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Esme 1d
‘Im new to poetry’
I say as i read my poems from 2 years ago
When will i stop feeling new
Like my poems are nothing but an illusion of hard work
When i write a poem and post it immediately after
With no double check
Just so i dont overthink it

When will i finally believe i know what im writing
When will i believe in myself
In my metaphors
My similes
My work

I'm not new to poetry
But if you ask
I will say i am
for the poems i never wrote and the thoughts that 'werent good enough' for perfection
my boss asked me
to have a coffee chat
with the new girl.

talked about goals,
progression,
settling in —
it was the kind
that made me proud
for having
such a great team.

two hours later,
she quit.
this one is about a one-on-one i thought went really well.
If this is you hold on Your Change is coming


WELCOME TO HELL,
the PLACE of DISCOMFORT,
If you are WORKING
in this ENVIRONMENT,
yeah, you will soon discover.
a place that you hate, and
you really don't want to be,
you would rather be at home,
you would rather flee, and leave.
you are not there to make friends, and
some of them you're not cool,
just working in the environment,
of nothing but pure fools.
their personalities, you have to deal,
some of them you wish would chill,
you want to leave so badly, but
you got to consider paying your bills,
you got bills to pay, mouths to feed,
money is funny, and
the mean green you need,
your job is so MISERABLE,
It is just so UNBELIEVABLE,
This place is so PITIFUL,
you are feeling so INVISIBLE,
it has gotten so bad,
It's got you TURNING HYSTERICAL,
you are so IRRITABLE,
your position is UNBEARABLE,
If you could find a better career,
IT WOULD BE A TREMENDOUS MIRACLE!!!!!
The DEVIL IS YOUR BOSS,
HIS IMPS ARE THE EMPLOYEES,
Just leaving this job behind,
Will give you pure joy, and
to do something that you Love, or
a career you will enjoy,
It would be a BIG CHANGE,
just you wait and see, then
within yourself you will say:
THANK GOD I AM
FINALLY FREE!!!


B.R.
Date: 9/24/2024
If this is you hold on Your Change is coming
The soul aches
    numbs the brain
          Pictures float away of women
             crying, laughing, ironing sheets
thinking about jobs and ***
         finding work and
              cooking cheap spaghetti


Playing with malnourished children
     recovering from trauma, turmoil
        turbulence, schizophrenia
             from wombing life and giving
                              garlands with open hands


Copyright © Ghairo Daniels | Year Posted 2012
Glen Gormley Sep 23
My keyboard must be faulty it hasn’t typed a thing
Perhaps I should report it maybe give IT a ring.
My pen is not much better it too is on the blink
It only works for doodling, could it be the ink?
My phones not taking calls now but every time I look
The handsets always managed to fall off the flaming hook.
I tried to use my mobile but the battery has gone flat.
The chargers come unplugged again, I must look into that.
My laptops can’t do zoom calls as I’ve left it in the car.
I could go out and get it but my driveway is too far.
Last night my boss informed me he may have to let me go
Something about my output being really slow.
I think he may be looking me but I don’t give a toss.
For I’m full of self importance so it will be his loss.
RhymeReRhyme Sep 19
The shadow self, the parts I disavow,
The aspects of myself I can't allow
To surface in the light, the hidden traits,
That fester in the darkness, sealed by gates.
The anger, envy, jealousy, and greed,
The insecurities that plant a poisonous seed,
The fear of abandonment, the need to cling,
The wounds that never truly learn to sing.
I cannot run, I cannot hide away
From this reflection staring back today,
I must embrace the darkness, understand
The reasons why it holds me in its hand.
To integrate the shadow, piece by piece,
To find compassion, grant myself release,
From the self-condemnation, the endless blame,
And recognize the human in the frame.
To understand the origins of my pain,
The childhood traumas that still leave their stain,
The patterns learned, the coping mechanisms used,
The wounds inflicted, the defenses infused.
To see the child within, afraid and small,
Desperate for love, and fearing any fall,
To offer comfort, understanding, grace,
And heal the broken places, time and space.
This journey inward, difficult and long,
Demands vulnerability, a strength that's strong,
To face the ugliness, the raw, unfiltered truth,
And find the beauty hidden in my youth.
For in the shadow, strength can be found,
Resilience forged on consecrated ground,
A deeper understanding of the soul,
A path to wholeness, making me whole.
By integrating the shadow, I can see
The darkness not as enemy, but me,
A part of myself, deserving of embrace,
A source of wisdom, finding its own place.
This period in life so long over due..

