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Wangui Jun 2017
I wear beads and  African bracelets for beauty. I forget why the people before me wore them. I wear them with pride not because I earned them but because I simply look beautiful. Beautiful!? What does that even mean? My Nana has scars on her body. She shows them to me with pride. Narrates stories of the war in the past like an action movie only she didn't have a gun only bows and poisonous arrows. The missing teeth in her mouth causes her to spit almost every second she talks. But this embarrassment is only felt by me. She is proud of the hole in her mouth. Suddenly I feel the urge to remove my African beads. They have no meaning only that they are African and I am and so am entitled. But I have done nothing for my heritage. Not even fight for it. Slowly it's being forgotten and people are crossing over without a care in the world. 'To civilisation' we say.  'For the good of the people' we say. But is it? We were a community wrong as we were to circumcise women, marry them off at an early age, burn the wrong... We were a community. We loved each other. We cared. We taught our children how to feel and be the earth. We taught our children to respect the earth and in return the earth blesses us with herbs to cure. What did they call it? Aaah yes 'witchcraft'. We were not animals who forget their children in  pit latrines or by the river side just because we cannot afford them or don't want them. We cared not of individualism because together we grew in spirit, body and soul. It was not backward it was culture. And culture is flexible. It can change but can never be terminated. It is not a shoe that when you grow out of  you throw and buy another.
And so I am not telling you to go back to your roots because if am quite honest you were never in it. Rather embrace it. See how 'civilised' you will feel then.

yours
The Red_Head
Shin Dec 2013
I don't know how to write happy poems
because I don't really believe in them.
I thought angst would die with adolescence,
but alas I can still feel its cold dint.

Perhaps like virginity this goes too;
no longer a creep standing idly by.
Plastic smiles taped to our cardboard faces
and yours alone I felt the need to prise.

That's okay, because the teenaged rosebud
that we claim to be so very unique
is beginning to wither, can't you see?
And now it's the thorns society seeks.

So look out over yonder cityscape.
Your mask shall be shed only by the moon.
Until then, a cartographer of love;
yours that is, we'll still pathetically swoon.
Mary Alexander Dec 2017
i thought about you today.
quite a ****** experience, to be honest.
the iron box full of
sick confessionals that is your heart
made me squint at the wall in front of me.
my pen stopped writing and fell
down my frayed scrap of paper
like a raindrop on a car window, and
i felt like a child confronted by a nasty bug.
picturing your face.
im still staring at the wall wondering
if these thoughts deserve any
complex, wrinkled thesaurus found words.
i frown as i notice a ***** in the paint.
they dont.
Dr zik Mar 2015
You are in my conscious, hope, unconscious, wish, doubt
Your existence unshakable, hidden, obvious
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
Hidden in the core of heart, Owner, Tenant You!
Your Messenger has granted me such a caring light
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
You are with me O’ my Lord! soul speech is You!
Send is You receive is You, dealt and deal is You!
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
A call arose in my heart; go towards the Lord!
A wondrous way started: soul; attracted by You!'
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
You made me conscious of day; it’s prime of life
You are recognizer Lord; sign and soul is You!
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
To my mind there is only You; so seeking You!
How could I lose my Lord? Where? nowhere You?
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
I am feeling felt is You; deal and done is You!
I am fan and fun is You; all and One is You!
                                         Start is You and end is You, yes and no is You!
A translation of my own poem written in Urdu language. The name of book is "RAH TAKTI AANKH (راہ تکتی آنکھ)"
Umi Aug 2018
Tell your tale to the wind,
Be scattered across the sky, sing without ever being rewarded,
The falling of the leafs may be a sign of change, a warning of colder times crossing your path in this loitering darkness which takes over,
Allure is the thought of hope guiding, leading, escorting you through the misery of your own conscious, out to a far more pleasant world.
Wretched, you fight on as it slowly slips away, loses its strengh,
It is heartbreaking to watch them trying to get back, not flinching despite their wounds and scars they carry from the river of time,
Stained in crimson at last the flower petals of the falling season, reflect upon death repeatedly, with each one falling the soil cries out.
Take a dance with me in this distorted somber dark there is nothing to be sad about, the fate to be forgotten is the fate of every face, one day,
They wither over like the roses during autumn, fall from grace alike the petals of the sunflowers when their time to leave for the next generation has come, or alike the dandelions scattering their seeds,
But most importantly, is to not forget that whilst existing you can make a change, for yourself, for the better, for others,
Maybe you are their light their flower of a spring dream.
Even if humans continue to live wretchedly,
Living, is what I find very beautiful.

