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D Awanis Apr 2017
We were born in different shapes, colors, and size
Not a single embryo was able to decide their DNA or blood type
But that shouldn't make us less humans than the others
It's the diversity that makes us exquisite and beautiful

Break down the stereotype that beauty is fair skin,
that beauty is a skinny and blonde-haired lady
that beauty is wearing clothes with branded labels
that beauty is applying tons of foundation and mascara

Who are we to determine the standard of beauty, anyway?
While each of us is God's creativity,
authentically made by His hands

Who are we to judge God's taste in art, anyway?
While each of us is uniquely magnificent,
as His creations are never less than a masterpiece

Keep in mind that the real beauty lies within ourselves,
beneath our skin, between our thoughts, and inside our soul
Embrace your inner beauty
Umi May 2018
Inspiration, alike joy comes in different types,
It could be as simple as a little wallflower, or as complex as astrophysics, or even more than that, what counts is the source,
Allowing us poets, from a simple emotion, to develop a piece of art,
Allowing the artists, to express themselves within beautiful illustrations, each unique in style and shape, even if some parts may look as if they have been repeating themselves a couple of times,
A word of love can be enough after all, to set a lonely heart ablaze,
Such is the beauty of this earth we are living on, the beauty of being different from one another, but finding what ties us together is truly magnificent, with each difference may come a nice mutality,
Some look up to the sky, shining beyond the scene, the sun brightens up their mood, followed by the dearness of the dazzling white clouds,
Others may find a rainy day wonderful, the raindrops which can be interpreted as tears are but for them falling jewels from the heavens,
These are a few examples of what may birth inspiration, but it can be even smaller, like a small, delicate corn of dust.

~ Umi
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2017
and between you and me is the world

and between you and me is a language

and between you and me is culture

and between you and me is a war

and between you and me is religion

and between you and me is a wall

and between you and me is perception

and between you and me is ourselves
be with someone who starts a fire
brings the kindle
glows when they're around you
and brags about your warmth
not someone who retreats
when you crackle

be with someone who sinks deep
past the choppy surface
underneath your sarcasm
and still sees your worth
not someone whose scared
by your differences
DeadlyDarling Jan 20
Same place
Different faces
Same path
Different paces
Same promises
Different lips
Same heart
Different lovers
Deb Jones Dec 2018
I am light hearted and pretty spoken

My voice is musical and made for making others smile

I can sing and get others to sing with me

I am a writer and have published well

I am artistic in nature and love mixed media and simple charcoal too

I practice the Buddhist art of being. Being present in the moment

My mantras are centered on love and peace.

I cry easily. Over sad and happy events

But my dark side weighs heavy on me.

The things I know. The things I read and see.

I read about the depths of depravity.

I don’t follow on going stories.

I wait until the tale in all its horrors and the insane justification has come to an end

I do this so I have the reason, the means and the justice.

Only then do I feel better.

I need the justice

And I think.... my life, my past may never be scrubbed clean.
People have soiled me.

But there is justice in this world. Sometimes it take years. Decades even. But my purification settles like a mantle on my shoulders. It’s not covering me yet.
But one day it will

So I am soft and sweet to most people

But I don’t want anyone to see half the 1000s of kindle books I have.

And the last physical thing I want to do before my soul flies high and free is to be able to erase my browser.

Can you understand this?
Rowena Jan 7
separated by subtle differences-
left raw, untouched, and misunderstood
so I am going to stir my thoughts under my cover, security hood
I don't know how to approach a topic of conversation out of context
relationship missing administration codecs
sitting here mislead, pretty much rendered useless
uncomprehendable how we keep choosing to do this
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin

I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms

I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights

I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows

I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs

What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight

Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire

Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay

There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
aiMaureen Jan 3
Being different is not something that can be taught
The discomfort i feel when i walk into a room where no one looks like me
The stares coming from humans who look at me as "someone" from a different planet
The confidence they emit when they ask if my hair is real

Everyday is a struggle for me, i fight everyday to include myself in places, things that they say are "made for all"
The moment a brother leaves the house we hold our hearts in our hands and the moment they get home we heave a sigh of relief
They might not know it but it is the truth

Everything about me and my people tell a story
From the crown of our head to the sole of our feet
Our hair styles, features, languages, accents, clothings, traditions
I can't teach you how to be black
You want the fun parts not the ones that will make you question why you are being mistreated

Being black is not a subject that can be taught
Even if i add it to the school curriculum
You will never understand it or be it
Enhance yourself all you want but being black is more than that
The beauty of being alive is you have the chance to be you

