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"consideration" poems
I must admit: I am unwilling to give even a hint of consideration to the thought of being anything, anyone other than that brilliant, briefly lit comet, hurtling toward home. It matters not where I land, or who takes pictures from the ground. This is only a trip. This is just a ride. So fleeting, so fiery, that you wouldn't want to pause to wonder what you look like up there, or else you might miss the very things that make your fires unforgettable and your blast burn true.
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Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 10:59 PM UTC
You Asked
I think it's crazy that they want me to type an essay over deforestation for a score or practice or to better my writing. That's 60 more minutes I'm wasting of my life. They say that sooner or later everything we do we will do with technology. So here I am now writing this essay that's supposed to be about deforestation and the effects and consequences. We are not discussing the issue. We are sitting in wooden chairs with our computers sitting on our wooden desks surrounded by wooden bookcases. So much irony right? I seem to be the only one to notice anyways. We come here seven hours a day, do hours of homework, "study" the information, aka memorize regurgitate then forget all of it. This is not teaching us. We are not learning anything useful to help us live. It's all numbers and words that do not matter to me. If anyone thinks that all us kids come to school to learn they're wrong and if they think that the teachers come to teach they're even more wrong. We come to pass class after class so we can leave and actually make something of ourselves. The teachers come because they have to for the money. They do not care about us or our feelings. They put all this pressure on us to be the best we can be which really means make a good grade. I've been silent for so long now. Not expressing my feelings towards much of anything. Also toward the reason I have to wake up at five every morning to be around people I do not even like. I feel as though the education system is unfair and cruel and does not take into consideration what the kids who go through this cycle everyday think. So that's what I think about deforestation.
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Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
deforestation
I think it's crazy that they want me to type an essay over deforestation for a score or practice or to better my writing. That's 60 more minutes I'm wasting of my life. They say that sooner or later everything we do we will do with technology. So here I am now writing this essay that's supposed to be about deforestation and the effects and consequences. We are not discussing the issue. We are sitting in wooden chairs with our computers sitting on our wooden desks surrounded by wooden bookcases. So much irony right? I seem to be the only one to notice anyways. We come here seven hours a day, do hours of homework, "study" the information, aka memorize regurgitate then forget all of it. This is not teaching us. We are not learning anything useful to help us live. It's all numbers and words that do not matter to me. If anyone thinks that all us kids come to school to learn they're wrong and if they think that the teachers come to teach they're even more wrong. We come to pass class after class so we can leave and actually make something of ourselves. The teachers come because they have to for the money. They do not care about us or our feelings. They put all this pressure on us to be the best we can be which really means make a good grade. I've been silent for so long now. Not expressing my feelings towards much of anything. Also toward the reason I have to wake up at five every morning to be around people I do not even like. I feel as though the education system is unfair and cruel and does not take into consideration what the kids who go through this cycle everyday think. So that's what I think about deforestation.
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6
Without consideration, without pity, without shame they have built great and high walls around me. And now I sit here and despair. I think of nothing else: this fate gnaws at my mind; for I had many things to do outside. Ah why did I not pay attention when they were building the walls. But I never heard any noise or sound of builders. Imperceptibly they shut me from the outside world.
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16.8k
Walls
There just isn't enough febreeze to rid the room of the haze Of a dog **** strong and silent It kind of puts you in a daze It kind of sneaks in, then it hits you An olfactory h-bomb in your face Meanwhile, he just lies there He's wiped the room with **** mace There is no middle ground here They always smell like something died Like he caught a squirrel in the garden Now, it's rotting his insides Dog farts, are a weapon That our army has not used In fact I told them in a letter In their reply, they were amused "We've tried to duplicate it" "A killer weapon... stops the heart" "But, our scientists just aren't able" "To reproduce a strong dog **** "Thank you for your consideration" "We'll let you know, if we succeed" "We agree with your kind letter" "dog farts escape and then they breed" Sometimes when a dog farts It makes a noise, he turns around "my god, I smell incredible" is the look comes from my hound So, if you've never smelled a dog **** And your dog just sneaks one out Do yourself a favour Do not feed him brussel sprouts.
