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#managing
She sat down I put the page in front She merely stared And painted a sea with teardrops on the shredded wood. I passed along, Pencil, charcoal, all that needs free She sniffed, 'Better?' she said, 'I will feel better?' Taking up her shivering white pencils Of thin frail fingers, gripping graphite Scratch, scratch, like a cat Wanting to leave a locked room The grey became black The dust became mountains And, she saw in here her life As the clouds became rains 'But look', I put in 'Look what suns I make, With a caring hand' I Pushed a finger into the depths A sunny print came out Lisping, she rasped her breath back And put a hand to the black dirt of the breaking And made a hand-print; Simple, like her delight 'You will learn to make Suns of the shadows, You will learn to make Smiles of the silences Your lines will be straighter Your circles more graceful, More curved to your ***** More jagged, if you wish.' I smiled and she nodded And watched her last tear fall, Splashing down with tidal forces of sorrow on the page An artist was born.
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Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
A Labourious Birth
Mr. Maker make Mikel meet many merchants miffed, most million marketers merely merged, manfully managing more meritocracy.
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Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 7:18 PM UTC
Tercet #1
Everybody is exhausted, one way or another. Organizing brings more choas. How do others work, I wonder. No space in a day, escaping your body. If it's still worth it you're considered lucky. Hold on, hold me, time to get cozy. Rushing so my feelings are behind me. But I am on fire, shaking and staring. Losing oversight. No comfort at night. So I write it all down cause it won't get done. One by one. One step at the time getting dizzy and confused. How do you see through all the stuff you have used? Cleaning and moving and changing. It's a lot of re-arranging. Is it living or just doing without feeling? Head exploding, losing energy, any form of capacity. To even begin to explain what's happening. People never have nothing to do, always busy. Overwhelming. People are the energy like a star. People are. People shoot into the air. And wish to stay there, But moving is a part of living. It's a part of everything. Just keep on managing. It's a lot. Keep on smiling. It's a lot. Keep on managing. Till you're not. Some people move while standing still. Managing until. Smiling. Managing. Engaging.
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May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 8:11 PM UTC
Managing (before the virus)
Get started! With a small box some leaves and some ants, and practice lightning, flying storm and heavenly hand until you can do it, then take a larger box with more stuff and many more ants Of course, they don't run together sufficiently, so you shake the box and occasionally you raise your higher hand Then you can also do it with two boxes and having mastered that, you throw them together and you appoint petty bosses If a box fails, set it on fire open a new one and give the boss another chance yes, it's so easy to be the upper boss
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Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 3:36 AM UTC
Upper boss
Pain is not a fleeting shadow, nor a thief that steals in the night. It settles deep, like roots in earth, clutching marrow, dimming light. It speaks in whispers, sharp and raw, etching echoes through the bone, a language carved in silent cries, a weight we carry, yet unknown. Yet, even in its cruel embrace, where sorrow stains the breaking dawn, the soul remembers how to rise, though weary, aching, battle-worn. For pain is not a sovereign king, though it may claim the throne awhile, it bows before the quiet strength, that lingers in a weary smile. We learn to hold it, not to break, to breathe through fire, soft and slow, to meet its presence, eye to eye, and teach it when to stay or go. Through tender hands, through patient steps, we weave our wounds with threads of grace, allowing light to find the cracks, where love and courage interlace. For pain is but a passing storm, it bends, it rages, and it sways, but hearts that learn to bear its weight, will find their peace in softer days. So let it teach, but not consume, let it shape, but not define, for even pain, when held with love, becomes a bridge from dark to shine.
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Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 9:21 PM UTC
Managing Pain
Ripples on a pond Do not always mean a fish So enjoy the breeze
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Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 5:39 PM UTC
Ripples
i feel fine now just, fine and that's alright life, designed to bring me down i've designed but im alright
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Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 12:22 AM UTC
.fine