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sankavi Apr 2018
it wasn't my fault
none of it was
yet somehow
you make me feel so bad about it
you make me feel like it was all me

it wasn't your fault either
i never said it was

it wasn't your fault
but it wasn't mine either

stop making me feel ****** about it
you make me HATE you
Lora H A Apr 2018
Yet
My walls
               are falling.
I'm
       falling.
My feelings are wandering.
For some reason,
I don't feel lost.
                       Yet.
Meghan Mar 2018
You kissed my lips
And that was the time
I never wrote
One poem nor
One song

And it saddens me
Faiza Arakkal Mar 2018
Maybe.
Maybe it is not like how I think.
Maybe it is all just for the time being.
Maybe it is what I am meant for.
Maybe it is what I am destined to be.
Maybe it is all just in my head.
Maybe it is all unreal.
Maybe there's something more to it.
Maybe this is not the end.
Maybe there's still hope at the other side.
Maybe this is all just the beginning.
Maybe.
Maybe.
I wish maybe.
when blizzards rage and howling
   arctic winds did blow
profuse precipitation packed Philadelphia
   til white aery mountains did over flow

meteorological heft wrought pinkish glow
polygons pin wheeled and pirouetted
   landscape imprint pure as driven snow
diminution of visual acuity

accrued from two score plus nineteen birthdays
still marvel at freeze-dried raindrops
   reaction toward crystalline phenomena
   continues to grow

kaleidoscope of multitudinous
   hydrospheric blitz krieg terrestrial show
metaphor wrapped in supreme whiteness
   from singular entities high to low

mother nature imbues testament  
   teaches to offer self for world to know
as corporeal of flesh and blood
   we forget identity among human row

subtle riddle well hidden in molecule
   two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen in tow
offer quiet sermon to cherish beliefs
   and personal paradigms vis a vis status quo.
Danial John Feb 2018
Sitting alone
I contemplate truth
I wonder if you know
I think it’s you

Forgive me
Or don’t
Forget me
You won’t

I have lost all my friends
Now it’s just the three of us
All alone
Inside my head
Arlene Corwin Feb 2018
Every 4 years I post this, hoping that the message, although lighthearted, will come forth.

             The Doped Olympics

Why don’t they simply create a new branch
And call it the Doped Olympics?
By the laws of semantics
It soon would come into the language, legitimized:
Youth forgets past.
Soon the word would have lost its original shame,
While the name of the game
Would be guilt-free and blame-free,
And those who would qualify
Could have drug deliverance, muscles defined, bodies divine.
If they dropped dead at forty
At least they’d have entertained millions,
Fulfilled their ambitions,
Made lots of folk rich
And set records untold.
Let those few or many spend hours in training;
Let chemists develop concoctions so new
That the pole-vaulter flies,
The sprinter’s a jaguar,
The shot put is sent into orbits of space,
The long jumper jumps twenty meters
While men become fierce
And the women grow beards,
Which gives all of the chemists new projects to work on.
A yes to the ***** Doped Games.

The Doped Olympics12.2. 2004 revised 1.27.2016re-revised 7.25.2016  Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin
Especially aimed at those who dope themselves, yet want to compete
NTR Dec 2017
I'm far from fine, feeling fanatic
unloading my emotions
action automatic
slide slow and smooth
stay silent and static
just going through the motions
though inside, I'm frantic
a short practice in alliteration
when you're world is ending and you're life seems like time not worth spending. When you feel you can't take anymore, as you cry on the bathroom floor.
When you're bent to far to fix, you're as good as gone. but then again, nigh it's alwayse darkest befor the dawn. so don't give up, because you're simply worth too much.
Never give up on your self. You never know what your truly worth until your pain goes to those you love.
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