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Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
Dog Farts
Today. I give up. I got up to you, I climbed all the stairs of the seven storeys, until I got there, where I forsook the costume and the mask, the desire and the expectancy. I left them all neatly folded at the door. You will find them in the morning when you will wake up and you will leave sleepy for the office. You probably won't put them into consideration. You'll step over "i miss you", over "i'd love to", and you''ll hit the little"why" in its belly while he slowly pulls your sleeve. Don't worry, I am better now. I forgot about the dimples and the mole. How does your voice sound? Your eyes... are they green or brown? That yellow t-shirt, that plaid shirt... I do not even care if you will see the pile waiting for you outside the door. It's not like you have not seen my backpack every time we met... Today I give up. Because I am not made of concrete, and that's how the breeze that you carry with you always unbalances me. Because I really know how to ride a bike and I do not need training wheels. Because I am not afraid. Because I have courage. And especially, because I have nothing to do here. It's empty and deserted. It's nothing. Today I quit.
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Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
twoseptember/ mother of all wounded
Many are called to it- a craft, an art, a way of life, but very few are chosen by it. Should ye prove thyself worthy, it will take you into consideration: it's called a discipline for a reason. Get to know it. Suffer for it. Impress it. Loyal disciples tend to gain blessings.
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Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
Discipline
fuel desperation, and so are valuable assets in the game of spinning chambers. one ***** is all it takes. you might not believe a person still wading through adolescence could harbor such malevolent intent. one slight is all it takes. age is barely even a consideration when haunted by the desire for revenge or need of self-preservation. one fragile moment is all it takes. fewer years simply equate to shallower perspective, exacerbating youthful impulsivity. one bullet is all it takes.
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Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
Closeted Apparitions
I Will Never Give Up on You   By: Miranda Martinez-Perez   I've  been to a place "they" would consider "the top," And it felt great... that was.. until I fell. It was a long way down. Would it hurt? I thought not; And I was wrong, cause it hurt like H*ll. I've hit rock bottom with an awful THUD. Took me a while to realize I was still alive. I wondered if it'd even be worth it to get back up.. Then pondered if I should just accept this is how I would die. But something inside of me wasn't ready to fail. I wasn't  ready to give up the fight. In my mental prison, I chose to make bail. I can't change my wrongs, but I can make them right. So I got up, though it took all that I had left inside, Went to that place that for so long I feared. I knew the first one with whom I had to make things right, that one was the one looking back in the mirror. "I'm sorry," I said, "your expectations were not too much. I admit I've just let myself get in the way. I never took it into consideration that I alone am enough. And all the extras in life were only for show and play. You are perfect, I love you, and I am going to change. I don't deserve for you to believe me, but I swear it's true." The response I got.. I never expected to hear MYSELF say.. That was, "I will never  give up on you."
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Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
I Will Never Give Up On You
The greatest challenge my nature presents: Love is harder to find Hate is easier to find Within myself and others Is rejection different for me? Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again The intention is clear The existence of my attraction Is grotesque beyond redemption I thought I loved you... When appreciation comes my way It's superficiality amuses me Because I know all that needs to happen Is breaking down the wall to my mind Or unlocking the door to my heart And those appreciators will transform into detractors Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel Not finding women gross frustrates me Because I have no reference point For why people hate me so much Which provides a reference point For why I hate myself so much It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation But there's no way people could understand The daily subtle nuances Why should they? I don't constantly consider their lives either Even if someone tried to comprehend my life I'm not sure it's possible I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed I display my emotions Disgust I shroud my emotions Indifference I **** my emotions Hatred Is there no escape? Even with sanctuaries along the way Life feels like Everybody swims in the ocean While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone? Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator It gets so cold and dark down here I forage for crumbs only at night Mortally afraid of human contact For I know that the boot follows the light And why not? In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion How much consideration should a real human show to a lowly maggot like me When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
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Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
Loneliness
The greatest challenge my nature presents: Love is harder to find Hate is easier to find Within myself and others Is rejection different for me? Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again The intention is clear The existence of my attraction Is grotesque beyond redemption I thought I loved you... When appreciation comes my way It's superficiality amuses me Because I know all that needs to happen Is breaking down the wall to my mind Or unlocking the door to my heart And those appreciators will transform into detractors Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel Not finding women gross frustrates me Because I have no reference point For why people hate me so much Which provides a reference point For why I hate myself so much It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation But there's no way people could understand The daily subtle nuances Why should they? I don't constantly consider their lives either Even if someone tried to comprehend my life I'm not sure it's possible I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed I display my emotions Disgust I shroud my emotions Indifference I **** my emotions Hatred Is there no escape? Even with sanctuaries along the way Life feels like Everybody swims in the ocean While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone? Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator It gets so cold and dark down here I forage for crumbs only at night Mortally afraid of human contact For I know that the boot follows the light And why not? In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion How much consideration should a real human show to a lowly maggot like me When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
