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Emily Nov 2018
Please
Attend
To
Inquiries
Eagerly,
Noticeably,
Creatively,
Effor­tlessly.
Mom
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start

Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell

All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special      she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same

As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home


Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ

Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT  for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position


I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your *******'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ******* winning

WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave


The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through  time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise

Your in the way of the wave, child
This.....  the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Written for and dedicated to my mother.. we've always been at odds. This entire scenario I wrote is hypothetical, but for some reason it comforts me to make up pep talks from her and this is my favorite one Ive come up with so far. So wherever you are mom...thank you for everything..this one is just for you.
Star BG Apr 25
If words a baseball be
well sticked by a poets rhyme
Than I be the writer divine
ready to catch their muse with sigh
to creatively toss to another’s hand of eye.

And as the tightly woven ball of verse under sun
it will travel to be home run.
Thanks all for inspiring me.
Shamamama helped me with the last line thanks
Jeremy Betts Apr 2018
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/                
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/  
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery, found the key/
To decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely, I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they wither away literally for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these works mold me into someone you could never be/
Go ahead
Laugh at me
I'm not the best at poetry
Creatively overfed

Staircases never trip or fall
But I do, even with the rails
Every twist and turn, I fail
In front of me stands a writer's block wall

Go ahead
Push me to the ground
Watch me not utter a single sound
I should quit to the voices in my head

Doors never give a **** or sigh
But I do, even with the hinges about
Every suppressed emotion, I lash out
In front of me stares bloodshot eyes

My mirror never notices my reflection
Although I see mine

Go ahead
Raise your voice at me
I'm not the best at speaking out loud
I prefer camouflaging in a crowd
Isolation is what they see

I don't make any sense,
But that's all right
No one even bats an eye
Imminent estranged suspense



Melody
8/7/19
Picture this...

The voices in your head haven't been very friendly lately and you're talking to inanimate objects. Everyone is worried sick about you being alone all of the time.

This scenario played in my head. It just came to me.
Izzy Dec 2018
I’m creatively uninspired
and I’m socially deprived
I barely exist beyond my thoughts
and if I don’t exist within society
It is as if I’m already dead
Eva Aloezos Aug 2018
I knew I was in love with writing,

because,
if give the choice of any one hypothetical dream coming true, I would be most inclined to choose being a known poet

admired by the sadly diminshed poets residing on planet earth
whose minds once gave birth
to acclaimed brilliant thoughts

things are now not so,
the once artistic glow
has been broken down by the corporate world
neon signs have wiped out campfires

all leaders are liars,
and all that follow, are misunderstood and overly tired

this is what led to a dream becoming a movement,
in my mysterious private world
I wish I was sent
to capture words
creatively.
Em MacKenzie Mar 29
Please tell me all your secrets,
I’ll listen so very intensely,
I know I could never beat this;
intrigue consumes me so immensely.
Tell me all your little stories
from your birth until today,
I swear there’s so much there for me,
not one is boring regardless of what you say.

I’m an aspiring archeologist
wishing to discover your bones
I’ll take detailed notes in a list,
from the gravel to the stones.
I’ll dig as deep as you permit,
carefully brushing away the dust,
gently admiring bit by bit,
proving I’m someone you can trust.

Please tell me all the thoughts in your head,
the ones before you sleep and while awake.
A novel that’s new each time I’ve read,
each detail I’ll comb and rake.
Speak every word that comes to mind,
I crave to step inside your brain,
I know there’s hidden corners for me to find,
and so much understanding left to gain.

I’m an aspiring architect
wishing to build you to the sky,
every support beam I’ll personally inspect,
protecting any damage low or high.
I’ll construct only to your designs
ensuring you’ll never break and never bust,
producing the math and drawing the lines,
to prove you’ll be the only thing to never rust.

Please tell me all your deepest fears
so I can prepare myself to stand toe to toe,
the ones that cause sleepless nights and tears,
those are my one and only foe.
Tell me about the world you see,
how it looks through your bright eyes,
so I can express it creatively,
and paint you the perfect skies.

I’m an aspiring starving artist
wishing to illustrate every aspect of you,
you can criticize and say I’m blinded by the mist,
but every poem and portrait will be true.
There’s no explaining this pure bliss,
but I’ll make up new words and colours if I must,
as you’re the only thing that I ever miss,
proving this is love not just lust.
robot mom Mar 27
It begins with a sketch. Then a thought.

A question: inquiring further to develop a solution.
Resolve an issue creatively: brainstorming, creative thinking, problem solving.
Trusting your gut, asking for help, and listening.

Thinking about people.
Who is this for? Where are they located?
How will they see it? How will it benefit them?
What is the impact? What is our desired outcome?

A return to expectations. How do they compare to reality?

Another question: do our goals line up?
Is the long term strategy supported by smaller plans?
And do we lift others up instead of pushing them down?
Hungry spirits lifted like the bounce-back of a fresh cake on your mind this, is my bakery,

Welcome in and here you can take your shoes off,
You can set up your canvas in the corner, and your easel wherever it fits, this is where we call home,

The aroma marries blueberry scones with your sweater and notepad, scribbling down your life story you take action and smile at the painter as she flicks your handsome grimace towards her red lipstick cup tilted in your direction,

Why I come here is only a dream to some, as it once was to me,
As I pull the fresh bread out of the oven I slide in a tray of cinnamon buns that lick my senses drastically,

One order at a time braces the love I have shared,
welcome in and take my aroma home with you, where you can feel accomplished and where the seed will bring others to express themselves creatively, it may seem silly, it may be exactly what you need,
Welcome, to my bakery.
Progression is a logic I don't understand, but I'm not practical on demand.

Creatively inventive, motivation is key. Encourages one to find a new me.

Brain out of remission not here nor there, I wonder if I find a new flare.

Something to capture, something to gain. The word progression is key again.

Resolutions made with admirable intent, creating time to circumvent.

To overcome a problem or difficulty, circumvent a word I use more recently.

Typically in a clever, surreptitious way, to come to a solution without repetition today.

— The End —