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CK Baker Feb 2017
There were dividing lines
between springfield
and mariners gate
soft, subtle lines
that spoke of origin
and code
and biting union

it was all
the reason
for being;
alive and living
dead or dying
deep in a pack
of pint size resistors
**** bent on the
marsh crow
and cannabis tower
jumping the rush
with *** shots
and anchors
and tribunals

camouflage creepers
and transient floaters
marked rebellion at the gates
(skullduggery and taunt
high on their favor list)
jack straws and flat paddles
for the evening charade
beakers and flailing hands
from the foot washing baptist
(the pleasant street conservatives with their
own something to say…“there’s gonna be **** to pay!”)

there's a
lingering effect
to this sentiment
(evident in the pump house stride)
the river winds
blow gently
into the night
as the huddling packers
and **** backs
chase the evening hours

it’s a bitter sweet
end of an era;
those traction bars
hood scoops
and nickel bags
will always
be the rage
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Our lives are like boats.
Everyone is crafted differently.
You can be built perfectly.
Have everything be in check.
And still be weighed down by anchors nobody can see.
Nobody can see you
Cné Aug 2017

I believe in love...
In a blink of an eye, a life goes by
extinguished in the end.
And all that's done returns to dust.
No omen can portend.
Yet love lives on, infecting all
and never really dies
It goes beyond the realm of man
to live in fragrant skies.
And on the spacious sea of clouds,
it waits to find a port.
And then it anchors in a soul
to caper and cavort.

In the emotional beginning
When head was yet held high
Stumbling through clouds
Of bright blurry skies
Love was a foolish quest
Of paralyzing highs
And now you're telling me
Love can never die?

the clouds we've sailed
and golden sunsets made
Kisses that we could have had
while watching rainbows fade.
Alas, a life's too short to spend
in fathomless regret.
Perhaps the wheel will turn again
another lifetime yet.
And so, my love
the voyage goes on,
to "golden years"?
We'll see.
the other side reveals
what shall become of "we".

A dangerous theory
I can't imagine
Love roaming free
The source of all misery
Another invisible ghost
Possessing unaware host
Love is the blood we bleed
All across time and history
Love is more than a mere key
More than a want
Love is a need...

Traveler Tim

Keith Collard Oct 2012
Antenna sinks,
anchors rise,
the sky is a Great White,
coming for a land capsized,
Wade towards the breakers,
For the house's lamps to glow,
The sky swims fast,
The arc flash moves slow,
Antennas now anchored--
Where the great sky patrols.
Kristine Aug 2018
Its funny how you can sleep next to someone

Feeling their heart beat aganist your shoulder blades

Their warm breath trickling down your neck, and sending chills down your spine

Their arm draped over your ribs, and their hips curving into your own, melting you into the bed

As you lay there, with darkness surrounding you with comfort
under the layer of cool sheets
you hope you can melt into them, and not ever return.

You are surrounded by layers of warmth that don't quite reach your bones
Because the freeze of  loneliness  ripples through you like snow piling onto a empty street

Those frozen drops are a gentle reminder that the arm draped over you
is no longer a sense of comfort
but your own burning stake
CK Baker Apr 2017
willets cull the seawall
snappers rest on grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoon
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade

plovers dance and flutter
handrail frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from the high
noon sun

thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
the rust brown scars

elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above tentaciones

striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand

heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under dusk light cheroot

six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wear

rooster house for marlin
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
on the
madera bay
Lizzy Feb 2014
They say we have these anchors
They drown us out at sea
But this chain bound tight to my ankle
Is not fastened to a weight.

It just keeps going
Link by link
It has no end
No beginning

I was born into this aquatic life
From my earliest days
I was held underwater
And each day on has added to my chain

Not like the chain of Jacob Marley
In Dickens' tale,
Not forged by greed
But birthed from every thought
That I cannot forget
And every blow to my persistance
I have ever recieved

It all stays with me
And we each have these chains.
But most grow gills
And sprout fins.
And learn to swim .

But here I am.
Still drowning.
Nonsense Poet Sep 2018
Unconditional love
Amazing journey above
Truth or Lie?
Or just one more catchphrase?
Freedom or the Cage
Freedom in a cage
Hard decision  
We have to make
Complexity and fluidity
Loving without condition
Behavior versus a feeling
No more restriction
No chains or anchors.
Spread your wings
Start to fly above
I have no idea why I´m writing it.
bradlynn Oct 2017
the most dangerous person I know was a beautiful girl,
with a singing voice like white chalk:
when you came into contact with that voice, even momentarily
you found your fingertips lightly dusted
and the taste of chalk in your lungs
She settled on you.

