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Sam McCullough Feb 2013
I am a teenage introvert:

My bed is unkempt and I long for forgiveness - mainly from myself and possibly my mirror

I worship the cynical and complain how much I hate school - even though I hate when I stay home

My fingers are etching maps in my head, while I form an excuse to skip, even though I never do

I look for acceptance, anywhere. No one uses words anymore and the rooms are silent.

Miscommunication starts fights so I never speak up. Late nights on Netflix - succeeding at nothing

I am a teenage stereotype:

I save for concerts and buy cd’s. I long to drive someday and having the prospects of college. Filled with wanderlust I cry myself to sleep. Dreaming of not waking up - but getting home sick at home.

I am confused.
Srujani May 2022
YOU
Said forever isn't my word
never knew you would turn it into a sword
digging deeper until it hurts
Though our fights were the worse
cause there were actually never the fights.
But now i see this empty space,
it feels like an ultimate sway just to chase
I told myself it's over, good and enough
but then again i wish it was none

and as you comes by
all my thoughts flys away
as if like they never exist
all my compliants seals away
as if like they were meant to be
all my hurt heals away
as if like it have to be
I'm telling it that was good and enough
and it denys as if it is all rough.
craving and hoping for renewal
...
Francisco DH Dec 2012
You can take away the sun
So it won't shine to give warmth
You can take away the moon
So it won't calm the seas
You can take away the very air I breathe
So I can't draw in breath to live
But Don't take away my poems

You can beat me until purple shows
You can slap me till my skin is raw
You can shoot me in the heart
and rip it to sherds like it was made of paper
But don't take away my poems

My poems are my children
Made from my own mind
Made from my own hands
And even if one might be different from the other
They are still mine
My painful memories
My compliants about life
My sorrows
My joys

You can take away my identity
You can take away my very name
You can even make it that I don't live no more
and waste away in a field where I can't be found
But Don't take away my poems
Compliants about everything.
Time wasited eyes roll.
Isn't it just better to just do what,
Needs to be done without,
All the complaining.
#complaining #better #without
Ken Pepiton Jan 2022
Rich in time, at the distant shore
of Stix, laughing with the ferry men
and pall bearers, all retired, the gig is up.

There never was a Santa Claus,
and there never was a hell… that is,
an everlasting grief for failure to know
what no authorities allowed known,
even grown to full stature,
the things we agree
1798 was for some reason, poetically
important
now 2022

I hear Cordelia. What? "nothing, my lord."

With graven mudpies,
patty-caking clay and straw, straw
another story creature, or
character, entity, yes, an ity-ness
some being, whether operator or
operand, all opera is
some minds presenting das gestalt,
nicht whar?
A we.
Heavy, cold molasses heavy, very
worthy, measured weight, shipped,
dripped,
sent, in hope, one day,
the effect of a message in a bottle,
occurs, as any reader
sees another knowing for a reason,
hidden
upto, perhaps a true 151st preposition
aiming at an upper limit,

How high can mind go after body,
augmented with nets of ordered signals,

is laid to rest, in my future, all the books
I never wrote, drip from my fingers, I am
the trained brained qwerty and morse guy.

Ghee of Auvergne. But for the e, I remembered,
though you may know now this is after
I paid effectual prayer through AI,
to ality of Rheality, all the knowledge in the tree,

in the nut, that falls to the ground and grows,
morpheus, makes it symbolic as hell
and the eucharist hoc es pokemonic -****!
you're a scannable canticle cannibals' cambial
allusion .
cambium (n.)
1670s in botany,
"layer of tissue between the wood and the bark,"
from Late Latin cambium "exchange,"
from Latin cambiare "change" (see change (v.)).

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=cambial>


Are we under your skin, slow think, we
is who
we are thinking. Let ter by letter stepping on

the compliants subsurface, softer than sand,
that cave - null arbor, tree of null-ity
annul - ah, "to make to nothing,"
that fine a dust,
a locale thought, linked, in a beautiful way
I may show you some day, these silken threads
that tie me to a wombed man,
in the land down under,
distant thunder, no sense of doom, this is happy
summer rain,
come to settle dust and fill all the puddles and ponds,
wells and cisterns,
gullies and wadis and broad sandy beaches,
visible from space,
any augmented eye may see, we live
on the wreck of a world.

One shell told Ben Franklin that, he said
that to many sons, many sons,
has Father Ben, the Humanist,

I insist, a hume-man ist, a human being
sapient, the action in the term sapience,
using that, knowing
I am thinking in terms any who read may define,
sift to the essential Eu-clade, literal
silence in time stop state, patient waiting if this
is why I live,
something I may have done, I did to dare the liar
smite me, many's the time,
cliché click heels snap

I salute my double mind minions, characters
set in array, as suits in a soap opera rich guy's
closet, close, close
always be
closing, set, the scene then changes and now
matters
- was Plato a big blue ox?
Why were poets banished? Truly, we are dealing
in common knowledge now, the sheet let down
from heaven, pick and choose,
you cannot or can not, wrestle with God,
and walk away,
without a limp.

Distillery stories, lotta sittin' around, drinkin'
spirits from former years,
we was young and in heat of the moment, tuned
to TV news, because we could know, what was
goin' on, after reality included knowledge
of fusion energy in seventh grade science,
right, when confusion was a word in spell-
ing bees, hmmm
ding
weedy insights, like first grass in fields burned
last fall, tender shoots for tiny kids and lambs
and calves and colts, and coyotes and squirrels
and cotton tails, and quails.

How rich are we?

— The End —