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 May 2019 thepoeticwit
Raziel
Habits
 May 2019 thepoeticwit
Raziel
They’ll check your wrists,
But not your thighs,
They’ll check your smile,
But not your eyes
They’ll avoid the truth,
Believe the lies,
Nothing to sooth,
No reason to cry,
Our smiles are bright,
Eyes are a bit dull,
Wrists are clean despite,
The blade with an emotional pull,
And we’re emotionally unstable,
But they say that’s okay,
We are all a bit of a riddle,
But that’s the only thing we can convey,
And the world will open to swallow us up,
But that’s okay, at least our habits remain,
And when their arms finally open up,
We will show them the reflection they taught us to shame,
So we paint a smile with the color of red,
From the thighs they didn’t check,
And from our eyes we bled.
And they'll only understand,
When the noose hold us by our necks,
And if they had thought twice,

Maybe our eyes they would have checked.
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
Pain and suffering abound in a world filled with strife. Children go hungry and disease ravages whole countries. All seems hopeless and lost, and yet we are told that we should,praise God? Why should we praise him and who is this God that will let people suffer so? Perhaps it is because we have tried everything but calling on him, that when all else has failed us that now more than ever we need to give our praises to God.
The cover is cracked and worn. The pages have turned yellow with age. The tear stains mark the pages that were read most often. The name of the book has faded and only the word holy remains. Inside of the cover, those who were redeemed and those who have gone are written. Four generations have dog eared the pages and yet the words can still be seen. Just like Jesus my old bible has been broken, so that the world could not break me.
 May 2018 thepoeticwit
Eleanor
Isn’t it funny
How poets dramatise everything
“An ocean of depression”
“A death grip of love”
We just can’t help ourselves
It’s who we are
It’s part of being a poet
Over analysing life
Deeply contemplating death
“What is the meaning of life?”
Everything is philosophical
There’s always a lesson to learn
An issue to address
A heartache to confess
I couldn’t even resist a little alliteration in the title.
 Apr 2018 thepoeticwit
freya c
violets crush my eyes
sunshine caresses my back
maybe this time knives
would snag but i'd mind less
I think
as artists
we owe a lot to pain.

Put on
a robe of thorns
and write

about the nice weather outside
and that delicious burger
you had today.

Write about happiness
when you're in pain-
beauty.
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