This girl left pieces of herself everywhere--
to things she knew should be
important to her, but instead she couldn't find the commitment
enough to make them important.

she could only find
fragments of a conversation
about anything
that affirmed her
or made her feel
even if only for a second.

she disregarded the pain that lumbered just beneath those
glimmering retinas,
only to step closer and see the light
was just a reflection of whatever stood before her.

so she anchored herself to humans.
she chose to connect with people
based on the "mutual" stars in
their eyes.
and how they felt important.
she anchored herself to
the expectations held aloof in
the eyes of her unattached lover.
Eyes that swam with the imaginary meetings and hopefulness
to obtain girls not her.

and so she swam.

at first, she treaded water like it the thing to do in the eyes of your
then, the ropes she tied to herself
to make anchors began to drag her down.

the people she anchored herself to reached out as far as the cold depths would allow
but she refused to tread the last few feet and take hold
of a shoreline filled with
finite praise for not drowning herself.

The most dangerous girl I knew
made drowning the important thing.
and now she waits, sunken and waterlogged
with the weight of eyes that are not hers.

The eyes of her lover, who sparkle artificially
as the light is just a reflection of whatever stands in front of him.
friendships that feel like relationships. she made it my problem. and everyone else's..
Star BG Feb 17
Everlasting spring time,
occurs when love anchors.
Roses in eyes bloom.
Wind of breath caress.
Moments melt away.
And music of TWO hearts beat as one.
Inspired by Richard Barnes Thank you

After thought:
Death anchors love
inside hearts that echo
Memories vibrate
Eyes hold tears
Moments slow
And life eternal continues
both holding love.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
There are times when the Lord will take from us every familiar thing and send all the others away to have us to Himself, uprooting and dismantling our earthly anchors until we find no safe place of attachment but to Him alone. And though we search feverishly to secure another, He will faithfully cut off our efforts at every pass and every attempted by-pass, almost as though we could see them being escorted out the door, marching one after the other in file and possibly taking our sanity with them. “No, not another one! Where are they all going and why am I not invited?” But it is His alone to give or not to give, to give and take away.

The One Who took up the cross and took the cup of the Father’s wrath for us has the absolute right to take anything and everything from us at any time for whatever reasons might please Him. But know this for certain: concerning His redeemed, those reasons will always involve two things—glory and intimacy. They are the overriding answers to every lingering question of “Why?”.

But if we fail to understand His glorious and intimate intentions we may misconstrue our losses to be a sign that He is actually withdrawing His affection from us. The very things which He is doing for love’s sake to perfect our pathway to intimacy might be taken instead for obstacles blocking it, causing us to doubt His love. We could not be more wrong, but sometimes it's so hard to see through the veil of pain.

For it's a strange and bewildering thing to feel that you belong to no place and no person in this world, to have nowhere to call home and no one to share it with if you did. A severe untethering indeed that though meant to prepare us for flying can seem to us more like drowning. The sobering truth is that none of us belong to this life or the things of this earth; all sense of it is only an illusion, and pain and loss are simply the dispelling of the myth—the rude awakening from a bewitching dream we once had. But oh how we fight the disillusionment.

Maybe we remember a time when we had prayed to be refined, to be made more like Jesus, but we didn’t know it would have to hurt so bad and take so long and look so dark and feel so lonely. Even if we have understood and embraced His call to deeper intimacy we may after a while, when nothing seems improved either around us or in us, start to resent our belonging to such a determined and jealous Lover, though He is doing exactly what we had once asked Him to. We may start to think we can no longer bear anything except that which superficially distracts us from our grief. We may even start to give up hope, for if not anchored exclusively “behind the curtain” and if repeatedly crushed it threatens to **** our hearts for good should we have to face one more disappointment.

We may feel very much like we are flailing around in a deep and darkening ocean, repeatedly pulled under by the powerful tow and thrashing waves of overwhelming emotion and continuously knocked back by the brutal winds of confusion. Yet we can still see the unshakable boat of faith and truth standing solidly only a small distance away. We know it is real and that if we could just reach it we would be safe. We hear someone shouting through the din, “Just hold onto the boat! The boat will save you. Look beyond your feelings and walk by faith. Hold onto truth!” But can’t they see that as hard as we may try we have no strength to swim to the boat? Can’t they see that we are sinking?

