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Throughout the life of this lonely traveler, one thing has been true.

No one knows the burdens of a truthful, man.

Women pine, quake and laugh about the piteous concerns, and lies of, men.

But, no man has ever exposed the truth of women and their lies.



Clothes to cover up, aging flesh, morose temperament, and the scars of woe & wrath.

Mascara, the dark filth of the earth, to cover tired eyes and the depth of secrets in the soul.

Paint, to cover the cracks of age, and the true doom of the beautiful, yet withering, rose that is youth.

White lies, that blind and twist the fabric of a man's sense of truth and wonder about his love.



The lies are small, the vanity deep, and the wrinkles like rivers that are of broken reason. Trickling; yet, like veins in the eye,

The blood of falsity bleeds deep into the twisted soul of the lying woman. The illusion.

The lies are. Small. Yet each day, each month, each year, they are built skyward, like bricks in a chimney.

The smoke from within is putrid and rife with the anger of misunderstanding and emotional vapor.



The chimneys I see reveal factories of deceit and compulsive irony. The make-up of woman-kind.

They beg for truth, yet hide everything but tears to the eyes of their coddled lovers.

Each man, a babe; helpless to the hammer and clock of heart break to come.

A woman will tell one lie to save your soul... then tell another, to sell it to carrion. The lost.



I am lost. I am a vulture to truth and I am sickened by the taste of greed for love.

They tell me, they hurt, because one man broke promises meant to churn the engines of love...

Yet they continue to stir the cauldron of their own false worries and stifle the honesty of love.

What do they want? My soul? My. Soul? I will give it. I will bury it in the grave of pity, I will.



I will shovel out all the hope, dreams and promises I have to give and empty out a nest; in there.

I have burrowed out the ache and the pain of the bricks and lies women have told me, just to make home for new residence.

When I watch the walls crumble from the coom and cuss, of their idiocy, I will simply clean up the mess.

I have no more to give, but what I hope to be and what I hope to have once I find the woman without lies.



Truth is, men are masters, 'because' of women. Physical strength is all that keeps them at bay, because they, once, slaved us to their needs, we tipped the balance and hold the chain of destiny, in hopes of taming the horses that pull the chariot of angels.

The woman I see, riding the chariot is fierce and bright, like the light that shines that forms the ever-present sun.

I watch her until she passes by and wait for an empty return.

As I am here, with an empty soul... For. New. Residence.



The emotional man, is whipped and beaten by that chariot-woman. She laughs and curses me into the dirt.

But, I stand up righteous in my pursuit for the honest woman. The 'giving' woman.

She waits upon the highest tower, letting down the chains of our bond, to give me flight to the heavens.

... Until then. I simply. Have.

No woman.
I wrote this poem on July 4th 2010, a day, that culminated a harrowing series of ten days, ten days that may be etched in my memory so long as I live.

I was delighted to find this and read this today because it reminded me of the sorrow I've held on to for so long regarding my relationships with women.

Regardless, I'm in better spirits today, and am in a more reasonable place to perceive and digest the anguish I felt in those days, and in the times that followed.

As always,


Enjoy!
thyreez-thy Jun 27
Its been a month, I can seem to find
The words to say, or get you outta my mind
How I wish you looked back, to give closure
Knowledge won't end suffering, lack of exposure

How it must feel, to get rid of me
How my heart yearns, for what may seem
To be the old you I created in my head
Was it all a dream? Should I go back to bed

And even now, even now, I still defend your name
Even now, even now, I still take all the blame
For my words might attack you and cause you to leave
But you made it so thats all I had under my sleeves

I regret, that words cut so deep
I'm upset that i'm losing sleep
Wish I'd forget, Like you seem to do
What'd I expect? Is this a sign from You

And even now, even now, I wish you'd feel the same
Even now, even now, I wish you would come claim
The broken pieces of my heart I can't fix
Friendships turn toxic when romance is in the mix

But I guess, it would be mature
To just let go, and to be assured
That your life is going par for the course
Maybe my existence was a part of the cause
Where you couldn't seem to move on from the lack of resource

Even now, I wish I cut out my tongue
Even now, I wish we still stayed young
I wish forgiveness was as easy as the books make it seem
You were book-nerd and explained how they made you cry a stream
Now I see that not all books have happy endings
Some don't even end, wasting the time you're spending

Even now, you're a muse I abuse
And even now, I just wish I could choose
what thoughts entered in my head
And if it would affect you if you ever read

Even now, I wish you the best
A song I had in my mind, its not perfect but I try
thyreez-thy Jun 13
The title speaks it all so clearly, unlike I who slurs my words
To write down what a handful will see, but phrases never to be heard
From obligations to congratulations, it all starts to feel the same
How petty it is I blame everything, how I must feel ashamed

Things I said to prove a point
messages left on read I wish I never sent
The cold is blistering, so are my fingers
Tell me how you can forget yet for me it still lingers

