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#disagreement
I wake up already in an argument. no voices, just the weight of two directions pulling behind my ribs, like a compass that forgot which way is north. One of me whispers, “stay where it’s certain,”tracing circles in familiar ground. the other steps past the edge of “maybe”,willing to get lost just to feel what’s forward. We meet in the mirror without agreement. same eyes, different verdicts. One counts failures like loose change, the other spends hope recklessly, again and again. And somehow, every day, neither of us wins. but neither leaves. It’s always been, Me vs. Myself.
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Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 9:21 PM UTC
Me vs. Myself
I wake up already in an argument. no voices, just the weight of two directions pulling behind my ribs, like a compass that forgot which way is north. One of me whispers, “stay where it’s certain,”tracing circles in familiar ground. the other steps past the edge of “maybe”,willing to get lost just to feel what’s forward. We meet in the mirror without agreement. same eyes, different verdicts. One counts failures like loose change, the other spends hope recklessly, again and again. And somehow, every day, neither of us wins. but neither leaves. It’s always been, Me vs. Myself.
0
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 9:21 PM UTC
Me vs. Myself
rooftops are where you forgot about me. you were up so high— you didn't think to look down at my face. while you were on rooftops, i was kneeling on the ground, wondering when you'd return. but you simply glanced over the precipice, knowing full well, that you were never coming back.
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Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 3:10 AM UTC
rooftops
~ *Waiting for the reassemblage One light will do Bright things come to confusion What pushed us together? The love underneath conflict's thumb? Winter kept us warm Her face soft as sleep With wakened eyes With wakened hands You quiet me On these nightingale floors In small explosions that are yours to keep I can’t remember how we made love, but I remember the colors we made together It is in the shelter Of each other that we live* ~
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Jan 16, 2024
Jan 16, 2024 at 10:55 AM UTC
In Our Bedroom After the War
I don’t understand the way That hatred seems to rule Every minute of every day It seems to gain more fuel Dave told us years ago That “We Just Disagree But now we choose to hate and so No answers will there be Cooperation is a lost art Collaboration can’t be found Real solutions will never start When hatred still abounds. There was a time not long ago When opposite sides could talk Design and ideas would flow Our leaders walked the walk That time is gone, it seems for good And hatred rules the day Discussions turn to attacks so rude There’s nothing left to say It seems that now we never find When two on opposite sides Disagree, but still are kind To others far and wide. “Agree to disagree” I’ve heard the phrase And try to comprehend That differences, like a smoky haze Don’t make you hate your friend. So take a chance, just try and see You’ll help this world go round Don’t hate because you disagree And answers will be found.
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Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 10:46 PM UTC
Agree To Disagree
are pushed. Voices ignored. Tones raised. Feelings on the floor.
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Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 11:47 PM UTC
Boundaries
Why is your opinion the only one that matters? So stubborn and unreasonable it causes emotional scatter My wholesome intentions are now twisted and skewed Is it so hard to sympathize with another point of view? I can be two things at once rational and empathetic Couldn't you then be sensible and sympathetic? You don't understand, but that doesn't make me wrong My intentions, rationale and viewpoint also belong   Guilty for doing what I feel is right and ****** if I don't You could just be kind and support me, but I know you won't You say I have a choice, but I know what that means An order of silent treatment with a side of love liens If I'm picking battles this is not one I'm fighting to win The victory with a punishment that doesn't match the sin Ultimately, it isn't the end of the world if I don't get my way Respecting my reasons are not black and white, just simply grey Even if you can't understand the picture to see my play I'm tired and just trying my best not to take it to the mat This time couldn't you just respect and trust me anyway After all these years... Haven't I earned that?
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Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 5:02 PM UTC
Haven't I earned that?
i never agreed with it but i loved him my mind couldn't over throw the wishes of my heart
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Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 5:08 AM UTC
Light Hearted
Forgive yourself We all get let down sometimes Maybe you let someone else down Maybe they let you down, too. Hand in hand with uncommunicated expectations. And it doesn’t have to be one person’s fault.
