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we hold our mind and heart
of such a time-made empirical value
we loved, and we lost, where do we restart?
sweet paradox, maybe it's a theoretical us down to "me & you"

For BLT's Word of the Day Challenge: Empirical.
Imagine there’s a painting
adorning the wall of some president’s master bedroom. It hangs
beneath a mirrored ceiling where his wife
(lucky her) gets to watch his pumping ****
wobble like a pale hairy jelly.

Let’s say it sits above a dozen nicotine silver wigs
on a perfect chesterfield dresser,
and maybe it gazes down, in lurid grey and gold:

a grinning Adolf ******
riding a merry go round of charging marble stallions,
one leather glove tightly gripping the reigns
the other waving at scores
of muscular blonde women
and heroic dead eyed men
with lantern jaws.

Let’s just say this now and get it out in the open
before it’s too late.
you write about the way it feels at the beginning,
like someone's airing up a balloon
inside your stomach
you write about urgency, that call across the wind
when you say his name
you become a scientist, a philosopher, an evangelist,
you theorize, you believe, you write:
"the universe recycles atoms and maybe yours and mine
were next to each other at the beginning",
maybe your collision was the Big Bang,
that kick started the entire universe,
maybe the stories are true
you write about the music
of suites and symphonies and operas
the notes that save your life
you write about when he looks at you,
it's the plucked strings of a guitar
the beating, resonant ***** in your chest.
you write about how you didn't want to fall
you didn't need anyone and you had plans
you were solid and unyielding and stable--
but he crashed into you..
and the world shifted under your feet,
you were Pangaea,
he separated you into continents,
you write about fear, and the warning signs
you chalk up to anxiety,
that inner sound bite you can't delete,
you dare to shout over it:
"I am -- brave."
"I am -- heartbroken."
here comes the letdown, the free-fall
of a thousand-foot cliff
all the way down, you write, philosophize, rationalize:
"The universe is moving toward entropy
so maybe we are an inevitable disorder,
meant to dissipate into nothing
"I do not/
am not matter."


you smash into the ground,
you are blood and broken bones
heart in shreds, nothing catches you
you write: "If none of it was real.."
that dizzying drop, one second to the next
all in your head, you don't understand
and you'll try to figure it out, try to define
but it's all fragmented memories and crossed out lines
still, your hands will continue to type,
and through blurred eyes, you'll write.

I dug upon my poetry journals and stumbled upon this one I wrote when I was fourteen.
the first hello
and the last goodbye,

& all the memories in between.
I am grateful for all the moments we've spent together
Let me get deeper
Let me hold you
so tight
that your soul
can be linked to mine
When they leave a mark,
She grew—

She grew out of pain;
Even outgrew some hidden scars,
Find some golden jams—
Out of scars, she then find a hidden gem.

When they leave a mark,
She grew—

She grew out of empty promises;
She then began to realize the importance
of words—
the lack of it,
the mere thing that comes with it.

She then leaves a mark;
Some pain,
Some courses of her daily life—
Some parts of her—

Even when she did not become a part of theirs.

She then grew—
When they leave a mark.
we grow, we develop, we love, we leave traces of marks—some part of us.
JRF May 19
Let’s weather this storm.
Batten down the hatches and
live another day.
These are truly strange days. Let us be kind, be careful, and persevere!
Poetic T May 17
If we were the mirror of our creation
                and not made in perfect silhouettes.

Then we aren't the creation of perfection,
                           as were flawed beyond our sell by date.

Then that which made us is imperfect in its design.
                  So not omnipotent,
  flawed in its own blueprint.

And so just another pebble in
A dry pond where wishes die.
Laura May 17
Do you remember how we used to never run out of things to talk about?
How even the most ordinary stuff that happened was utterly interesting?
How you were the first person I wanted to tell everything?
Tell me, how did you fill that void?
How did you just replace me?
Grey May 16
I lie on my back,
gazing at the vast abyss
stretching above us.
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