~ Umi
Don't cross the border of the conscious too early, fall when the time to wither has come.
Tammy M Darby Mar 2017
Drunk with madness and spirits
With the devil, they whirl

Dressed in daggers pockets ring with coin
The skies feared the words of the night birds’ song
The cold brook whispered of blood on the rocks
The half-moon bowed to the Lord of dark

Hand in hand with the Horned God dance
Frenzied and ensnared in evils trance
Kneel to him who fears the touch of light
So passed the willing victims
And their souls lept high

Wayward souls of the conscious world
Drunk with madness and spirits
With the devil, they whirl

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Mar. 13, 2017
All Material Stored in Author base
Carlos Reyes Dec 2014
The reflection of the mirror
is not what i see
It lacks depth and dimension
You cant see what i see.
i dont need to reach into the mirror to touch what i see.
I can simply touch what i see.
Dont be displeased by what you see
know that i love you dispite what you see.
Because what i see. Is much more than just a reflection of what you see.
Daisy Vallely Mar 2017
I observe you, infatuated with your subtle mysticism.
My eyes lay on your verdant beds like a swallow tail butterfly
dancing to the melody of your vibrations.
I feel you breathe with me.
I admire your crystal garden,
dripping down your coiled vines.
In each leaf, a reflection of your life.
Your origin is you as much as it is me.
We are sister and brother.
We are God.
Together we transcend.
Together, we become one entity as we experience
the beauty of consciousness.
You are my natural friend.
You thrive and stretch your veins outward
to kiss the hands that caress you.

Alive,
with me,
We coexist fluenty
Julio is the plant in my roommates room. He's a a beautiful hanging *** full of plant. We hang crystals on the stems, referring to "crystal garden"
September Roses Jun 2018
You're nervous
A bit of a wreck
But you never fail to smile at yourself when you mess up
As you always do

You're damaged
That much is clear
But your smooth laugh puts the whole room at ease
No matter how scarcely it surfaces

You've been hurt by everyone
Yourself included
But you'd rather die
Than put someone down
Because you truly believe every achievement is worth all the stars in the sky

You're quiet
Sometimes it's a little annoying
But who can blame you
You mean no harm

You're self conscious
I mean arent we all
But you put everyone else back together so they cant resist to love themselves a little more
No matter how much
You
This ******
******
Boy

Hate yourself
Umi May 2018
Hey do you see me, I am on the side of the road,
I am forgotten yet I was part of this street long ago, now I am but a little figment of imagination, yet I am not none existent at all.
Do you want to talk to me or are you losing your mind ?
Take me with you, I will be your backup, your solid motivation,
Fragments of feelings are a fading memory which you seem to fail to remember, then wouldn't it make sense to keep them not as dearly,
Maybe if you were alike me, stop thinking and start being free,
A clear white mind with nothing to fear, empty with nothing to hear,
They are gone they can't fade away, a hollow heart has nothing to say
You are like me now isn't that nice, you have broken free from all lies,
Now like a little rock, light enough to be carried by the wind, you wander aimlessly through this world, isolated from humanity,
It is like they don't even understand that you are there, it is likely they don't care of your fate, nor do they seem to worry of what happened.
But don't worry either, talk to me, your little figment of imagination,
Because now you are like me and know what I feel like..
You are but a little rock on the side of the road.

~ Umi
Pandaboy May 2
It
was not the reality,
I was unwilling to trace back.
Ignoring the last scene
forgetting where I have been
afraid of fear, surviving in the dark.
Though all it took was a moment of serene.
After all darkness just needs a little spark.
The Poem goes by the name “ The Satori “ , which in Japanese refers to sudden growth or awakening by insight . The poem starts with feelings of pessimism followed by a subtle trigger .. Thanks to Thomas gray for inspiring me to use the word "serene" .
Born Sep 2018
Walking by the railway trucks
Thinking to myself
Is it right to believe in right and wrong?
Is this where I belong?