You have the opportunity to celebrate the ones who are different
To celebrate the differences together with them
Squash your thirst to be something you're not and something you will never be
And hold our hands so we can create a world where we all can be
Krizhe Ming Sep 2018
Everything begins
As a blank slate
Just so is Life

Like an artwork or a masterpiece
Magnificient as it is
Like a poem or love song
Beautiful as it is
Begins in a blank slate
Just so is Life

With perfect melody
Of personalities and experiences
Variety of tunes
Of knowledge and skills
Colors burst in each blank of slate

Life will be
Tabula rasa, usually translated as 'blank slate' is a philosophical concept that means when a person is born, his mind is completely empty.
s Nov 2018
you sit on my back
like a chicken on an egg
with a mocking flap,
shuffle and a wiggle
tucked and stacked -
chuckle and a giggle.
both - joke and cuddle
- die as they're written down
but could I risk to memory -
that near perfect winter warmth ?

as I sit to study
our curiosities -
creating patterns & poems
of contradicting absurdities;
listening to the jugalbandi
of predictability & tease,
instigating the battle
between curiosity & belief,
logging how we manoeuver differences
with a pursued kind of ease -
love sits quiet,
amused but revealed,
its appetite appeased -
with a wholesome kind of meal.
Gerry James Jul 2018
He was a nineteen year old high school dropout.
He was black.
He wore his hair in dreads.
He had a few nose rings.
He wore gold chains and expensive clothes.
He went partying every night.
He got drunk on alcohol but his drug addiction was the biggest problem.
He had a lot of friends.
Because he was ‘cool’.
He was the ‘man’.

He was 18, finishing his final school year.
He was white.
He wore his hair very short.
He had large round glasses, sitting lopsided on his nose.
He wore a long sleeved shirt and trousers.
He studied hard, and he got good marks.
He played the cello in the school band.
But he was ***.
And so he didn’t have any friends.
But he had his family who he loved dear and who loved him back.
He was happy.

The differences between the two are unbelievable.
They are nothing alike; they are complete opposites.
Yet, they are human.
They walk the same streets, at different times.
They both live on the same planet, if not the same world.
They both have a right to live.
They both have people who love them, despite all they are.

It’s their differences that make Jay and Gray human.
Both of them.
Until Jay raised his gun and fired three times at Gray.
That’s when Gray was lost to humanity.
And Jay had lost his humanity.

Coz Jay shot in the chest a boy named Gray
Killed him without giving him any say,
The boy who did no wrong, but was ***,
With his life, he had to pay.
His family cried in despair and dismay,
For their loving son had been taken away,
And now they all sat in silence,
For Gray would never see another day.

For souls who have had their lives ripped apart, and those who rip their lives apart, we pray.
At least with Solemn Differences sing
Honouring Friends of Great Cheer celebrate
Your arm on her lap; The other on him
And with a Flash these Blue Knights consecrate
Jolly, so Potent turn Tan into Red
That pleasant alarm Blue Oracles see
And guess which Debate your Incarnate fed
Whether you are or whether not to be
Ready for Cause to the Next Big Event
Telling yourself to Inspiration run
Foresaw this Scope: Friendship and Teamwork's meant
But all of this time it was just for Fun.
Seriousness Adore, Someone licks the Tip
In your Patron; Which was really your lip.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Marie-Lyne Sep 2017
Nobody can make you feel unwanted nor sad
Because what you have felt this evening was sacred
Three souls playing, fighting, crying
As if I have witnessed a conversation of people
who understood how to make life a
living, a misery and a land where we could forget our differences
To become one in their little world of music
To witness magic
Endless shadows
To feel so happy
A sentiment of pure excstasy
To experience patience, rage , sadness in a second
Is  rare in our world
To experience pain, nostalgia and a piece of your
distant country
To close your eyes from all this madness
To see lights in Ouds
To witness a cozy litlle night filled with
nothing but candles
and people making you forget that your soul
is trapped into a body that constantly suffers
Our deepest selves have found a shelter
We have visited our loved ones
with our invisible wings
We've known what made us human
We've seen three persons merging
into one for the sake of music
We've seen them through moments of excstasy
but most of all hard and severe body movements
Giving life to a woodly instrument
Making the robotic and the technological a human for once
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
I, Now, Here, The Future, This Month, Next Door;
This Chair, The House Over There, Thus;
Sulphur, Spherical, Eighty-two, Angrily;
Brutus killed Caesar by stabbing Him.

