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ThePoet Aug 2015
I don't wish
for myself to die,
but I wish that
I was never born.
I wouldn't die
after I'm broken,
but I'd be dead
before I'm torn.
Sandoval Jun 2017
I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval
fearfulpoet Aug 2018
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon

in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern

debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and master-bating our fantasy
where we want to be taken

knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)

will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag

we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching

besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)

asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one

tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction

could be northbound could be southbound
hell could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound

cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it

too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
Born Sep 2015
"Born"*
was created from lost hopes
dead dreams
unwritten tales
tough waves

"Born"
has magnitudes of words to be spoken
to be written
to be heard

"Borns"
profile is simple

If I told you my story*

You wouldn't be satisfied
You wouldn't understand it
you would seek more of it
and still beg me to stop narrating it
you won't bear the pains
but you will crave for the joys

"Born"
is most about reality, life
not much fiction
karin naude Jan 2014
thank god, above all
me, born in age of female equality evolution
in any other age
me, a slave
confined by financial, educational and social inequality
fueled by power deluded women-peons
leaving mountains and dungeons in passing
tears of blood
shed by disillusioned soul
instinctively knowing,
i can create my own destiny
life time spend achieving
smoothing the road for future daughters
BUT
satans has intervened once more
present daughters do not value
their priceless inheritance
many squander it, willingly
but few remain
with noble footing
instinctively calling out, to higher power
uneducated, still knowing
god exist, he is watching
and my inner strength comes from my creator
who created for a purpose
hail the king of kings
Allie Dotson Aug 2018
I was not born with fear
fear was put into me
I was not born with insecurities
society skewed my mind to believe In beauty

I'm was born free, curious and untrained from formal normalitys
why must an individual become
parallel
normal is varied
so why do we try to be alike
and we try to fit into a illusion that a society creates
a society that changes and grows
but how is so
people can't be different and unique
a double standarded we so apparently have to keep

we were born at different times and different hours
we are raised in different places and situations
do not let yourself be finalized by an acceptance
and become one of many of society's prisoners
pressure might turn coal into a diamond
but for others it shall break them
CA Guilfoyle Feb 2013
Today the sun was not found
only rain upon these meadows.
Thistle grew, poking through
black clouds of nightfall.
Dark wingless bird, shadow of stillness
in the quiet stars, so long ago forgiveness
and will it come, soon the dawn,
a day to breathe deeply lunged
or fly away these days born of green
ancient as a forest?
Gloria Bernard Sep 2014
When love is being born,
The world is announcing,
The blooming birth of love,
That's unstoppable, racing.

Love is like a storm,
Intruding into your heart,
Infuriating passions,
Building bridges inside.

But, sadly, sometimes...
It can't find its own home.
In the hearts of two people,
Where love shall be grown.

When two hearts don't meet,
One goes left, one goes right.
The power of love fades,
Dwelling deep, deep inside.
September, 2002
Mohamed Nasir Jul 2018
A baby born but not a grudge he bares;
Whose blood so clean and pure like mountain spring,
Yet unblemished by scandals, love affairs,
And not a pinch of what sorrow could bring.
And deep in sleep too young to know of love
And lust, of crime was done because of shame.
Of shame of ****** moments that drove
To dump him cold naked without a name.
He knows not now of being called outcast.
But hate would come and callous jibes would tear
His heart as he grows and knew his past.
Their wage of sin for decades he'll bear.
What Devine assignment on him seeing,
Like blissful saint in quiet contemplating.
Round and round this racing
Hound keeps running
Win or lose, there's good news coming.
Kind hearts play a part and soon
He will start a life worth living.
Now freedom is near, no more fear
His deliverance is clear to see.
Far away from that ruthless sport
Where many support it's industry.
He was born to run, not to race
Running for fun, not for bait.
He will live with those who really care
A lovely abode in which to share.
No sight of race tracks anywhere
Just fields where he is free to roam
He will live his life without a care
Free and safe in a place called home.
Many are working to end greyhound racing.
Christian Ek Aug 2015
The ax chips away at the skin of the wood
The moldy parts that are no longer good.
(Useless)
If the wood should keep me warm throughout the winter nights, I need it to be of the best quality.
As I do my dance around the fire and chant empowerment into my limited being.
I am blessed with the removal of obstacles.
Dead weight that I had carried.
(Renewal)
I can dance for myself, I can travel through time on my own and I can burn like the strong fire before me.
The uniVerse Sep 2015
Our birthplace is the heavens
we were born in the stars
from the tiny atoms
we became what we are.