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Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
Learning new Ideology.
Is civility a good-willed politeness to other people? Is the benefit of being civil to a person I disagree with that I maintain my joy and happiness and the other person’s joy and happiness?
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Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Civility in Disagreements?
My friend has a baby and she's crying on the phone She called me up in the park sitting all alone Telling me about her problems as I'm writing this poem Not every family show love to their child yet we still complain About not having everything we wanted we can't relate the pain A young girl thought her family loved her then a baby came The baby smiled when he notice the family but don't feel the change He's too young to understand life as things evolve it's never the same Now the young girl became a young mother and her mother is ashamed The young mother has a lot on her brain her son, the struggle, and a lot of blame Life seems to get heavy if you can't release the stress If you decide to commit suicide then you failed the test The young mother is planning to leave with her baby from the nest Everyday she's talked down in ways i didn't believe Her mother told her the life she's living now she wont achieve The things the young mother told me now I see why she has to leave ———————————  Since I'm a good friend like no other I actually care I pushed my problems to the side and told her I'll be there She never cried on the phone with me before so I had to go I washed up, put my clothes on, and walked out the door We chilled, We talked, We Walked back and forth She took me on a journey of her life from then to now I don't know how she could still breath...the pain she allowed A strong young woman with a beautiful son....   Aaron Osgood
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Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 11:42 AM UTC
A Young Struggle (Written 2010)
My friend has a baby and she's crying on the phone She called me up in the park sitting all alone Telling me about her problems as I'm writing this poem Not every family show love to their child yet we still complain About not having everything we wanted we can't relate the pain A young girl thought her family loved her then a baby came The baby smiled when he notice the family but don't feel the change He's too young to understand life as things evolve it's never the same Now the young girl became a young mother and her mother is ashamed The young mother has a lot on her brain her son, the struggle, and a lot of blame Life seems to get heavy if you can't release the stress If you decide to commit suicide then you failed the test The young mother is planning to leave with her baby from the nest Everyday she's talked down in ways i didn't believe Her mother told her the life she's living now she wont achieve The things the young mother told me now I see why she has to leave ———————————  Since I'm a good friend like no other I actually care I pushed my problems to the side and told her I'll be there She never cried on the phone with me before so I had to go I washed up, put my clothes on, and walked out the door We chilled, We talked, We Walked back and forth She took me on a journey of her life from then to now I don't know how she could still breath...the pain she allowed A strong young woman with a beautiful son....   Aaron Osgood
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26
baby all I wanna do is try and get along with you why do we have to fuss and fight? can't figure out, it's just not right I know I slept in kinda late I'm sorry, I don't feel so great I'm trying to change the way I feel but you just don't see the appeal I can't be still, I can't be lazy and you look at me like I'm crazy or worse, like it's some kind of crime to build myself and **** some time I'm sorry that I can't sit still it's just the way I have to deal I go too far, I get obsessed but if I don't, I get depressed at least, if I work out a bit I won't feel like a piece of **** lie to myself, at least that way I had a good, productive day and if I went to meditate at least, I got my thinking straight but with all this, you're just annoyed with everything that brings me joy can we start over? baby, please I love you I don't wanna leave but when you start to act this way it really pushes me away can't play guitar, can't take a *** without you finding fault with me and that's just how you make me feel I gotta doubt if you're for real so tell me, baby what did I do? I'm trying so hard to get along with you don't wanna go, I wanna stay, but I feel like we need some space to meditate, to cook and clean, to work off nervous energy why does it have to cause a fight? and cut into my sleep at night?
