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Obvious fear, unimaginably joy, the hot sweat of panic, the rising wave of pain, the red hue of hell, and snow hanging from planted trees, and people I don't know dragging blankets across the streets. Hungry bodies that know what they like. Bare toes that remember wanting. Thirty bodies stuffed threshold-high with yesterday’s mash stuffed into corn on paper plates, and “that’s it.” 61-year-old grandmas out on the streets. Young women blowing their brains out after months trying to find a place to sleep. Winter setting in, drifting snow no solace to shivering bodies with bare skin. Their dogs need to eat and the pantries are out. You can feed him rice or brown, wilted squash. You can eat crackers and try to wear something three times your size with grime on the sleeves. I don't even want to help these people. I want the state to. I want the responsibility out of my body. out of my face, out of my voicemail box. They have the same hands I have. The same eyes, minds, and brawn. They know more than I do, but they can't get by. Why? They don't want them to. They're poor. They're brown. They're black. They're old. They don't contribute enough to the local economy at least, in an immediate way. People can’t wait. The old can die. The planet can burn. The oil can fly. The prices can gouge. The poor don't need to eat. They can pull themselves up by their ******* bootstraps, turn to God, stop their heinous (gay poor illiterate depressed black brown Somali schizophrenic latinx Hispanic  people of the system mothers aunts women) ways, and repent, and get a ******* job. I just wanted to be an author, in a house with some trees, and some dogs from the shelter, and a fire-burning stove. These people just wanted decent clothes that fit. And we're never getting what we ******* want. And we are dying young.
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Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
We Are Dying Young
Obvious fear, unimaginably joy, the hot sweat of panic, the rising wave of pain, the red hue of hell, and snow hanging from planted trees, and people I don't know dragging blankets across the streets. Hungry bodies that know what they like. Bare toes that remember wanting. Thirty bodies stuffed threshold-high with yesterday’s mash stuffed into corn on paper plates, and “that’s it.” 61-year-old grandmas out on the streets. Young women blowing their brains out after months trying to find a place to sleep. Winter setting in, drifting snow no solace to shivering bodies with bare skin. Their dogs need to eat and the pantries are out. You can feed him rice or brown, wilted squash. You can eat crackers and try to wear something three times your size with grime on the sleeves. I don't even want to help these people. I want the state to. I want the responsibility out of my body. out of my face, out of my voicemail box. They have the same hands I have. The same eyes, minds, and brawn. They know more than I do, but they can't get by. Why? They don't want them to. They're poor. They're brown. They're black. They're old. They don't contribute enough to the local economy at least, in an immediate way. People can’t wait. The old can die. The planet can burn. The oil can fly. The prices can gouge. The poor don't need to eat. They can pull themselves up by their ******* bootstraps, turn to God, stop their heinous (gay poor illiterate depressed black brown Somali schizophrenic latinx Hispanic  people of the system mothers aunts women) ways, and repent, and get a ******* job. I just wanted to be an author, in a house with some trees, and some dogs from the shelter, and a fire-burning stove. These people just wanted decent clothes that fit. And we're never getting what we ******* want. And we are dying young.
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All I talk about is love I need to find another thing to write about I fear...
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Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 12:49 PM UTC
What do I say?
5:30, 4:30 - Up ever earlier. 40, 50, 60 Pages of the encyclopedia open. All with tabs, Of the many windows, pages, & folders. Through the looking glass, Roaming far & near as an extraterrestrial.
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Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 7:36 AM UTC
An Alien To Culture
I want to pick your brain for lunch to discuss the ongoings in this world and your views on controversial topics. I want to talk about the various books you read, the various shows and movies that entertain you. I want to know more about your beliefs, what appeals, riles, fascinates and triggers you. I want to know what makes you glow and dim. to watch you paint with different hues, form various constellation and explore the black hole of unexplored matter. I want to converse about the uncanny topics and the stigmatized ones. To know more about the philosophy, biology and chemistry of your existence and this world. I want to know about the intricacy, profundity and complexity around rather than keep to the surface topics.
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Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
I pick your brain. I choose you.
It was a sad thing To realize How limited my topics Of poetry are Either some embodyment Or my overflowing Emotions Or a strange Out of the box Analogy to something I Learn in school Or, Simply a reflection On the people Around me Something I’ve Observed In my sheltered Surroundings Perhaps One of the above Coupled with Some fantastical Figment Of my imagination But apart from that... Politics, issues, society Beyond that which I have Been exposed to Plenty, There’s absolutely Plenty to write about Rather than Simply, Focusing on my Own Centered Little bubble
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Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
Little Bubble
rainbows and rain smudged windows on trains singing and playing dancing and swaying forests, woodlands green and lush passionate scenes that can make one blush sighing and moaning forgiving, atoning heartbreak and sadness sweetness and gladness musical notes falling like leaves swirling round and round autumn trees seasons and changes and wide-open ranges smiles and laughter the here and the after skies cloudy, skies clear tiny sailboats seen from the pier ocean breeze, crashing waves undersea caverns and caves flying and falling creeping and crawling creatures that swim in the deep ones that awake while we sleep dreaming and hoping struggling and coping sun, moon and stars lands that are far nightmares, ungodly fears cold blood, hot sweat, unstoppable tears lightning and thunder the above and the under soaring and hovering healing, recovering creeks, lakes and seas dark prisons without any keys chains and locks deep rivers, smooth rocks reality, fantasy wanting to flee we write it all down we write it all here it makes us feel better it makes us feel freer
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Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
Poet's List
thinking of things to put to verse    in times that often are adverse    to topics that involve the universe    and other serious matter is difficult world politics is quite atrocious the culture scene no less ferocious and so if you are somewhat cautious in your choice of themes few are left you might start out with poised pen for something serious & pertinent - but then you have a quite inspiring moment when you realize what truly is important in our lives just find the words others can understand
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Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
versifying
The sun so bright the epitome of life Contrasting dark green coconut leaves And white sands blue seas Fiji The place where hearts keep dreams. .. . Come see :)
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Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Staring at the sun
The dew that forms on spring grass. The sun rays that shine through summer windows. The crisp leaves that blow through autumn winds. The snow flurries that illuminate the wintery chills. These are the most common poetic topics... But why? The face of poetry is abstract and unseen. Its mask shifts and changes into ideas of understanding, Depending on the listener... The beauty of nature has effortless expression It practically writes for itself. But the fire of Love is another matter. "Bye, love you!" "I love that!" "C'mon love." The name appears more often than necessary, But is it truly understood, like nature? It seems my generation has forgotten Love's definition. "Love: an intense feeling of deep affection." I don't love my cereal, I love my mom's caring personality. I don't love my car, I love my dad's willingness to trust. I don't love my tickets to Disney, I love my younger brother's sense of fun. I don't love my toothbrush, I love my eldest brother's teaching disposition. Love is a part of nature, it's true, But it is not meant to be taken as lightly. Nature is easily seen through our widening pupils, Every move it makes is impossible to go unnoticed. Love's invisibility is easy to let slip by, You have to look closely to find it. True Love is never found in objects. True Love is found in families of all different seasons.
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Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
Family of Seasons
Today I met a stranger He seemed really great We sat and spoke for hours And told me how to bake In the next days to come I sat at my window Biting my thumb Thinking about the stranger And what would he Have done, We spoke about the sun And how often he runs We spoke about ice cream, And even shared straw *** The sad part of all of this, He remains a strangers For our names never, Passed each others tongues
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Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
STRANGERS