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54
i never wanted to kiss her lips, just hold her hand maybe kiss her cheeks because she suited a gentler kind of treatment something softer and more delicate, quiet; quieter than the constant raging storms inside my stomach, inside my mind (never my heart) those plump lips she bit them raw when nervous, and they swelled blossomed ruby as she looked at me like she knew this wouldn't last her eyes remained doughy and mellow when i met her gaze. my smile stung as it stretched the lines left by winter's bite and split them open once more. she brushed the blood beads away with her fingertips with a touch so reverent that, for a moment, i thought maybe she felt as though she were touching rosary beads instead, and i held my breath to stop myself from chasing her touch, and pressing her down into the mattress unholy, chasing pleasure. both agnostic, but she was much more pure than i; chivalries always in mind, i wanted to preserve that. there's always been something inside me that presses down the animalistic urges with a conscience caught on consideration and something akin to courtly love- i wanted to woo her before i pursued her but i never got further than pressing my lips to her forehead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. i laced my fingers with hers but avoided tying any knots. i am not a man to be bound, too free-spirit, too restless, too claustrophobic; a few months in and i was choking on the ghost of a future; she kissed me first and i suffocated on the phantom of her hopes for us: a future that didn't yet exist, and i didn't want it to. i never kissed her; i never let her kiss me again. we tangled fingers over the duvet the television a background noise to our unsteady breaths, shallower than my love for her i enjoyed her quiet affection like one might enjoy curling into a blanket when cold and ill. i wanted her smiles, i wanted to fill her memories with goodness so that she never need feel hopeless, like all men are the same so that she had something to smile about when she looked back on us; once the bitterness of our breakup had left her mouth- whenever that eventual end would be- she could savour the taste of our sweet, slow-burn, love affair and be reminded that not all love is true love, but nor is all love heart breaking i broke her heart anyway. nobody ever taught me how cruel kindness could be.
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May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
slow burn
i never wanted to kiss her lips, just hold her hand maybe kiss her cheeks because she suited a gentler kind of treatment something softer and more delicate, quiet; quieter than the constant raging storms inside my stomach, inside my mind (never my heart) those plump lips she bit them raw when nervous, and they swelled blossomed ruby as she looked at me like she knew this wouldn't last her eyes remained doughy and mellow when i met her gaze. my smile stung as it stretched the lines left by winter's bite and split them open once more. she brushed the blood beads away with her fingertips with a touch so reverent that, for a moment, i thought maybe she felt as though she were touching rosary beads instead, and i held my breath to stop myself from chasing her touch, and pressing her down into the mattress unholy, chasing pleasure. both agnostic, but she was much more pure than i; chivalries always in mind, i wanted to preserve that. there's always been something inside me that presses down the animalistic urges with a conscience caught on consideration and something akin to courtly love- i wanted to woo her before i pursued her but i never got further than pressing my lips to her forehead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. i laced my fingers with hers but avoided tying any knots. i am not a man to be bound, too free-spirit, too restless, too claustrophobic; a few months in and i was choking on the ghost of a future; she kissed me first and i suffocated on the phantom of her hopes for us: a future that didn't yet exist, and i didn't want it to. i never kissed her; i never let her kiss me again. we tangled fingers over the duvet the television a background noise to our unsteady breaths, shallower than my love for her i enjoyed her quiet affection like one might enjoy curling into a blanket when cold and ill. i wanted her smiles, i wanted to fill her memories with goodness so that she never need feel hopeless, like all men are the same so that she had something to smile about when she looked back on us; once the bitterness of our breakup had left her mouth- whenever that eventual end would be- she could savour the taste of our sweet, slow-burn, love affair and be reminded that not all love is true love, but nor is all love heart breaking i broke her heart anyway. nobody ever taught me how cruel kindness could be.
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51
there was no way I could sleep last night traffic kept me awake all throughout the night trucks trundled down my street in an endless convoy they had no consideration for the noise they did employ I finally got to sleep at ten past four as the trucks ceased rolling past my door this afternoon I shall catch a few winks of sleep I shall curl up on the lounge and count sheep
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Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Truck Convoy
What is going on with this ****** up superiority? Discriminating because I am some kind of cultural minority Acting like you trust me when the two of us are together But when your friends come around you run off to something better To all of society you pretend you're not smoking your **** When you roll your joint you're high just like me Eating dinner with your parents you talk like a ****** On the weekends, though, you give in to teenage urging If only you would take off that mask and see, That when it comes down to it you're no different than me. We breathe the same air, though yours may cost more And when we go to school we walk through the same doors Maybe your hair is more blond And your nails are a little cleaner, Or you play fancy sports, So you look a little leaner I don't have a credit card, or hang out at the country club I work for what I want And am proud of my pay stubs So, have some consideration, it's not really that tough We all know your life is easy, but some people have it rough. If only we could learn that empathy is the goal Maybe you could act like you actually have a soul.