And so we are left with nothing but to cry out to Jesus, to cry out to Him to bring the boat to us, to come Himself and rescue us. Do we have that much faith? Enough to just say, “Jesus, help me! I’m drowning!”? Enough to see that He is our only hope and nothing else matters apart from Him?

Because when we do, we will understand that this hope in Him alone is the very lifeline by which He will pull us to safety—back to faith, back to truth, back into His intimate arms of love, back into a peace which passes all understanding and into a joy that gives us strength for the journey.

As difficult as it can be in our grief to hear the Lord whispering truth to our hearts above the constant clanging of our feelings, we must now more than ever choose to take the time to be still and seek our soul’s rest in Him and in His promises. But how amidst such clamor and confusion?

Simply decide to cast your cares on Him, if only for the moment, by climbing into His Shepherd’s lap to look and loiter and listen. And if you have no energy to climb up, then just lift your arms and ask Him to pick you up. And if you haven’t the strength even for that, only raise your eyes toward Him and you will soon find your sanity restored as you behold His love for you. Ask Him earnestly to let you see it afresh, for perhaps you have been temporarily blinded from recognizing it.

Stop everything; cease just for this minute from all worry, anxiety, fear and anger. Forget the past and do not look toward the future. Focus only on this moment right now, as if you knew it would be your last, as if it were the very one to lead you into eternity. Inhale like fresh air the powerful promises of God’s Word. Soak in their grace and drink in their healing, keeping your eyes fixed on Jesus’ face. Can you see Him longing for you? Exhale every distraction, conflict and uncertainty of this world. Then listen... What is He saying to you right now? Wait for it, then let your soul rest in it, and let go of everything else. Rest in the grace of this present moment and in His strong, sure arms. Let Him take care of you, wounded one, for you are His beloved, and He longs to tend your broken and needy heart.

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
    my hope comes from Him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
    He is my fortress, I will not be shaken."
~ Psalm 62:5-6

"The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I called to the LORD, who is worthy of praise,
    and I have been saved from my enemies.
The cords of death entangled me;
    the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
    the snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called to the LORD;
    I cried to my God for help.
From His temple He heard my voice;
    my cry came before Him, into His ears...
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
    He drew me out of deep waters.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
    from my foes, who were too strong for me.
They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
    but the LORD was my support.
He brought me out into a spacious place;
    He rescued me because He delighted in me."
~ Psalm 18:2-6,16-19

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf..."
~ Hebrews 6:19-20a
Chris Thomas May 2017
"A patient man bides his time,"
Theodore tells the man in the mirror
Tomorrow, levees will break and stories will be told
Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers

Livelihoods will be threatened
And remorse will fall by the wayside
He watches as icicles on the awning melt away
"Warmer every day," he thinks.

He hangs up his scarf and overcoat
The way a simple man, with complex demons, would
Wants evolve into needs, all while anchors decay
And it unsettles a once-settled man

To think of the quality of glove necessary
To hold onto the wagon in this day and age
So Theodore pulls the door to,
Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to ride in peace and pieces

He watches her from across the courtyard
"Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he mutters
It seems to him as if the snow dissipates
Just from the warmth in her steady gait

He slides open the dresser drawer
A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends
There, amidst all the corroded memories
Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished

"And a lonely man drinks his wine,"
Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable
For there is a time when a father stops teaching
And a place where the sins stop searching

A last breath is deeply inhaled
But will never again find its escape
Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor,
A simple man, finally free of complex demons
This piece is about hopelessness.
The Path

9 September 2018

Dedicated to Joanne Harrison

To leave the stage of things gone past ,
Accept new roles, not coward’s task.
Every step new ways show,
New life in fresh winds blow.
Lift your sails, dare to live,
None have more than you to give.
Future is a writer’s dream,
Place to fill every dream.
Drop the anchors, raise the jib.
Time for truth, not other’s fib.
Future is a fantasy,
Yours to write, yours to free.
Every move a new path shows,
Every line a chance to glow.
Bring your loved along with you.
You can do,  you will to do.

B. Whittaker
Shang Feb 10
I love your smile.
the way your soul
anchors truth deep
inside my stomach's
pit, tying knots in
doubt from end to end.

