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Emmah 2d
Am I bubbly and happy?
Am I grumpy and crappy?
Angry and snappy?
Romantic and sappy?

Am I cheerful and alive?
Ready to bloom and thrive?
Am I just here to survive?
To destroy and deprive?

Am I one to be desired?
Perhaps to be admired?
Left until expired?
Always to be tired?

Am I healthy and well?
Am I a story to retell?
Do I belong in a cell?
Am I embodying hell?

Can someone please tell me
Because I have no idea.
only know how
to make love
with words

that which ignite
passion - deep inside

heart commands
sweet surrender
"Why can't you just write like a normal happy human?"


Writing used to be easy,
fairy tales of joy & ease an of words,
but momma says
thats for a little girl.

Now it's writing for perfection,
perfect punctuation,
perfect spelling,
perfect meaning.

What if I didn't want to be perfect,
what if I wanted to write easy?

To write with words that didn't complain of self hurt,
even when I'm dying on the inside.
To write with words of love and acceptance,
even when people around shove hate down my throat.
To write with words that show that things are okay,
even when they might not.
To write with words that people want to read,
even when all I say is a lie.

What if I wrote with my heart, as broke as it is,
what if I wrote it out,
and finally let it heal?
I have had this one for a couple years on a document with a question my friend asked, that's said above, and finally decided to put it somewhere for people to see.

we are infinite beings
awaking slowly
from some eternal place

our ultimate coming to "be"
unknown to us as any mystery

it is learned in stories told of us
in our primary relationships

gradually we open to our identity

our essence
forever an enigma
endlessly pondered

awareness dawns
like the gradual rising
of a fresh-born sun

we feel the substance of our emergence
as it flows molten
effortlessly into timelessness

it courses through or eternal beings
as our essential lifeblood

we become
what we have always been


it is in that becoming
that we see
not over the horizon
for we will see no horizon
no boundaries
being perpetually beyond

we will comprehend no end
immersed evermore
in our ongoing infinite beginning

it is therein this mystery
that's locked the quandary of existence
the miracle of now

we are infinite beings
conscious in this ever-moment
dreaming to sustain the moment


rob kistner © 2018
Who are we?
Why are we here?
Where do we come from?
Where are we going?
What is reality?
How do we know?
The eternal questions of existence
The existential alphabet soup.
hardened by years
my eyes can't weep
my heart's a stone that beats
...i'm just beyond sorrow.
and so life goes on
I've always wondered "why"
Why can't I write
Fluffy and warm poems,
Making me happy?

Why can't I write happy poems
Without hating myself?
Why can't I write about falling in love
Without cringing and deleting it?

Why are my friends
So good at writing poems
And making people feel
All these good emotions?

I want to be happy.
I want to be truly happy with whatever I'm doing.
Everyone's writing beautiful poems, and I feel happy whenever I read them. How come I can't write happy poems without sounding disgusting or trying so hard?

I want to cheer people up, too.
But I end up drowning in my self hate anyway.
I am a source of negativity,
And I'm genuinely sorry.
Ashtyn Lucas Sep 13
Who am I really
What am I doing
Where do I belong
When should I care
Why am I here...
These are the questions that swim through my head every day
Ilion gray Sep 11
While we were lying in my living room

Naked on the blue couch, listening to lightning attacking

The stellar clouds
I learned,

how the hearts of men are only a piece of space
clutched by skin,
wading through darkness.

I Delve into time
and I watch, and
wonder, though I knew
that it would end,

Why I  couldn’t stop
loving you
will haunt everything you left in the house,

till nothing is forgotten.
Simpathi Sep 11
Why is it,
That whenever I think of you,
I feel you're thinking of me too?

Why is it,
That when I feel like falling,
You catch me before I can?

Why is it,
That when you look me in the eyes,
I can tell that you're holding back?

Why is it,
That when your voice begins to rise,
My heart just melts instead of matching it?

Why is it,
That when I am around you,
I get butterflies that only I can feel?

Why is it,
That when your voice is spoken aloud,
No one bothers to listen to it?

Why is it,
That you haven't found me yet?
Am I just as lost as you in love's maze?

Why is it,
That I haven't taken one more step,
Walking throughout the path you've shown me?
Just a quick poem I did when thinking about that special someone...
Michael Sep 10
Between you and I
There has been pain and struggle.
You say hurtful things but think I live in a bubble.
You run to him with your lies and expect me to accept it.
It hurts my feelings, it cuts me deep.
But nonetheless I try my best to provide you with what you need.
You need love and I give it in spades.
You need support and I hold it up like atlas.
You need consistency and I make sure that I remain unchanged.
But no matter what you still run to him.
You tell him lies about me to make home like you.
He’s your dad, I’d never get in the way of that.
But I love you kid, surely you know that?
I tell you my feelings don’t matter but really they do.
Every time you do this it cuts me in two.
But still you expect unwavering support.
He picks you up and drops you whenever it suits,
But still you insist on cutting me in two.
Just a few thoughts
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