Rules are sometimes broken. If I tell you
That and That are That, and That because There it is,
Carelessness leads to Referential failure;
Brutus caused Caesar to die.

Schizophrenia is curable;
It’s not true that Schizophrenia is curable.
The Key is in the box by the phone;
If that Man’s Father is my Father’s Son.

The tableau runs to unfortunate intention
In an attempt to form a logic of likelihood;
Windowless wrong meanings slide probably;
The needle must be somewhere in this room.

I have always been an idealist,
A closed tableau; therefore, inconsistent.
The constituents are then the same as before, except
The number march disappears; Brutus, too.

It is easy to generate bogus inconsistencies
By ignoring lexical ambiguities,
But maybe Truth itself with sword uplifted
Has degrees and blurred edges;

Happy, Expressive, Heavy, Unpleasant;
Square, Perfect, Smooth, Daily;
The differences lie in the emphasis alone,
Borderline cases and bizarre situations.
Having spent many weeks collecting 'random' numbers from bus tickets and etc they were systematically applied to shelves of books in my room in a pre-determined manner to locate and select words and phrases which I then assembled into this poem.
Samantha Nguyen Aug 2018
“for our political leaders,
may they resolve their differences
that plague our planet,” the speaker says.
(“lord hear our prayer,” everyone but me says.)
i look up at the priest.
he sits at the altar with his eyes closed.
is this so he can’t see my shaking hands?
does he think he can hide my pain?
“for those who have died,
may they find peace in heaven
with our lord god and jesus christ.”
(“lord hear our prayer,” is what i don’t say.)
they think they can hide my pain,
thinking things will get better.
but that doesn’t mean the pain is gone.
it’s just that no one can see it.
they never will.
“for those who starve for love
and have hunger for another soul,
may they no longer be lonely.”
(and i finally say, “lord hear our prayer.”)
i miss the taste of your lips
and feeling your arms around me.
but i will always be hungry and lonely.
my only companion will be loneliness.
it’s all my fault.
i made a million promises and mistakes.
but those broken promises and mistakes
is what makes up me now.
you gave to me and i can’t give back.
lord hear my prayer.
Anya Jul 2018
I am in a box
As I reach out
Touch the walls
This strange barrier that separates me
From the other
Anything external
A hand from the box adjacent to mine appears
Splayed against the wall
I reach out mine
The dark and light contrast
Like the Chinese symbol Ying and yang
Other clearly
Even a child could tell the difference
Who does it take to look past the differences?
Vicki Kralapp Sep 2018
I have a dream where I can wake
to freedom’s awesome sound,
where wars are but a memory past
and peace at last is found.

I picture people giving hope
to all who are in need,
and all the races of the world,
would join in word and deed.

A time will come when we will see
how we are all a part,
of one great universal plan
united by one heart.

No one will give a notice to
the color of our skin
and killing others for a faith;
religion’s greatest sin.

We’ve put aside our differences,
forgiving all our pasts
and live our lives in unity;  
one world, one faith at last.

For I believe this dream of peace,
is one all should recall:
Too oft we hold to what we want
until we've lost it all.