Sitting in the discomfort until I’m black and blue
In Maga heaven
There is no scripture here,
only rubber-stamped, pre-approved lobbyists
with tanning bed fangs
******* on a choir of flesh-hungry frat boy ****** interns
chanting “U! S! A!”
with each pharma ****** your medical bills explode..

Matt Gaetz Botox eyebrows
his floating hideous cartoon villain face,
3-D printed and impaled perma- smile
as ubiquitous as underage prostitutes on Epstein's island,
now with more ICE-sanctioned “kids in cages.”

In the smoke-choked outer gates,
a pearly mezzanine,
Rush Limbaugh gurgling and affixed  like a  scuzzy dump
dabbing his crusty *** hanky,
sweating,    teetering,     a  corpulent blob,
leaking Snapple like a stuck pig.

He chortles on an endless A.M. talk radio loop,
his triple chins wobbling like pork rinds in a fat fryer.
4-dollar cigar, 10 inches of colonial sadism,
like his abandoned family burns
wet and slow.

Smoke curls upward,
thick as ***** generational trauma and just as sweet.
It drapes the room like a  gay funeral veil
made of Newt’s christo-fascist scam money
and powdered supplement bile.
"Family  values  "  he insist . preaching,
while serving his dying cancer wife their divorce paper in her hospital bed.

**** Cheney prays to Karl Rove, born on Christmas day,
both as ****** as the driven snow.
skin waxed like Lenin, but on hydraulic exoskeletons.
They fumble trying to hoist their cross-shaped catheters
to spoon-feed one another,
whimpering ineffectually
and muttering into a  minority fetus-shaped walkie-talkie
about more  planes , more planes  needed  in buildings
over Guantanamo freedom.

Sad excuse for  moldered ******
litter the  streets like the intended  death of  tax payer missiles ,       the gods of fear mongering with  their  half      melted war gavels
juddering with every heartbeat stolen from Halliburton pensioners.
Each  prayer  reminds the weak  
"abort   THIS,   *****"
  sunday school  molestations taught
through  bedazzled maga megaphone
mounted where a human heart
is supposed to be.

Mitch McConnell just another waddle flappin  on the  old turkey farm  , in divine chin contempt and  righteous ecstasy from
cancelling  the  last of the schools free breakfast and lunch programs  he smiles from ear to ear. His chins begin shaking.
He falls
on schedule
and is resurrected even more lobotomized each time. (somehow)

Beneath the bankrupt,  cracked Trump Casino marble, the house is still  winning  8 out of 10 times .
but  he can't  make a profit.
The gold rolls its way, to
a small, out-of-the-way obscure footnote of a Ronnie rotunda:
“the  Corpo Tax cut  Apotheosis  of " Star Wars "  Dreams.”

Dan Quayle moans through a diamond-encrusted **** grill,
his libido injected with Reagan Era tax cuts
and oil futures coated in powdered Whitehouse Adderall
from summer camp spelling BEE   , 1987.

His ******* tattooed with 'Tipper Gore,' twitch  Morse code
for “trickle-down,
tickle down,
trickle down.”
Each of Bush's Voodoo economic spasms sends a ripple through the latex Fallwell hymnals
glued to his shriveled, underdeveloped thighs.