The atmosphere is a bit nostalgic today
I surrender praise and worship song plays
Everything else just levels to the latitude

A moment to be savored

But my reality fought for its existence
As if it was being forgotten
The wind blows
and it all dawns
that the thorn still grows

Felt like a pinch into reality
a discarded memory crawling into my brain
these are the days that made me
Or sometimes broke me
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
forgiveness not by epiphany or stealth
but slow dawning through pain's night
thorny ever-conscious struggle for love
which suddenly breaks on wings of light
"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night."  
~ Khaled Hosseini
Poetic T Dec 2018
If time is consious
      Are we
but a fleeting
          Thought.

Yet to fade into obscurity.

Or are we a
           conclusion
Of repeated ideas,
That just need
         to be tweaked.
Brain, brain go away
Don't want to listen one more day
Already lonely and afraid
Feel insecure and full of shame

Brain, brain don't act this way
You're always angry; Filled with hate
You know we're joined; Can't separate
You're punching yourself in the face

Brain, brain what can I say
To make it so you see things straight
Don't know how much more I can take
Of constant warring and debate

Brain, brain it's getting late
This journey's not some endless race
Life's flying by and at this pace
Forget a win; Not gonna place

Brain, brain let's medicate
I'll feed you drugs and we'll sedate
The only way to mitigate
Discrepancies we generate

Brain, brain we sadly waste
This outcome feels like it was fate
But never was there a sealed date
Fulfilling what we self-create

Brain, brain so much we faced
Success so close could almost taste
Instead our tail we always chased
We'll die alone sad and disgraced
Written: March 6, 2019

All rights reserved.
[Iambic Tetrameter format]
larry Nov 2018
I always have these **** thoughts some I even fought so they would not reach the surface of my light, I grew as a person and finally stretched my wings to fly, but I'm thinking my heart feel like a broken car (used, and passed down), it hurts to express these feeling that only bring negativity into my life , I forbid myself to see those sides again  I wasn't made to be thrown in someone arms and shine bright like a candles pure light . I've held myself from being torn apart, I'm a seed in the soil waiting to sprout and feel the rays of the sun just so I can bloom and be what I've always wanted to be, the power that courses within is sheltering me from the world. what is the definition of shelter? if everything that gets thrown at me pierces my skin and leave me marks I always have to remember. I said farewell to the scars as I simply laid in a supine position and took in everything that was great at the moment and slowly drifted away from all this hurt and became nothing but blank.
Quest Aug 2018
Birds in an open cage
I’m outraged they aren’t outraged
They’re happy to be enslaved
They have the minds of slaves
Chirp, chirp, on demand
when the master commands!
They holler and stomp their feet joyfully.
Insane, like they have pea-sized brains.

They clip off their own wings
They don’t want to be free!
Jesse stillwater Jun 2018
a breath of fresh air
tickles still-waters
a lone swan's quill
let fall, takes flight
  carpe  diem ―
nigh weightless,
buoyantly skitters
across the water,
laissez faire;
barely dimpling
the shallow peace
on a lake in the wood

a wild feather's
mindless pirouettes
emanate from
the steeping silence
lapping  its
superficial  refection  

the true nature
of wildness,
unspoken freedom,
an untamed
wilder – ness
skims the skinny waters
seeking their own level;
leaving no trace
of  ever being  containable
 
like a breath of fresh air
reinvigorates
unconquerable souls
touching in the
conscious moment ―
a gentle passing breeze
arousing a rogue gust


Jesse Stillwater

01    June   2018
Thank you for stopping to read my soul scribbles :)
I am the tunnel
You are the light
Don’t lead with spite
Guide me through tonight
We'll make it in time

