Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amanda Kay Burke Oct 2021
I wish I could accurately depict
Exactly how this feels
Maybe you would understand
My wounds won't ever heal

Want you to walk my shoes
You can drag heavy feet along
Cloud of depression overhead
Wandering where it went wrong

To see from my point of view
Have to exchange our eyes
You would have to cry my tears
Then you'd realize

Switch bodies for a day
You'll get how lonely I am
Sitting on empty bed
Too much time on my hands

Let's swap brains for a bit
You can be flooded with thoughts
Seemingly endless questions
Memories twisting to knots

If you borrowed tongue
Owned my voice instead
Would taste the copper flavor of blood
From biting back bitter words unsaid

I long to change places
At least emotions
I'd splash in a shallow puddle
You'd drown in my oceans

I bow head in defeat
Will never get why I am blue
Would suggest trading hearts
I already gave mine to you
Now you won't give it back
if I were you
what would you have done?
would you have shut your mouth?
would you have conformed?
would you have won?

if I were you
would you have been counted
would I have needed to be brave?
would I have chosen to stay the same?
would I have found a reason to stay?

we can ask these questions
until questions no longer exist
either way,
we won't find out the answers
we will never be trading places
until questions don't exist
sergiodib Dec 2020
Is there a vaccine
that stops us being mean?
Ready for Homeless and Queen!
A vaccine that heals this routine
And keeps you away from the slot machine;
That makes economics less obscene;
That will wash every sin, dry clean;
And will keep you forever at nineteen?
A minus 70° vaccine to fight global warming and be green.

Maybe you don’t need a vaccine
If you travel in a limousine!
Simon Aug 2020
Trading life for death isn't the countermeasure for strife! As it is very "politely" too say that life mocks the complete scenario of death itself. However, if you actually started to take a little closer look at ourselves in general... You'd come to say that our very lives, aren't so different when death essentially claims them. Only when it is time for our lives to become entirely subjected upon deaths desire to appoint life to crumble at deaths very feet. Life in deaths very comparison for an opposite comparison, is seeing that it's nothing but "dust at one's very toes". But when life is about to crumble and seemingly turn into a crumbling dustless ash... It see's itself (for the very first time ever) plead too death in such a way as if it's begging at it's very, well...feet! Revealing it's form of crumbling dustless ash, even before it's become aware of that very state. As all life ever wanted (after coming to the final point in it's very supposed fluid ride of existence) was to hope for a nice ending! Until finding out that death wasn't so merciful!
Life. Death. All are so distinct from another. But also so...frail! Could one or the other truly outdo the other...? If so, then... How would a countermeasure for strife ever determine the outcome, when everything's too "disembodied"!
onlylovepoetry Mar 2019
~for Wendy ~

with my almost two years old poetry advisor,
who loves her Sunday rituals, an extra sabbath,
of waffles and Shrek, kid’s gym and artistic endeavors,
cozying up with Nana and siblings in a big old bed,
snacking and chewing on the good silk sheets

as always, she and and I go off to have an intellectual conversation,
letting the older ones to do kid stuff, while we converse and debate
topics of nature vs. nurture, the weather vs. climate change,
and the future of everything, unbeknownst to everyone else

which is greater, love or honor, she inquires,
sensing my thoughts are preoccupied with matters of honor...
as she strokes my itchy, scratchy day old face,
insuring her having my full attention, while
taking advantage of my loving weakness

honor over everything my opening gambit,
while she coyly harrumphs in response,
one can love without reason for such are
our natural souls programmed,
but honor needs concentration and contemplation,
and if done right,
then love will surely follow!

ah ha! once again you sidle up to nurture,
cause love is too inexplicable,
old man, old man, did I not love you before
any season of reason crossed my brow,
and my vocabulary consisted of just
more, no, toy and hungry

what did I know of Aristotle, logic, codes of conduct,
the definition of honor yet abstract,
while love is nature’s illogical construct,
coming first without restrictions,
while honor is malleable and
property of the eye of the beholder

wise beyond your tears, you are, and unquestionably correct,
but while coming first, love cannot last,
until cover-coated with honor,
for honor gives us the because, and locks down the why,
honor gives the insight, the rationale, the rules of how to say
yes and no, when love is tendered and an R.S.V.P. is requested

absent experience, for now will concede,
but be warned this is not over,
fo you have not brought me a definition of what truly honor be

honor is the housing of love, and though you granted me your favor,
comes the day that you will demand proofs that
what was unearthed & unearned
is now earned, a course in credit, a baccalaureate in life’s lanes,
when to heed them, when to crossover, when to say I do, I do,
no to someone else alone, and yes to your honorable self

adult double speak, I suspect, and you will rue the day
when forced to concede, with a wrenched
‘child, I do not know,’
meanwhile change my diaper
after I karate chop your knee

yes child, but know,  two of your requests/notifications are
honorable acts and/know real love can be ONLY be exchanged
tween honorable humans
see photo for her  in position preparing to strike

3/3/19 9:45 am
Brian Feb 2019




Forming the spiral

Beauty found well within nature

Conscious and unconscious patterns forming everywhere

Support and resistance levels formed around fear and greed of people in markets
for my trading friends....
Bryan Oct 2017
I'm trading tender for splendor:
The loss of sweat, not-so-tragic.
I'll build up my blisters for whispers:
Spells recited in habit.
Dollars can buy what I seek:
It doesn't take many to have it.
The strange, the odd, the mystique:
The flowers painted by rabbits.
The song played by the beach:
The harp without hands to grab it.
Nature has cradled my needs:
The order created by savage.
We pay for all of these things:
Even chance has stated this adage.
I know this from my own beliefs:
The months living as addict.
They blurred, and flew on the wings:
My "needs" growing emphatic.
The basement was surely my feet:
My mind, alone in the attic.
The empty, the holes, the replete:
Filled, trading my money for magic.
Next page