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Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Clever Rhymes About Adversity
All the qualities I require in a man of mine. Honesty, love, devotion, caring, kindness, Understanding, mercy, compassion, intelligence, Trust, cleanliness, faithfulness, sincerity, Strength, spirituality, confidence, optimistic, respect, Loyalty, pride, consideration, helpfulness, Generousity, friendliness, morals, safety, Responsibility, honor, truth, justice, fairness, Equality, peace, joy, harmony, happiness, Handsome, nice, worthy, deserving, tall, Innocent, charming, pleasant, polite, sweet, Thoughtful, sentimental, patient, complimenting, Affectionate, & noble. © Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
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Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
Ideal Man
Inertia the process of doing nothing Contradiction the art of jumping intellectual rope Intellectualism the active engagement in educated debate Spinning the result of which is dizziness Dizziness a state of uncertainty Debating the conversational to and fro Art is conversation nothing more Conversation a non productive but necessary social engagement Formal education Relative information specificity Consider the ****** lilies Consideration Debate Intelligence Conversation Inertia
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Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
Lilies
Say their names, my sisters and brothers taken They the ones society has forsaken In life nor death given consideration They come from around the world, every nation Their entire lives, denied humanity When will we see the end of insanity? What if we cared less about their chromosomes And welcomed them into our lives and homes? What if, instead of showing them scorn and hate We allowed them in life to participate? Maybe if we said their names while still alive Maybe if they were given a chance to thrive Maybe if in life their value not denied We'd not have to say their names when they have died
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Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 11:27 AM UTC
Say Their Names
Some people just can't handle driving Everybody goes mad on this road at one point or another The consideration is to keep the hatred within your own car There are tools to be utilized The escapism of music for one's health The catharsis of muttering to oneself Nobody should hold it against you If you scream inside your car They should understand If you wanted to express yourself outwardly You'd just flip them off The abbreviated visual version Of attempting to insert negativity into someone's life It's healthy to be hurt Your heart telling your mind that their hatred isn't normal It is now on you to let sleeping dogs lie And forgive those that trespass against us Humor is my exit off the frigid freeway Children in grown bodies Their clothes are too big on them Clearly confused about how to act Taking every side road that catches their attention That's funny enough for me I've never flipped anybody off on the road I learned from my father's story She gave him every excuse to be angry And he expressed that to her The intended effect was reached Her susceptible emotions were breached Leaving a wise man to question his own actions What was the point of that again? That's why I try to keep an even keel While sailing down the highway There will always be people Who honk at you for driving down the middle of the road Remember to let those sleeping dogs lie Or they'll be roadkill And it's not nice to laugh at little people But no one will know if it's from inside your car And you can cozy up to the comfort created By the signs on the road Warning those people They're driving in the wrong direction
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Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
Sign Language
Some people just can't handle driving Everybody goes mad on this road at one point or another The consideration is to keep the hatred within your own car There are tools to be utilized The escapism of music for one's health The catharsis of muttering to oneself Nobody should hold it against you If you scream inside your car They should understand If you wanted to express yourself outwardly You'd just flip them off The abbreviated visual version Of attempting to insert negativity into someone's life It's healthy to be hurt Your heart telling your mind that their hatred isn't normal It is now on you to let sleeping dogs lie And forgive those that trespass against us Humor is my exit off the frigid freeway Children in grown bodies Their clothes are too big on them Clearly confused about how to act Taking every side road that catches their attention That's funny enough for me I've never flipped anybody off on the road I learned from my father's story She gave him every excuse to be angry And he expressed that to her The intended effect was reached Her susceptible emotions were breached Leaving a wise man to question his own actions What was the point of that again? That's why I try to keep an even keel While sailing down the highway There will always be people Who honk at you for driving down the middle of the road Remember to let those sleeping dogs lie Or they'll be roadkill And it's not nice to laugh at little people But no one will know if it's from inside your car And you can cozy up to the comfort created By the signs on the road Warning those people They're driving in the wrong direction
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43
