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Once upon a time in a quiet corner of my mind
I deemed myself a poet.
What an arrogant ******* I am.
To think my less than subtle rhymes, written at best
in erratic time, qualify somehow as poetry.
Still I write this drivel from the heart
and I guess, Hell, maybe that's a start.
And maybe, It shouldn't be.
But maybe, just possibly
In the mind of this arrogant ******* poet
That's good enough for me.
A zillion image of me rest in so many minds
I dare not swim into them

I have my own ocean to swim in
That connects me to the sea bed of my heart
The seat of my soul

For now this is my only intention
For now this is my only attention
For now this is the purpose I breath into life
----------------

They watch you silently
Then judge you loudly

It’s laughable

They have so much to say about you
But nothing to say to you

It’s delirious

They have so much to say about you
But no relationship with you

It’s ironic

They have so much to say about you
outside the relationship
but not in the relationship

Its epiphanies

They have so much to say about you
But never held a conversation with you

It’s bizarre ~ hold on!
It’s their instincts? Ooh wait their six senses?

They have a problem with you
But don’t even hold your number

It’s comical
Wait! How did that possibly happen?

Creating stories in their minds of you
Confirming the stories into other minds
Spreading their impressions among a few

Then stories solidify into truth
in the eyes of a few
Now open to all as a matter of truth
Now all is open to accept as face value

Little do they know
I’m flattered by all their attention
Care little of all their perceptions
Unimpressed by all their expressions of me

Idle it all is to my essence

Meanwhile,
I'm glad to be a subject of entertainment
To fill the empty spaces of boredom in their life

I said it before but I’ll say it again
What you speak of others in their absence
Says more about the speaker than the subject

Thank you for being here
NwK
Wary Oct 30
True depth of pain one cannot claim,
Until they’ve walked through sorrow’s flame.
To feel its weight, to understand,
One must be touched by life’s own hand.
You can’t feel or understand the pain unless you go through it.
No one can wholly understand love
Love is never what one thinks it is
Love often comes as a snippy surprise
As a starry shock stemming from above.

Love is a hieroglyphic puzzle
Love has the power to muzzle
Shackle, overpower, direct and destroy
Love can be a very volatile or hazardous toy.

As soon as one is somewhat comfortable
Love shows her ugly fangs on the table
Love is not always a beautiful spring.

Love behave like a cunning chameleon
Love behaves like an uncommon phenomenon
No one can completely comprehend this thing.

Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Kuro Oct 28
And since my soul is so willing to sew rhythms in copious ocean-esc villainous feelings
I'll be wing ridden to save myself from being pillaged
, see my soul's risen into old wisdom given by members hidden in the pages of some wing ridden angels when my mind's with them.
It's that kind of season, where you can get lost in the dreaming and break free without reason from a precinct with demons that stay feeding on the lifeless breathing ingrates that try to keep up with living.
It's vivid, how their horns and tails fidget when you're about to cheat on the misses
And rob a church before Christmas
Got you acting up, chasing down a witness
The things our souls have to witness.
I wish the victimizer had a fit bit on his cruel wrist; so that i could blame **** on his focus
Other wise there's no sense
In hurting a woman who gave no offence
They willing to jump an electric fence and fence with their daggers and blades. Slice up her dress turn her into a slave.
Leaving trauma delayed relayed in her mind as fact that she cannot be saved.
I'm afraid.
Why make a choice that'll make more graves?
Why make a kid in a world that won't be the same
A world where the only change is a different type of blame.
With a different gun to aim
I'm just saying
It's a shame, for humans and their vains laced with historical pains and strains of purple hearts i mean haze and strife
Basically smoking a joint laced with a knife
Twice.
One for the groom and one for the bride.
Because the child they couldn’t hide died in the street dealing with one Jackel and one Hide.
To be honest i probably would have tried
To join my child if God pulled them to his side.
Thus, my soul and mind are placed in his hands where i confide.
Asher Oct 22
The older I grow,
Parents, once heroes, now seem
Just like me, they are.
Sorry I haven't been posting much. I've been really busy lately and I've been wanting to join a club or something.
The world is round but its edges are sharp,
Love and hate weaving light in the dark.
We rise through the pain, we bend but don't break,
For joy only blooms from the storms we must take.
The warmth of the sun, after shadows have passed,
Reminds us that nothing is meant here to last.
The tears that we shed, the scars that we bear,
Are proof of the strength that was always there.
In darkness, we find the flicker of light,
The stars shine the brightest against the night.
Happiness whispers from sorrow’s refrain,
For only through loss do we treasure the gain.
The duality dances, a balance so fine,
We stumble through heartache but still realign.
In love, there is fear, but also release,
In hate, there’s a lesson that leads us to peace.
So we hold to both—both the light and the shade,
Knowing through contrast, the beauty is made.
For without the rain, the sun has no worth,
And through every ending, there's always rebirth.
The world is round but its edges are clear,
We learn through each joy, we grow through each tear.
The fire of anger, the calm after rain,
Are threads in the fabric that ease every pain.
For how could we know the beauty of day,
If night never came to lead us away?
And how would we cherish the touch of a hand,
If we never felt what it’s like to withstand?
In breaking, we’re mended, in silence we hear,
That love isn’t perfect, but always sincere.
Through loss, we find value, through grief, we find grace,
And even in absence, there’s warmth we embrace.
The sharpest of edges carve wisdom inside,
A mirror reflecting the tears we once cried.
But we learn to dance with the cuts and the scars,
For they make us shine brighter than all of the stars.
The duality breathes, like the ocean’s soft tide,
Pulling us under, then setting us wide.
In moments of darkness, we learn how to glow,
And love shows its depth through the pain we let go.
So we stand at the edges, unafraid to fall,
For in falling, we rise—taller than all.
Both shadow and light are part of our story,
Each step through the dark brings us closer to glory.
Ayesha Zaki Oct 5
Did you really have to change,
the moment I turned 11?

How the days we'd spend together,
suddenly turned into trying
to ignore each other
and screaming in the kitchen?

Maybe one day,
you'd see what I feel
and what I tried to convey.

How I drowned in my own thoughts
as a mere child,
while you were busy
fighting with mom,
or scrolling on the endless feed
your phone provides,
which hopes you rot.

I guess it wasn't for me to speak,
to tell you what it really meant
to raise someone,
or how to love properly.

But could I really blame you,
if that was all you'd seen as a kid?
passing on the poison given to you
that deepened the scars,
causing your unhealed wounds to bleed out,
while you knew nothing on what to do with it.

I didn't wish for anything grand
or the materialistic things
you ask me to be grateful for
I just needed you to understand.

To listen to me talk
about my day,
or ask me why I was upset
instead of yelling at me
to stop looking so annoyed and grey,
every waking moment.

You always make a point
to ask me why I changed,
from the sweet little girl you knew,
to whatever I've become now.
perhaps, did you ever stop to think--
why?

if you don't want a child
to grow up,
and become someone
what reason is there to raise it at all?

I suppose,
at one point in life
I'll learn to forgive you.

But all that comfort I yearned
and still do most of the time,
has yet to be returned.

It waits in the silent, dark place
between your anger and mine.

well, Dad,
did you really have to change?
I still desperately wait for the warmth you once gave me as a child.
Emery Feine Sep 29
Oh, you'll wander through congested streets
But you'll be walking alone
And you will be celebrated with astonishing feats
But with nobody to see how far you've grown

You'll comfort others with your warm smile
And you'll comfort yourself when you feel down
For someone you'd run the extra mile
When you're merely an outcast in society's frown

And it doesn't matter how big your land
You'll never find someone who sees you as good
Humans were born to be able to understand
But to never be understood.
this is my 56th poem, written on 11/26/23
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