-JCM-
Anya Sep 2018
When someone praises me
I'm like a deer
under headlights
Of course I'm delighted
beaming,
even
But I really don't know-
how to respond
...
Do I brush it off?
Act like it's
not a big deal
whether or not
it really is
And move on
to another
subject?
...
Do I just stay quiet
Look down shyly,
and smile?
Or just let the conversation
pass me by?
...
Do I adamantly
reject it?
Refuse, and insist
to the point
that the person
before me
ends up
fighting with me
about
it?
...
Do I roll with it,
faking non-existent
confidence?
Owning up to it,
sometimes
in a joking manner?
...
Do I immediately
switch the topic
to praising
the one
who praised me?
Or have them talk
about themselves
to turn
the
attention from me?
...
Or, do I just smile
large and wide
and thank
the person?
...
I don't know
and it irritates me
that I can even have trouble
with something
as lovely
as a compliment
...
It's not
negative
hurtful
or even
a criticism
...
So why does it
bother me?
...
Maybe
...
I care too much
about what others
think of
me
Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
Sandwiched in layers of liquid crystal display,
Encased in vats of plastic,
                          
                            we
Voyaging in data-spheres, plumes of digital play.

Mindless,
         In the soup of silicone,
                            
                            all
Myt­h-makers,
         Pouring over electro-spawned
         networks,
                            
                            fall
Workers,
          In the buzz of bits and bytes, of
          megabytes and terabytes,
                            
                            down
Everyone
          Far from the wood, the brine, the
          mud that caked us,
          In tighter and tighter
          digitised  projections,
                            
                            click!
‘Like me’,
‘Share me’,
‘Leave your comments.’

Messages smoothed out in polymers,
Beyond reproductions of ourselves,

                           enter:

Deeper, delving in the mire of dream-conscious,

Now a waking voice,
          Hardened, digitised, recorded in
          bubbles, in drives, in clouds:
                        
Numb numbers of numbers numb,
                          mirror.

          A platform slotted home:
The motherboard!
          To record the echo in the hollow
          of our Being.
Wrote this a while back. It was published in The Tunnel Magazine, which was great. Anyway, hope it gets a wider audience.
Pandaboy May 2
My posture is straight and arms on the wheel
but eyes on the rear with a guilt feel.
Imagining it different
where I could have been.

Out came the noise of a gentle breeze ,
leaning behind , I watched my thoughts.
While it tried to distract me
I sit back and observe, untying the knots.

It puts me on auto pilot,
day dreaming what could have been.
Did I imagine it differently ,
same canvas but a random scene ?

It fades with reality but lets us grow,
so make peace with it,  just let it go
Man and mistake, like string and twine
it is alright to repeat, do it twice.

Regretting my regrets , I put a smile on my face.
Not anymore, like red rags to a bull.
Througt potholes and traffic , I learned my pace.
I drove this far, so it is at least half full.
How far? Well that's a Disgrace .  :) :)

At least we came so far to at least read and write poems online :) .


Regrets of a Glass Half Full .

The idea conveyed here is to replace Regret with gratitude and look at things from a different perspective .
All it takes is a moment to fall back behind the energy and observe it,as put forward by Michael A singer in the book - The Untethered soul
Don Feb 12
every little word uttered,
always on my mind,
a simple, "i'm worried,"
always caught in my throat.
feels selfish, i can't stop,
it's all i know and wonder,
feels like sandpaper in my throat,
ice cubes on my fingers--shiver,
you can watch me struggle
and what would you call "hope?"
my voice is hoarse, my hands cold,
no ques, no clue,
will you show up though i 'never--"
pick up your social notes?
it's all i know to watch myself,
all i know to stutter about.
on guard but never intact,
all i ask is a little quiet by myself.
by myself, alone, i only cope.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over ******, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Do you understand
All of this is your fault
Vindication is all that I want
Except you’re still on my mind
Filling my head in every space for thoughts
Unexpectedly is how this started
Curiosity sparked an interest
Killing me as it lingers
Implicating me in guilt
Nothing can cure this conscious of mine
Going down with every thought
Suspiciously I clear my mind
Pencils and pens create my thoughts
Illustrated with curves that turn to letters
Variety that turns to words
Every one has a meaning and place
Yet I let them remain nameless
07/07/2017
julianna May 2018
What would you do if you saw a girl spending pennies and pearls on food?
She gobbles it up and then she barfs, which she thinks makes her feel good.
Later that night, with her conscious she'll fight as the guilt eats her for lunch
But she'll never tell of the story where of she went to after brunch.
lX0st Nov 2015
I'm fully aware
Of the sadness in your kiss,
But the softness of your lips
Makes it easy to bear.

And yes, I am conscious
That your kind hands are calloused,
But I will always hold them,
I will always be there.
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