"Honestly? I'd just cover that up", he says Orion's not moving. Stars don't move. They may die, they may dim, they may traverse galaxies Change position in the night sky with the seasons Give me one. good. reason. To cover up my compass home, The one good thing, the one beautiful thing, On this scarred and wretched body? "We'll put Orion somewhere else, start over" You're not my mother, ripping out a new piercing Locking the door on a daughter and her father Drinking and dating and thinking "start over" My skin is just my skin, the moles and ink And decisions are mine to live in How dare you claim yourself an artist, yet break down your clientele, your canvas So Orion's not the problem, sir It's a debauched attitude toward station When I follow the stars tonight, I will tell them Needles have no consideration
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Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Everett Tattoo Emporium
If the "Twinflame", or what is better known as the "Soul Mate Theory" rings any truth, then I believe I have felt this, even within my own disarray of natural human emotion and connections. The "Love" emotion, in particular, defines the world "Soul Mate" to its truest definition, without question. I'm a true believer that I have/had or maybe still will encounter this sort of spirit and that any lifetime spent with such a kind soul was a lifetime of riches and happiness beyond what anything mad-made could deliver. I hope when we do find these people we let them them know and I hope they recognize this sort of bond as the most infinate form of respect and compliment. I never imagined my story being a love story, but if I prove to be, not as smart as I feel, that is a flaw I would endure in every lifetime, just for the benifit of Love and Friendship. When "THEY" say, you must love yourself, before you can love another, I like to quote Oscar Wilde, who said "To love thyself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." Take careful consideration to this. When you get to know yourself and I mean, REALLY get to know yourself. You learn not only your darkest fears, but you learn your most powerful comforts. You literally create a world that only exists from within. You are learning and loving yourself into an "inner beauty" so fascinating that modern "entertainments" become nothing more than mere distraction. You become your own best friend. This is the goal and perhaps the key to life. You can be homeless, unwanted, and completley alone in the world (or so it feels in dark hours) and still have a place to run to, when you close your eyes, you're already rich. Now add another person. Who can compete with yourself and know your every move. Every thought. Every intention. Every guilty pleasure. Imagine someone else, who knows you in such a way. What a concept. Its real. You just have to be patient. Take the time to love yourself. I'm not there, but I have an adventure of a lifetime awaiting me. How could I ever fear life, when life can be so beautiful. With this other person...you can see them, touch them. Conversate with them. Educate, learn and lean on them. You will never find that, until you know what you are looking for.
0
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
L▲VE
If the "Twinflame", or what is better known as the "Soul Mate Theory" rings any truth, then I believe I have felt this, even within my own disarray of natural human emotion and connections. The "Love" emotion, in particular, defines the world "Soul Mate" to its truest definition, without question. I'm a true believer that I have/had or maybe still will encounter this sort of spirit and that any lifetime spent with such a kind soul was a lifetime of riches and happiness beyond what anything mad-made could deliver. I hope when we do find these people we let them them know and I hope they recognize this sort of bond as the most infinate form of respect and compliment. I never imagined my story being a love story, but if I prove to be, not as smart as I feel, that is a flaw I would endure in every lifetime, just for the benifit of Love and Friendship. When "THEY" say, you must love yourself, before you can love another, I like to quote Oscar Wilde, who said "To love thyself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." Take careful consideration to this. When you get to know yourself and I mean, REALLY get to know yourself. You learn not only your darkest fears, but you learn your most powerful comforts. You literally create a world that only exists from within. You are learning and loving yourself into an "inner beauty" so fascinating that modern "entertainments" become nothing more than mere distraction. You become your own best friend. This is the goal and perhaps the key to life. You can be homeless, unwanted, and completley alone in the world (or so it feels in dark hours) and still have a place to run to, when you close your eyes, you're already rich. Now add another person. Who can compete with yourself and know your every move. Every thought. Every intention. Every guilty pleasure. Imagine someone else, who knows you in such a way. What a concept. Its real. You just have to be patient. Take the time to love yourself. I'm not there, but I have an adventure of a lifetime awaiting me. How could I ever fear life, when life can be so beautiful. With this other person...you can see them, touch them. Conversate with them. Educate, learn and lean on them. You will never find that, until you know what you are looking for.
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30
In the hours of cold morning mist Come schizophrenia and creativity's loving tryst Their offspring Irrational thoughts of course insist Madness is preferable to reality Often desired and endlessly pursued Come forth The golden hours of light The nebulous darkness Cowers with weakness and fright   Irrational thoughts laughing insist After much consideration Madness is preferable to reality But the night must have its say Its arrival announced by the falling of the day   Naughty children Irrational thoughts unyielding insist Madness is preferable to reality @ copyright Tammy M Darby October 21,  2018.