I like the colors of the wind that
swirl down from your shoulder
to your hand.

I love the unnoticed things.
    the way your cheeks glisten,
     reflecting the early,
  untamed light.

I like your voice.
   the permanent war
  between heart and mind;
for as long as neither permit
a final kiss goodbye,
we may taste eternity--
breathing life into
morning's bare-skinned
waiting between
the teeth for a whisper
on pale-moonlight
to softly
introduce our lips
through a starry-eyed kiss.
I love you, forever.
Sarah Berube Oct 2017
Looking at someone who consumes you,
The color of their eyes the closest thing you have
To water in this desert.

Fish out of water
In this city of lost souls.
Their smile anchors your conscience.

The only thing that separates you
Is the center console and the
Same songs you always hear on the radio.

Wishing to listen to the
Songs that saved them.
Wishing that they would stay like
Saltwater in the ocean.

It is going to be ****
If I have to lose you in this
Place where no one leaves.
Daniel Long Dec 2018
Anchors slip away,
in a sea, calmed by
nightly solitude.

A puff of wind,
eases a bedroom
shade open.

A flake of dust,
drifts alone,
gently on.
This poem I wrote in high school years ago and haven't changed a word!
My poetry/short story website:
Neurons travel and wind
around your head like
draping tree branches, Christmas lights,
strings of tangled red yarn
weaving a possible

When the cords are
simply content with
remaining relatively still,
being with you
is like
sailing on smooth,
tranquil, clear blue waters
of a vast, magnificent
a blossomed sunset
in the distance
dripping on white, sandy shores
of an island of lost paradise
awaiting our arrival.

But when the cords
flail and twist, tying each other
into knots and cutting off
the clearness
and levelheadedness of thought,
being with you
is like
trying to hang on to
the back of a typhoon,
frigid black waters flailing,
crashing against
foamy, thick quicksand,
roars and curses of a
tyrant sea god
raging seas of water against
the skies,
rapidly expelling
hurtful, sharp anchors and lunging
them to the bottom
of our sandy beds.

And I wonder
what it would be like had I
possessed more
powerful features
as your sea goddess,
as the moon and stars
from above,
and the sandy beds
below that would
catch both
hurtful anchors and
salty tears
you let loose.

When loved ones around you are content, sometimes it feels like what you have then is enough.
Then sometimes when they abrupt with anger, sometimes you feel hopeless as to what plays out as a result.
maureen Mar 7
you're the certain type of blossom
that needs no such weeding out.
even sunrises and sunsets are enthralled
to make their way into your mouth.

while there's me who doesn't hold anchors
but keeps sinking deeper into the ground;
me who lights torches into flames
only to eventually blow them out.

i figured it takes a strong heart and soul
to look forward to rainbows during a downpour,
to see the stars through the thickest brume
and to endure life like it's just an adventure.

but i simply cannot see the world as perfectly as you
because rose-colored boy, no matter what i do,
we just can't all be like you.
Jade Nov 2018
We each bear our own weight
And our own stories.
Our difference is what makes us
Different from any other animal.
We are animals with unique minds
Trying to find minds to match our own.
We all bear the weight of our own wings.
Beautiful wings that can carry us to the
Edge of the sky.
The chains we make around ourselves are what keeps us grounded.
They're what holds us back.
We are creatures that need lights to follow in the dark,
If not a friend to lead us then
Our own mind as the only thing that we can really
We all need anchors to steady us,
To bring us back when we've fallen.
To remind us of who we were and who we now
We all need light.
We all want the world,
But we sometimes forget that every
Star has their own world.
So don't take theirs.
Make your own.
A poem about humanity.
Kewayne Wadley Oct 2018
I fell in love twice the first time.
First pinching myself assuring the initial first.
The initial first I realized how silent love was.
Seeing all but hearing nothing.
This was my first kiss.
Coming into contact with a quiver my lips
have never before felt.
Falling in love twice.
Certain that I am uncertain of nothing.
Learning to speak a new language.
Lips poked out.
Exposed to foreign land.
Overlooking my feet.
My ship never before having sailed.
Day turned to night.
My heart stead fast.
Crashing against the ripple of tides.
The experience of something new,
Tides pulled by the hull of rubber soles.
Our arms like anchors.
Our feet hesitant, losing all feeling of finding ground.
Our tongue the cargo set to provide entry 
into things no longer forbidden.
Night reconstructs day.
The initial first of two times I fell in love.
Eyes closed.
Our breath becoming more shallow,
Passing through the canal of each others mouths.
Overlooking the side of my nose against hers.
An anchor dropped.
Chain link after chain link, plunged deep
Far from the shore of everything I knew.
My shoes soaked.
The pavement with every reason to worry.
Forever fractured.
This anchor falling faster and faster.
Without worry of kink
He has coffee in his blood,
He dances with brown camels.
White wide paths of knives
Are curved deep among the mountain passes
Of ribs wrapped in soft desert of skin.