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Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
Trouble In Paradise
one of the hardest things in life is to simply accept someone for who they are one of the easiest things in life is to strongly hate them for not being able to change choosing the hard one will help you grow choosing the easy one will help you destroy but what if accepting someone for who they are means loving them more than loving yourself? what if accepting someone for who they are means accepting violent hellos and condescending goodbyes? 06/06/2011
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Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
choices
She says she doesn’t have the strength within herself to write poetry. Yes, her. The one who so often nourished me with song til my soul began to learn how to hunt for itself, whose word carried weight in leading me to pick my own instrument, albeit one of a different tone, as the key in keyboard became prominent for the first time and the sound of purposeful fingers upon it could be considered, only in the right light, synonymous to the plucking of strings, just as rooted in emotion. Yet she's the first to say that she herself can't do it. Thing is, I suppose we’re politely at odds on the matter. She favors poetry that’s sharper, with a cleaner cut, that’s message is immediate and jarring as a conduit running from soul through skin, or a loose-lipped diary finally freed from lock and key. And when she declared it, I started to consider what my poems seem to me: Blackberry bushes (but kinder, I hope) that snag and immerse just long enough to make me feel I’ve had an effect. I’ve used writing to expel my most gnarled feelings to any passerby who’s maybe felt the same. Like crying in a mirror: alarming, but oddly refreshing, and an indefinite reminder that our aches are never only our own. Still, I'm not sure why it blows my mind to hear that even the most glamorous hearts, who wear confidence as a summer breeze that's always in their favor and who inspire, from beau gestures to sleight of hand, are included in those who find themselves pacing back, back and forth, begging curbside at the dime store for a scrap of the same feed that convinces a heart to pump ink. But she says that any art that's enjoyed is worth it. So while she seeks out words that bare the bones, I’ll stay and make a meal of the marrow, hollowing them so that the poetry may have a rightful place to reverberate as hymns in a universal monastery. But hell, like I’m any old soul. I dress nicer than I otherwise would, turn to the mother who told me I don’t meet her lowest standards, and ask for a critique. All for the moment when she greets me at the door with a legendary G#. ...Now please, could you spare a dime?
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Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
This Just In: No Showboat's Without a Few Leaks, Either
She says she doesn’t have the strength within herself to write poetry. Yes, her. The one who so often nourished me with song til my soul began to learn how to hunt for itself, whose word carried weight in leading me to pick my own instrument, albeit one of a different tone, as the key in keyboard became prominent for the first time and the sound of purposeful fingers upon it could be considered, only in the right light, synonymous to the plucking of strings, just as rooted in emotion. Yet she's the first to say that she herself can't do it. Thing is, I suppose we’re politely at odds on the matter. She favors poetry that’s sharper, with a cleaner cut, that’s message is immediate and jarring as a conduit running from soul through skin, or a loose-lipped diary finally freed from lock and key. And when she declared it, I started to consider what my poems seem to me: Blackberry bushes (but kinder, I hope) that snag and immerse just long enough to make me feel I’ve had an effect. I’ve used writing to expel my most gnarled feelings to any passerby who’s maybe felt the same. Like crying in a mirror: alarming, but oddly refreshing, and an indefinite reminder that our aches are never only our own. Still, I'm not sure why it blows my mind to hear that even the most glamorous hearts, who wear confidence as a summer breeze that's always in their favor and who inspire, from beau gestures to sleight of hand, are included in those who find themselves pacing back, back and forth, begging curbside at the dime store for a scrap of the same feed that convinces a heart to pump ink. But she says that any art that's enjoyed is worth it. So while she seeks out words that bare the bones, I’ll stay and make a meal of the marrow, hollowing them so that the poetry may have a rightful place to reverberate as hymns in a universal monastery. But hell, like I’m any old soul. I dress nicer than I otherwise would, turn to the mother who told me I don’t meet her lowest standards, and ask for a critique. All for the moment when she greets me at the door with a legendary G#. ...Now please, could you spare a dime?