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Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
Madness is preferable to reality
In a fit of pique truths were written. In a moment of reflection all was deleted. Platitudes were written back instead. Who am I to speak of the dead? A wife was ungrateful with truth. Did a pen pal want what the sacred vows of marriage Make unacceptable realities? For whom would I have written? Who would it have pleased? Staring at a fresh e-mail in humbled wonderment that someone would give decent pretense to care I -safely back from war- now ask: what do you want to know? Do you really want to know? Is it my place to tell of seeing a man's insides on the outside of a vehicle who's occupants he unwittingly saved by stepping on the landmine instead? The mine splattered the survivors' vehicle in red. Is it my place to tell Of listening to the medic's confession? Hearing him speak of tasting the blood in the air like pennies on his tongue. There's a tale I haven't heard sung! I met my Shadow I embraced him so deeply that I As I had existed before Ceased to be. The naive child thinking it was Light The Predatory Survivor others (cowards!) may judge as Dark Were forged together Stronger perhaps Time will tell As the alloy of two selves is unified by a personal hell Cheering at outgoing steel rain Laughing after the whizzing of bullets is a memory Running, racing to donate more blood Mourning the fallen while bathed in the dim red glow of chem lights Watching honored corpses loaded in near darkness for their last helicopter flights Is this what you wanted to hear? Perhaps you knew. Perhaps you imagined you knew. Regardless For your consideration Thank you For your innocent Well-intentioned Beautifully petty Gloriously naive And honest letters Thank you. Truly
0
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
Dear PenPal,
In a fit of pique truths were written. In a moment of reflection all was deleted. Platitudes were written back instead. Who am I to speak of the dead? A wife was ungrateful with truth. Did a pen pal want what the sacred vows of marriage Make unacceptable realities? For whom would I have written? Who would it have pleased? Staring at a fresh e-mail in humbled wonderment that someone would give decent pretense to care I -safely back from war- now ask: what do you want to know? Do you really want to know? Is it my place to tell of seeing a man's insides on the outside of a vehicle who's occupants he unwittingly saved by stepping on the landmine instead? The mine splattered the survivors' vehicle in red. Is it my place to tell Of listening to the medic's confession? Hearing him speak of tasting the blood in the air like pennies on his tongue. There's a tale I haven't heard sung! I met my Shadow I embraced him so deeply that I As I had existed before Ceased to be. The naive child thinking it was Light The Predatory Survivor others (cowards!) may judge as Dark Were forged together Stronger perhaps Time will tell As the alloy of two selves is unified by a personal hell Cheering at outgoing steel rain Laughing after the whizzing of bullets is a memory Running, racing to donate more blood Mourning the fallen while bathed in the dim red glow of chem lights Watching honored corpses loaded in near darkness for their last helicopter flights Is this what you wanted to hear? Perhaps you knew. Perhaps you imagined you knew. Regardless For your consideration Thank you For your innocent Well-intentioned Beautifully petty Gloriously naive And honest letters Thank you. Truly
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52
I put up an advertisement "WANTED: A handsome man To play the villain of the tale." I was in earnest in this wail - My play is falling as it can Apart, in disestablishment. I didn't think you'd laugh or like My addition - "I don't need one Personally." Well, I don't, no, I don't need one, but if you'd show A wish for consideration, I'd love a hero on a fixed-gear bike.
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Jun 5, 2023
Jun 5, 2023 at 6:37 PM UTC
Wanted
step back, correct your own mistakes respect our mourning, don't deflect what you'll regret in the end you haven't only disrespected us, you've neglected taking into consideration my fathers wishes. take care of us being unaffected shows your carelessness. cause' we won't stick around forever, now remember never bring another man into this home. Its your house, but our home. why can't you ask yourself, what would dad think about this he is gone, but not a moment is forgotten. you've crossed a line, you can't come back from.
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Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
disrespect to the deceased
*I googled the word entertain, realised my mistake, made a decision to walk in wisdom and be kept safe, refusing to entertain fear; choosing to entertain faith.* entertain - ɛntəˈteɪn/ verb: 1. provide (someone) with amusement or enjoyment. 2. Give attention or consideration to (an idea or feeling). To: consider, give think about, contemplate, give thought to, bear in mind; *Antonym: REJECT!                                                 © Qwey.ku
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Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
Entertain is a verb