People go on with their lives, wishing for the summer
While I sit hear wishing I didn't think everything was a ******
Its so easy to appreciate the little things in life
But so hard when you feel teardrops turning into ice

Everyone says to seek help, that it gets better as you grow
yet almost a decade later I have nothing to show
Spreading positivity, have no certainty
Of the people coming and going, who matters and who closes the curtain

Future careers, games, girls, what I fear
Further encapsulating that I barely feel like I am here
Stuck between adulthood and being a child
Stuck between a mild nature and a wild imagination

Stuck between what games to play, what role to play
Which school to pay and which job pays better
Payment is engraved in my mindset, my parents make sure of it
Little do they know I hate adult life and I am sick of it

Crushes like a giddy child, in this darned freezing weather
Is it sad I feel better alone, or I feel alone and barely any better?
How ironic my words contradict each other
but thats what we were to one each other

Am I just ranting over you, this existence, or the future?
Is this in general or has my heart finally ruptured?
This barely makes sense, and neither does this life
Play, work, pay then get a wife? Is this why samurai always held a short knife?
A quick poem that came to me, honestly a pretty nonsensical one, but perfectly shows how I feel right now.
Zywa Jun 12
Divine help is for

young people, and then they have --


to do it themselves.
Novel "Victory City" [Vijayanagar >> Bisnaga] (2023, Salman Rushdie), part 1: Birth, chapter 5

Collection "Low gear"
Nigdaw May 16
he brought in cakes and out of
politeness I had to ask
how old he was,
just twenty two
I've got T' shirts older than you
I can't even remember the stupidity
the freedom and immortality
of days that just escaped me
tossing them aside as though
they were in endless supply

you wait until every precious
moment is a gift
sunsets mark an inevitable end
and the days are dark
when you neither laugh nor cry
Hair adorned
with rainbow glee
good tidings brought
to noble thee

Bones are weary
thoughts are cloudy
heart is heavy
sighs are breathy

But on this day
the snow is thick
the days are long
with brightening sun

And your radiance gleams
like dragon's treasure
tucked away in secrecy
your beauty and its measure

For love you have
to share in oodles
soft as silk and satin
warm, like labradoodles

You give of yourself
and want for nothing
so here it comes
a day of wonder

For today you were born
and continue to live
continue to fight
continue to give

So receive instead
these joyous words
to thank you for you
for being a friend

Though life is heavy
and the snow layers thick
your smile lights the world
and in our minds, stick
A birthday poem for a friend :)
Oh, dear poet of old, as I ponder on our shared past,
The irony of time's turn, a role reversal unsurpassed.
Once, you stood as the elder, wise and experienced,
Now, I find myself in your shoes, the one more advanced.

Nostalgia floods my being, memories resurfacing anew,
Like the innocent words we penned, when youth first drew.
Together we crafted a poem, a tale of popcorn's delight,
At the tender age of ten, our creativity took flight.

How funny it is, when memories unexpectedly arise,
Recalling mischievous days, crafting love's sweet guise.
Love letters for our peers, seeking help to express,
Feelings for their school crushes, a secret we'd address.

Those were the days of sharing lunches and causing a stir,
Chaos on the school buses, moments that now seem a blur.
This retrospective piece, a tribute to your resilience,
Facing challenges hidden, from prying adult's brilliance.

I remember your struggles, grappling with life's profound,
Questions of death and despair, a tightrope you walked around.
Contemplating drastic measures, to end your inner pain,
Yet, you persevered, your strength not in vain.

Your self-doubt and longing, they resonate within me,
The search for belonging, a struggle to truly be free.
But fear not, dear poet, for growth has come our way,
In finding our place, confidence blossoms each passing day.

Oh, how I lament the time we abandoned our pens,
Resorting to spoken words, a silence that never mends.
But after five long years, we reunited with our true art,
And the joy it brings, the growth, a masterpiece's start.

If only I could assure you, every word you write will be seen,
Celebrated and acknowledged, by eyes that have never been.
But alas, the reality is oftentimes unseen,
Yet, hold on to old dreams, for progress lies in between.

The journey may seem daunting, the finish line afar,
But take that brave step, and let your light become a star.
For in the depths of your soul, the fire of passion burns,
And with each word you write, a new chapter, the world learns.
Zywa Apr 28
Those days! We stayed up

at night and went to the sea --


to see the sunrise!
Story "Titaantjes" ("Teen Titans", 1915, Nescio), chapter 1

Collection "Rasping ants"
Ander Stone Apr 17
lost fragrances of easy summer mornings
when all she knew was the dirt
between her toes
and scattered throughout her
golden hair.

lost melodies of lazy summer days
when all she knew was the water
of river susurrations
and warmest shortlived rains
caressingly falling.

lost bites of ripe summer evenings
when all she knew was the sweetness
of rose-red lips
and shared apricots with she
of auburn hair.

lost glances of torrid summer nights
when all she knew was the lust
of her youth
and the wine shared between
first loves.

lost times of summer's end
when all she knew was gone.
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