A tongue athlet and a sound alchemist,
A reluctant nomad with wheat hair,
Who's driven by his crazy-grooving heart
So rarely though so far.

Sometimes a train, sometimes a net,
Sometimes a piece of paper
Will take him.
But most often he is joining with genies
In their bottles. And spirits take him
To the caves, the deep blood-vessels.

He's silent mostly and his back is bent
Though he is tall.
He walks all cloaked in weary clothes
And idle anger both.
As it dictates him his prideful eagle's nose.

He bears also marks of roots,
Of runes, of flame, of anchors,
His bones look at you in their clutches
From beneath the skin
Of his thin fingers.

He builds the towers shaky,
Weak. And so, they're almost living,
He've found a cat in a banana
And lets it live inside his elbow.

The grey in northern sky is his.
He reached his fine hands
And left it there. He touched the sun
And then again. He put it in his lighter
With his fingertips.
So he occasionally has a light from the sun.

He prays to metal and walks two roads at once.
He tolls the tree from which he hails.
He hangs from a branch.
Or does he just stand
Downwords and his back is lying on
The branch on which he stands?

He buried his gold and digs it out only
For fire and jokes, for bitter and smoke.
A cow of three eyes and a bee on his blazen
Are joing in drawing.
beth stclair Dec 2018

the last leaves of autumn
have fallen like birds
floating on the breezes,
catching at the windows,
gathering the golds of the sun.


the first chill of winter
anchors its petals
to the earth, gathers
its frosts and its ice.


lady of the winter winds,
black waters that wait,
shimmering to a softened moon,
harbouring the drifting stars
like little boats.


sunken into dream
the night sky maps its path
blows into the corners of the wind
conjures its caverns and
dark caves.


i’ll never let go of your love
for my legs,
your love warm honey,
my yesterday’s caught
in tomorrows, sweetened
only by your lips,
i drift into your love-
i’m in love with your love.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
you sowed this **** into my brain...
why do you even "think"
that i want... you?
             i, want your children...
the meme-mutation is what i'm
   and there are plenty of useful idiots
to allow me to process
the intermediating processes
for: the sigma, "accomplishment";
which is unlike
what infected mushroom's -
  trance party track sounds like,
outside of my own head.
why do these people even
think i'm after their genes
of memes?
                i want, their infantile
                 i want to craft a
worthwhile curiosity,
on a canvas, that that they call
their gene replicas, children,
and... like why called me...
easy meat..
    i'm not here for these news' anchors...
i'm here for their children...
nibble nibble nibble chew chow
cow tow and main...
            prawn crackers...
ah... news anchors are
easy targets...
    slightly pointless
20x bulls eye honing devices...
it's their children...
     i want their children...
    i want their cognition
to become replica of wheelchair
bound infirmaries;
    oh... you know...
football and wrestling,
given the Qatar investment plan...
the whole sport "thing"
became a tad bit boring...
  had to resort to secondary sources
of entertainment;
children of news anchors?
the secondary, "last",
albeit, the best resort;
  required a list,
     to become reincarnated...
and revive a **** a heartlessness
of an reincarnation
  i.e.: what, a limited number
of people, to begin with?!
     so the rest is primitive "a.i."?
now i'm starting to think...
thank the blue indians
for their culinary innovations...
but when it comes
to their theology?
                           **** 'em;
did i advocate that?
if i did... within what pronoun
guarantee of advocacy?
playing the grammar card...
        which pronoun?
the plural singular,
or the singular plural,
or the gender neutral?
   thank you jean-paul sartre,
     for the...  "i"...

i simply love, this revised concept
of a unit...
           the revision clinging
to the royalist affirmation of pronouns...
i.e. 1 would say... so...
         and 1... would, so, will, do so.
**** the pronoun debate
in Canadian politics...
   if i have to resort to this?
then i will...
like your plain citizen...