All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Jaslin Goh Mar 2018
I had high hopes you’d make a sincere lover
I had high hopes despite your dark past
I had high hopes you were determined to change
I had high hopes you understood what I meant by change
I had high hopes despite our differences
I had high hopes we could work something out
I have high hopes now I was truly biased
Inspired by Kodaline’s High Hopes. Another song to suit the mood: Skinny Love by Birdy. Happened to look through journal entries and decided to post this as part of my moving on process
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
so... i know that i will not be richer than
my parents...
they're heading off for two weeks
to Costa Rica,
while i'm heading back to Poland...
a tourist hellhole,
back to the town of my birth,
a ****-hole (once communism collapsed,
the steel industry collapsed)
to spend five masochistic weeks
with a neurotic grandmother,
who hums a lot,
a song i'm still to decipher...
and a dementia riddled grandfather,
to read a book,
       not drink, not use the internet:
on that point... thank ****!
i'll need about 5 weeks to forget how
**** youtube became in the past year!
it's not exactly a, "holiday"...
when i think of the tropics i think...
that one time in Kenya...
looking for shade...
why do these people travel
to the most obscene destinations
for a ******* suntan?
or some, other **** and *******?!
go somewhere colder...
i said to them... go to Norway...
you'll come back to England...
hey presto! the tropics!
instead, going to a tropical region,
and then experiencing holiday
blues, shell-shocked by the return
to the cold...
   it's like you're in an ice-bath one
minute... foo! into the sauna with
you....           eh?!
but i appreciate the offer...
it's not like enjoyed Kenya that much...
what, a, waste, of, time...
the macaque monkeys and
the pirate baboon were the only fun
bits staying at this tourist resort...
the rest?
bland bland blah blah...
i was so bored that i just pretended
to sleep most of the time...
just give me the ******* basics,
a book to read, long nights,
and two old people,
and enough recipes to cook for them...
i'll be fine...
    i'm not exactly the type
easily distracted like a cat might
be with a laser pointer...
5 weeks? a 3 volume book?
over 1000+ pages?
                   ****... it's more
than a holiday, it's a hiatus...
i can leave this garbage lewd language
behind and turn to the high-brow
19th century *******...
no, i think this time, i'll cut off
the internet completely,
i'll not buy credit...
i'll not drink for five weeks,
i'll certainly not ******* for five weeks...
i'll not smuggle in bottles
of ***** and drink and write
at the kitchen table during the night...
**** it, i'll make this classic...
i'll be armed with 70cl of liquor
for the trip,
that should do it,
the alcohol ought to run out by
the time i'm as Warsaw Western
so me cooking dinners for two old
people for a month...
obviously i'll take a book in English,
so i don't, "forget" the language...
Heidegger's ponderings VII - XI...
plus... i sleep better in the fellow
   i don't need alcohol to lullaby
   which is a nice relief...
one thing you find out,
after doing a self-imposed rehab...
you appetite comes back,
you actually eat three meals
a day...
given the day's genesis of
a coffee and 2 hour's worth of reading...
i guess that's why i wouldn't
bother going on holiday
to some exotic location,
sieving through two weeks of
a tourists' resort...
         who the **** expects to read,
on the beech?
  in Kenya i could hardly breathe
in the sun... shade shade... show me the shade!
i almost can't wait...
a hiatus mingling with a reading
  a neurotic grandmother
and a dementia prone grandfather...
match made in heaven...
  i just can't wait for the nights
were he attempts to wander out
from the apartment wearing his
pajamas... working on calming him
down and getting him back to bed...
oh, don't worry...
dementia isn't that bad...
it doesn't involve any
   hostile proteins... that eat the brain
away... he's just super-charged
with memories...
that, yes, that flaw of being
the cameo cinema floods
the old mind...
                           but i do like
the fact that my presence uplifts him...
i still feel pretty ****** not
bothering to read a book suggestion
he's nudging me to read...
  Leopold Tyrmand's
      book zły,
and i'm like... but when you die...
i won't have any meaningful association
with this country, or these people?
if you're into the vlogging scene
you'll know this...
tim pool / tim cast...
'they're just, economic migrants...
oh? so... that makes me less than
what is a, "genuine" migrant...
a refugee...
you know, the Kosovo refugees
that came to England in the late 1990s...
and were prominent around
the Ilford train-station?
they ****** off!
   but the economic migrants remained,
  just economic migrants...
yeah, because economic migrants
were not just the same old migrants
with not language skills they had to learn
as, muted 8 year old kids in
a primary school...
     oh no... economic migration is
privy to all the benefits of...
"other" migrations...
      oh yeah... i was ready, economically...
             i had it easy... all the way through,
having my *** smeared with
honey sitting on a laurel wreath!
we're just economic migrants...
           **** it... let's call Pol ***
and get this party started...
we can even groove out
to the brian jonestown massacre's
song fingertips...
                        while we're at it!
god... 5 weeks... no internet...
the rekindled fascination
with the texture of paper in my hands...
this is more than a holiday...
     this is a well earned hiatus;
where i'm going to, isn't my "home"...
all it is, is a memory...
of a child leaving it aged 8...
there is no longing of me for it...
i'm not some czesław miłosz...
who left with a longing...
   economic migration has that aspect
worth its worth...
you... have no emotional investment,
in either the place you left,
or the place you went to...
Poland gave birth to me,
but England isn't a home either...
    this... this language?
this isn't ownership of the British people,
since anyone can acquire it...
conquer it, without even wanting
an inch of the language's geographic
  i, i own, this, language...
because, it, is, mine!
this is my home...
            and sure as ****...
Poland is a vague recollection,
the day my grandparents die,
the die when i have no one to speak
Polak to...
                that will be my first death...
i'm, white, you see, i'm privileged,
i get to experience more than one death!
   i really have a vague sense
of identity...
         the best assumption i can
make of myself is... to be... rōnin;
i pledge no allegiance to either camps,
i have a certain critique of both...
i have my reasons...
but it's not like i'm going to tell people
what they are.
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