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42
It's a place where you would rather not be engaged in a quarrel and unable to agree. Between two strangers or with one you know in a display of words disagreement to show. A sad state of affairs and opposite of harmony usually about something they did not foresee. Ending with both parties not seeing eye to eye and very often it's without a clear reason why. It could be one taking more and giving back less to the other who considers the matter in distress. Or perhaps ignoring to do what should be done in our duty to one another that incurs a bad run. If a lack of trust or deception has been at play there are suspicions that don't easily go away. 'Honesty's the best policy' known and cherished without this relationships only end up perished. Especially when there are two interests at stake one against the other much trouble they'll make. Keep away from being at loggerheads if you can as it may end up in a fight with your fellow man. _______________
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Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
At Loggerheads
the silence was never there. thick, thin, a continuous disturbance— created by one of us in a fragile ice skate dance you sigh and the air swallows it while i am left to watch if i do the same or break thick, thin, a feverish disturbance— almost as fast as lightning, a broken trance has me hurling hurtful words, an argument that cannot win you point out the flaw in my ways thick, thin, descriptive of skin— your steps i will not to follow, a path i do not want to take a calm exterior is what i fake to keep the composure i've powdered on thick, thin, a relationship between suns— stars that never go out flares that never end heat that never really shushes in the silence of space thick, thin, a wire we walk on— tired and aching, we balance we balance, angrily, fists in ***** sadness washes over us in rain drops on a tightrope that never ends
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Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 6:26 AM UTC
walking on a tightrope
we see life through eyes shoved deep in a clothes dresser -dressed in one style, one choice, one black or white sweater we are the oppressed or the oppressor we either question or we answer we either are racist or we are racist- it doesn't matter within which color you exist at one point or another you are the blunt of every man's expense the traitor or the one with the knife in your back- turn around and your friends are nowhere fast- build up a blind eye and you missed the opportunity to chose a side and now your an inactivist- a pacifist someone who's breath is saved is not valid, this life style leaves us bent between broken lips and bad lies heard from different separatists bent on making a society divided on who's right and who's wrong, what's the matter with this! battle each other with harsh words and confrontational jargon fits! spit on each other, barely walk away and shake our fists! is there not enough wisdom for us to understand that we are merely just imperfect man- must we argue over who is the most persecuted, most bruised! we- who live in a country with the most benefits for you to choose! we- the ones who live in an electrical utopia and a house too! we- the ones who barely have to question anything, we just receive and we roost- selfish enough to carry broken glass mirrors on our masks and stare forever into our forever broken collapse-
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Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
-lest we change-
**** this coffee's really sour I've been drinking it for half an hour Wanna hear a poem Wanna hear a poem Wanna hear a poem about a cauliflower [Cauliflower's foolish It doesn't fit the theme I'm sick of all your nonsense I'm tired of your memes] Woman selling knickknacks I'm not eating tic-tacs™ Your words were put in brackets Check out my rhyming tactics I see that you're not one for fun Your a cloudy day, I'm the shining sun My absurdity Is the key To happy for eternity [You're clearly deeply broken And only you can cure Your fundamental problems But really I'm not sure The only one who conquers Is one who really tries So stop with the gorillas Since everything will die] Maybe you don't understand My foolishness goes hand in hand With making things that are the best Like giant squids and turnip fests Order, chaos, streets and bogs Them, White, Color, Talking Frog Odd on top but clear below From ash and fire life will grow Then again I see it's true I am right and so are you Maybe we both have a claim In this crazy poet game ** Okay] That didn't rhyme! [It doesn't have to] I love you [Mmm hmm]
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Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
A Poem About a Cauliflower
a disagreement       between my bones and my logic       my body and my mind       torn between a choice       and choosing --       ****** if i do, ****** if i don't.       my bones and       my logic and       my heart at war,       destroying this vessel, but can't we all just get along?
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Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
3
Opposing ideals Shift forward uncertainly Reflection shattered
0
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
Conflict
screamingloudly, shoutingcrazy don't know why we do this daily; backandforth the screaming match when our ideas they just won't catch. two bullheaded people clashing heads until one of them storms off instead. i mean well and you do too but our ideas just won't go through. banging heads against brick salls our yelling echoing down the halls. im on page two, youre on page one; all i know is this aint fun.   screamingloudly, shoutingcrazy i dont know why we do this daily.
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May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Daily Duel