     may "i" speak within
the confines, of the royal, one,
given the example:
   one might suppose...
to be the former, and the current,
highest, etiquette?

gender neutrality of pronouns...
last time i checked...
one was never allowed
pronoun stature...
    why not address this
conundrum, to begin with?!

oh, right... too late...
too many loud mouths
without a guillotine...
so, basically, a cow ****'s
worth of argumentation.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 20
Her mother was in danger of losing her life.
Weekend, Weekend Medicine is the main language,
soft prayer, patience, disciplined by the world,
step by step from our wealth.
Doctors do not spoil in the sun for one week,
not the flowers, there is not a cat in the market,
especially the world resource,
and finally people see.                                   It's very soft and it's quite crazy;
                                        Beautiful, the most beautiful white color in Prague,
                                        Prague is not a good carpet.
However, the shoes are empty.
Identify your favorite songs among them.
In particular, in his nonsense,
there is a danger of destroying an amazing man,
Maurice, Anthony Morris.                                                4. Friendship, Peace,
Humidity and Throat Water, food,                                    healthy food model,
                                                        nearby boy Play social music on Monday,
enjoy energy and peace from the open sea.
If bones do not die in the south of France.
We can say that it is protected.
                     Today, however, this new flight requires a new communication.
        I also married a child living in the country
who was dedicated to being smart and humane.
It is difficult to remain calm
if we can follow the online store.
You can create a game of events
around the dark month.                                  To avoid photo health problems,
damage and muscle spasms, color, food,
lungs and cell phones, contests, coats, wild loss,
daughter, 6 years, systems,  data, driving, water.
Prosperity, fun,           educational and invisible,
equally seven, and related to the great loss of seaside,
Kannarsisa Pura, Tempasa
sandy pink and devastating material,
began with various types of accomplishments.
At the same time, forget the favorite song
of a friend.                                    However, the benefits will not be repeated.
▼ stone is not comfortable with the city,
crazy, wild, beautiful, which is bad,
its third part, ****, links, jeans, pants,                              dark outside the feet,
unpleasant. He learns a lot of rich, green,
dodge, electric, iron, treatment, pressure,
prostitution, such as ham, feeding problem,
ice cream, blankets, toys,
Arpando sweets and sweets to play,
which is a subjective report smoke. . .
News, lost soul.                          Carl's Sky wants to write a book about April,
                                                    Sweet Dreams tourist attraction.
My enemies will always know the game,
participants will be able to create ideas
for presenting two hidden, hidden anchors.
Returning to God,  he establishes himself,
open for doubt. Due to their friends,
paraffin was worried about Global Times,
wolves, curiosity, nail care, safe shopping
with the magician's door              The heart of the pregnancy is still planning
to arrange the contract of color.        The fire destroyed the rain with respect.
Quinn Sep 2018
how do I love a family that failed to protect me?

a mother who refuses to advocate and stand up for me because she’s so entrenched in patriarchy that she can’t imagine holding her son accountable

a father who taught us every day that violence, manipulation, and fear were useful tools against the ones you love

a brother who I emulated and admired, who took a piece of me that I’ll never get back, who attacked me and almost killed me, and now asks for my forgiveness and friendship

a sister who I have failed, despite my only intention being the ability to show up for her

I find myself bound to this, the repression wearing off with age as anchors disregard gravity and float to the surface, bringing with them darkness dredged from the depths

I keep wondering when I will transform into the me that isn’t defined by this, but the internet keeps repeating that the only transition I’ll ever make is from victim to survivor

I wish there was a slate to wipe clean, instead I am left human with humans, people with stories like the one written above, flawed and unsure of how to go on
Star BG Feb 16
The mysterious remains,
on the journey.
Behind eye of a traveler.
Inside footsteps of the sage
Infused in wisdom of father wind.

The inexplicable anchors,
on the voyage
Behind the breath of dancer.
Inside eyes of a child,
Infused in scents of Mother Natures flowers.

The magic remains,
on odyssey of a soul.
Behind dreams of the heart
Inside sacred song of birds
Infused in a star stuttered sky.

The adventure remains,
in a humans pathway.
Behind an endearing smile.
Inside the hands of time
Infused in a love songs majesty.

The gift remains
in all of life
that's infused with love.
Inspired by Traveler  Thanks
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