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The pandemic, that ****, inimical plague enveloping our world. So it all started in China, or so they say, yet in what seems to me in a very short time, it has circled Earth. Really, that fast, and everywhere, even Okinawa? Moreover, does it not seem a tad morally "grostesque" that so many look to "profit" from the scourge? This is not the way I want our world to work. "Gee!' many will say. "The more corpses, the more money!" Life, any life, should never be predicated on monied worth. Life is sacred. It is not meant to be financially profitable. The indigenous peoples of Earth for the most part knew intuitively that human lives were not meant to be spent on the 103rd floor of some skyscrapper. They realized that all forms of life on Earth were inextricably intertwined, inter-connected. They realized profoundly that all are one. The way we have sectionalized politically our Earth into arbitary nations (over 200 now) is both ludicrous, as well as illusory. The wind, the waters--even the pandemic--do not recognize borders. The divisions of mankind have resulted, over millennia, in aggrandizement, which has inexorably lead to wars on top of wars on top of even more war. And what happens during wars? Millions and millions and millions of human beings have been murdered, a military pandemic of untold proportions. And what if we wanted to love instead of ****? You can't hug someone who is 6-to-10 feet away from you. You can't kiss the one you love with a mask over your face. But phamaceutical giants are all furiously trying to become the first to create a viable vaccine and thus make billions and billions. But that is not love--just the opposite. And what of all the poor human beings on Earth, so many of whom already have contracted the virus, or eventually will--how are they going to be able to pay for the vaccine? The coronavirus is not the only plague circling Earth. Uncaring has been doing the same it seems forever.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
dims May 13
you always think i'm lying
even though the truth serum
that you gave me,
(in the form of forcing myself out of my body)
has been administered in such a large dose
that it's seeping out of my eyes

there's a bright light shining in my eye
and i have taken the multiple blows from your words
some of which still leave imprints.

i tell you that i want to leave
that i want him to pack up and take me with him
because maybe then i can find some peace
in the ever turning turmoil that haunts my mind.

you just say,
"i don't care."

maybe you're too busy playing the victim
to watch me claw at my face in an attempt to get out.
haha mommy issues
Grey Apr 25
All I wanted was to talk:
to have another acknowledge these events
That tore my life to shreds.

When I did speak,
It was instantly flipped or ignored.
So I said enough, I'm not doing this anymore.

I will not give to those who only take
Or to hear my stories so they can create
A reality which would leave me
The center of their entertainment.

I am not a joke,
Nor is my life at any rate,
A show.

I admit I was clingy, I admit I lost connections
I thought were worthy of pursuing
Because I needed support early in the friendship.

They didn't know
I was in anguish
Or perhaps they didn't care.
Either way,
I was left standing there.

My screams were muted,
My statements unheard.
The help I needed
Was blatantly ignored

I'm now silent
To prevent these losses
Because apparently people
Don't know how to handle these problems
I’m living with a corpse.

   That’s a realization that I never wanted to admit, I believed that the person I used to be was just buried deep down inside of me. That all it would take is for me to dig far enough and that guy would still be there.
        
I never dreamed that I had buried a body.

    A body that needed oxygen, and food, and water and the simplest of things to survive.  I killed that guy the moment that I decided I was too tired to dig, too tired to find him, and to be honest too tired to give a ****.

I am so angry.  

    I’m angry at being ****** over.  I’m angry that I can’t have a drink.

    Now I am self destructive, taking any semblance of positivity and emotional attachment and attacking it like a virus and I am white cells.  I see someone willing to put out something for me, and I strategically tear it down until I’m standing in the ashes because picking through rubble is easier now than opening up.

    I’m the enemy of me, and I act like the world is out for my blood while I hold a ****** palm out and a knife in the other hand.

I’m broken.

    My mentality has been so skewed that people’s thoughts and feelings don’t matter anymore, because in my ****** up mind they are going to leave.

How ****** is that?

    How ****** is that fact that even food doesn’t taste the same as it used to?  That even the colors are no longer bright and “there” like they used to be.  When your laying in bed at night and trying to think of one thing that made the day different from all the others.

No joy is left.

    No “looking on the bright side”, or thinking that everything is going to be ok.  
    
All that’s left is a corpse.

All that’s left is blood on my hands.

    And I can’t even remember where I buried the body.
Miss Me Jul 2019
The paths taken
   Feel so unforgiving
To hear the words
   You say are true
Stand strong and linger
    With a bitter taste

Can't you tell what's
    Right or wrong
And if the affects
     Lay within my reach
Just yesterday
     You pulled me in to help
          Feel safe
And now your like
   The Cheshire cat
       And his foolish grin
How can you wear two
     Faces at a time
Which one do you feed
     At any given time
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Sometimes, it gets to you,
no matter how hard you try not to care.
No matter,
how many times you deny it doesn't hurt.
No matter,
how many times you reiterate that it doesn't matter.
It hurts.
It hurts because it still matters,
and at times the thought of it mattering
hurts even more.
Sometimes all these things add on,
and you begin to break.
That's when you finally accept to yourself,
It hurts.
Matthew Feb 2019
It's
not moving

"it would have
only led a life
   of pain."

"stop
crying
it didn't
matter to
us!"

It's only
the rain      

why do Things  
die

"to cause
pain."
.
.
.

I want
to   remember This
Can we build a grave  
The rain makes Her cry  
"it is only just the rain.."  
  Please we need to  
  remember
Her
How I see this poem.  It's about two people with two conflicting ideas about death.  The little one feels that death should be remembered, and older one feels that we should forget death as it only causes pain.  The main feelings of this poem for me is to remember death.


I put that in how their speech is written.  the little one capitalizes what he feels he feels are important like the beginning of a sentence and a words like her.  He also doesn't feel the need for periods.  The older one on the other hand feels that everything is useless.  so he doesn't capitalize and he always puts periods to remember that things should end.
NothingInMotion Aug 2018
Take it to the bridge,
That's where it's meant to be,
It's meant to be remembered,
By lowly lock and key.

It's meant to stay forever,
It should never be forgotten,
It was there the entire time,
Yourself, not nearly so often.

It stayed there through the cold,
It stayed there through the rain,
It meant to stay with you,
Yet you never walked that bridge again.
A-McIntyre May 2018
We never had enough when we were young.
We never needed much, but the exact amount was unknown.
We never got enough; toys food or clothes.
We didn't need that much, so "barely" was the most.

We never got enough of your time.
We didn't understand, the eldest not yet nine.
We didn't get enough, affection or warmth.
We never took for granted, but your time spent was short.

We didn't want more than enough, somehow understanding all you had.
We never asked for much: to play or share or cuddle.
We never got that, you liked to stay in your bubble.
We didn't ask for this, to be born, or brought into your life.

We didn't choose the love, or the lack thereof.
We didn't need the money, you hid away from us.
We had enough for us four, your greed was just because.
We had enough, We had enough, We had enough.

We had enough time, to learn proper affection.
We had enough vocabulary for simple conversation.
We had enough feelings, to know you didn't care.
We were not selfish, so why didn't you share?

Was it that we weren't enough, you needed a new man?
Was it that we weren't calm enough, it got out of hand?
Was it that you didn't have enough, of the finer things in life?
Was it that you didn't think enough, before becoming an underage wife?

Now we live out our lives, believing we aren't enough.
Now we live out our lives, always trying to be more, never being enough.
Now we live out our lives, working hard at enough.
Now we live out our lives, still not understanding the problem wasn't us.
the song of my existance.
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