Oh, but make way   ye  assured fools!
For  thou  has  no say over your body, Trans or Female,
as
Clarence Thomas
drives his big-block bribery  Winnebago
like he's  riding  a tricycle the size of the Lincoln Memorial.

His scabby, ashen elbows jut out
wobbly  battering rams.

Forgotten...  used and discarded  like Eric
Jared Kushner ,
stole  uncle Clarence's  custom
Golden Supreme Court Rascal scooter,
denting time and space with every vow
and slow ritual bow.

Clarence drools thick black sludge over his Anita Hill poster,
legal ink congealed into constitutional back alley abortion cancer.
His gums gnash "textualisms"
******* ... "textualisms "
( that's a word...  right?)
Johnny Cochran level   "textualisms" !
his  hymn,  a   mantra
turned lullaby,

Corpses of past rulings slough off behind him
like the bribery-bloated garbage snake he is.

Kristi Noem breaks the black reverie with a yelping ******
on all fours... again
beneath a dripping
taxidermied buffalo chandelier,
a pulsating greasy ******* protruding with
corporate logos blinking in
synchronized gun-show glory.
Fur
bloodied, mangled—coyote,
dog,
child? No one asks
as she is paraded past Sandyhook again.

The plug buzzes the Pledge of Allegiance
in MAGA Morse
with a URL for granny donations pls.
Her eyes say thank you to Truth Social.
Rights vanish like the separation of church and state
in this bloated degenerate unqualified puppet show.
Mega churches handing out loaded AR-10s.

Daily   the fresh piles of
dead kids
with NRA stickers on their lunch boxes
blocking the busses only lanes in front of their boarded up schools while the new Mega arena p­lays bikini ****** on the ultra Jumbotron in between penalty flags while brain dead 3 channel havin trailer park daddy gets drunk again, and cries about the liberals turnin all the frogs gay !­

Taco  Manatees cavort
in orange Cheeto dust
bedazzled glue guns threats.
Stormy Daniels *** dolls hang from scaffolds
meant for Mike Pence,
and everyone wipes their *** on stolen nuclear secrets.

The bolt clicks forward
in  to   place.  
The Leopold
calibrated....

The sound bites lacquered and pre- prepared

Amen, Karen. Amen…
This  in my opinion is better than   my   "Slaves enslaving fellow  slaves ...." which has  over 700 reads already
Ellen Joyce Sep 15
I learned to hold my breath
the way leaves hold out for seasons change; continuously
relentlessly
bracingly -
both in anticipation of the storm
and caught beneath its savage gaze.
The piercing ditty,
melodious cries that uncoil us
springs forth like flashes of lightning -
fear that catapults towards another painful promise of sleepless nights and hope deferred yet held fast still.

Still
Still
I need only be still.
And I exhale
Your name on my breath
as I realise I’ve been holding air in my lungs, tighter than anxiety and fear clasped my heart causing the beats to come like torrential rain,
like tears of release, relief, remorse that fall, surrendering to the One who sees me.

I feel the load lift from my shoulders
boulder by boulder
9.12, 9.57, 11.26, 13.50, 16.10, 18.12
every confidence, horrifying utterance
weighed so heavy on my heart
absorbed into yours
piece for peace
Yahweh Yireh.

Still.
Still.
I need only be still.
J Sep 13
i saw a girl
sitting on a booth
with her head down
feet planted firmly
on the ground
a smile on her face

i saw a girl
sitting on the booth
holding on
to something
i cannot see
my vision blurred
by watery eyes
i tried to breathe.

i saw a girl
on the booth
laughing so carefree
odd enough a voice
beside her
matches her glee

i stood there
before the frosted glass
hands slack,
shoulders down,
praying my hands
will not meet
the thickened grass

i stood there
before them
oddly thinking why
why
why
why
was i not welcome
to their table.

i stood there
before them
oddly thinking
"i was always free"
only to find out
neither the booth
nor the table
was never
meant to fit
for three.
don't ever plan on involving yourself to a "friendship" of three, especially if it is from the workplace
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