water that boils,
and continuing scrubbing and lathering inbetween.

They all ask the five W’s and one H,
and expect a definition on abrupt command.
In my bath the purity saturates,
I only find bubbles and water spill from my hand.

It’s hard to describe in written word
the completion that was suddenly felt,
it was my first sight and first sound heard;
a power that could make the galaxies melt.
She threw a blanket statement over me,
but it failed to cover me up whole.
In the corner of her eye all I’ll ever be,
is frozen feet walking out of control.

So let yourself soak until you dissolve,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
It’s within the water we’re bound to evolve,
and if all fails we’ll glisten and gleam.
Em MacKenzie Jan 13
Is there room for context at this table?
We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs.
I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable,
but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs.
I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim,
and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax,
my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim,
and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax.

I’ve told you every thought in my head,
except the ones that matter the most,
the facts that scald my cheeks to red,
now they’re burning up like charred toast.
I’d promise you whatever you ask for,
and I’d drag myself to deliver each time,
but I’m ignoring the truth at my core,
and I’m confessing to you in mime.

Sit across from me with crossed legs,
see magnets becomes our eyes,
“come closer together” both begs,
but we’re determined and polarized.
There’s no world existing around us,
and there certainly is no group,
you listen while I ramble and make a fuss,
over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup.

We turned Heaven into a Hell,
we took a skeleton and made a shell,
We dragged our nails down the walls
scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls,
and silenced a story we could never tell.

And all the things that have driven us apart,
in truth have only made us stronger.
and my love you are actually my heart,
I won’t question it’s beating any longer.

If you’re stuck with a choice
you should flip a coin in the air,
then listen to your mind’s voice,
‘cause your answer will be there.
When it comes to heads or tails,
you already know your favourite side,
you’ll pray for it as the coin sails,
ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.
Joseph Loggi Oct 2018
My friends always wondered
How come my feet
Are always hard
with thick yellow skin.

And I tell them,
"I like to get lost."

"What does that mean?"

"Some nights I can't be
The self I painted in
The morning,
so without warning
I have to go see
What I am actually."

"That is?"

"It is someone else
in each layer."
Via Ricasoli Sep 2018
Why do they run so **** deep
It runs through my veins
Oozing out of my pores
Bruising me black and blue

Once I felt safe and loved
In the arms of my family
Now they suffocate me
Closing in tighter and tighter

I get the blame and the shame
The words of hurt spat in my face
I’m marked with invisible scars
That leave me feeling rage

All I want is independence
To be free of these ties
Washed clean of who I was
All shiny and new
CLAIRE NOTEA Aug 2018
Begging for it to stop.
For a break in the chain.
I am weary with empathy.

And now I am free.
To roam alone, until it begins again.
To pace secluded, amongst my barren thoughts.
To wander my tender empty walls.
To feel nothing.

Now yearning for it all to become too much.
To push and pull me away from the light.
Into the darkness of compassion.
To cut my ties, and dissolve my cords.
To weigh me down, benevolent.
To connect.
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