How beautiful our complexity
how wonderfully made
how intrinsic our simplicity
how slowly we fade.

Watch us race across the skyline
watch us burn so bright
watch it records time
as we count down the light.

How many moons will pass
till we return to stardust
I'm too afraid to ask
yet return we still must.

For we are the universe
the Earth, Sun and Moon
everything will eventually pass
as soldiers die at noon.

*Eye for an eye
ashes to ashes
why do we cry?
everything passes
passes us by..
passengers of life...
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bk3gDZnlxVU/
French rose Feb 8
Why was I
BORN
Without my
CONSENT
Edit: i'm not complaining its just a thought that came to mind i am thankful for my life and God knows my purpose in life or i wouldnt be here at all also ( it was suppose to be funny but i guess some poeple didnt understand the joke but i just wanted to clear the misunderstanding)
zebra Mar 2018
i am a fallen star
bornless, motherless
gripped in a wet black screaming tunnel
hiding in pulsing
slippery walls
all red uterine tears
afraid to come out of her
hiding under mothers dark dress
i am a soaking wound in her
descended soul
born of blood and seed
a skull under pressure
****** by gravity
swallowing mud
beaten with sticks

cold grips cotton swabs and cloth
held upside down
and spanked

now i eat the world
and it digests me
always praying from whence i came
to a lord on some far off parametric edge
a glittering kingdom

i am no thing
stunned thoughtless
to discover
that in ******
we are closest to God

more then flesh cries
when lost in its swoon
we are
all halos
as
fire flares up the spine

and lost in paradise
we are found
in beauties eclipse
all burning moons
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
At four, you took my hand and pulled me to your bed,                                                            
your small form cuddling, curling, you urgently said,
"Tell me… tell me a story! Story, make it long",
I began to tell the story, the story of when you were born.

Drums and bugles, bubbles and balloons,
somersaulting clowns and calliope tunes,
you came out to meet them, on the day that you were born,
and they were there to greet you, through a January storm.

Lions and gorillas marched to military airs,
snowmen and snowwomen danced without a spring time care,
somewhere in the harbor, a tugboat played a note,
and all the while you smiled a smile, upon a birthday float.

Just like a circus troupe, we formed a great parade,
and sauntered to the birthing bed where your mother lay,
she picked you up, she held you, as close as close can be,
her hand in mine, she softly said, “Now... we are three.”

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
180827F

Children always want to know who their parents are; their thoughts, hopes, dreams, fears and actions at stages in their lives.
This poem, a poem in several parts (only the first part here), portrays a father for his child, through the manner in which the story of the child's birth is retold at various stages in their life together.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Have you ever thought why?
If give and take was the
ultimate measure in life
what did we give to be born
to gain the life in the first place?
Natalie!
at present I am present on a small isle,
which is so green genteel
to the eyes and the ayes,
you might include it
among yet unmastered possibilities,
living here forever.

indeed, the crescent beach so welcoming that
francais et l'anglais des anglaise is spoken here,
but actuality
has a way of intruding,
like
Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Bleu,
saying I know you,
even if it doesn’t

this breeze bearing load suggests your name
as a candidate for future, honours, an MBE,
a practiced curtsy for a queen,
whatever is he babbling about?

why I am presenting an outline for a screenplay that
will make you a little rich and somewhat fameuse
so you buy a house on the water,
party all night,
write in the miracle wonder of the late afternoon
on a summery isle,
modestly hungover

say!

where is this isle so sheltered,
where nooks are set aside for poets and drunks
to pub crawl, to stand on tables and Irish sing of
those things that poets endlessly babble?

so add :

come here and let us listen to all your possibilities
and cross just this one,
your presence here,
off the list
Ye evar 'eard oda' masta' inna swamps?
   E'a man hund wid 'is hands. . .take down a gator inna fide?
Yeah ah-boy, he a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

Issue you'a hundin' widout a ricel? You's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

Ain't nah trapping, nor'a line, no kedjewel, or time,
  -jussa' body inna swamp you's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.        

Swimmin' inna ***-eh got skin made-o' armah,
  -inna mud, inna grasses, eh-no teachin' it in classes,
strike wid juss a knife inna hand he's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

Issue you'a hundin' widout a ricel? You's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

No ricel, no Glock, no light out innna night,
  -jussa' body inna swamp you's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.

If you's can **** widout a ricel you's a Bone Alligator,
Bone Alligator
Bone Alligator.
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