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Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
the first and the single greatest
discouragement from writing
always begins when people
ask you about money,
not necessarily that they want
money, but that they see
art as frivulous, something
to do on the side... and sure enough
most of art is done that way...
on the side... but then such art, what it
becomes, is an expression of chance
opportunism... i mean...
surely there's enough people in
the world that can allow one
man to write a few ******* poems
out, it's not like they're conscripting
young men to join salvation army
in syria or anything as ridiculous as that;
but in all honesty i don't know what
it's all about - first they tell you
to not get in trouble, then they tell
you art belongs in a high school art room,
then they put artists on peddlestools
when all they produce are massive blobs
of colour in a random way, or
make a messy bedroom an art work,
or pickle a shark in a plastic aquarium,
open spaces, strings of metal, ropes
around rodin's kiss... all kinds of airy fairy
bits 'n' bobs... then mediocre seasonal
greetings poetry: rhyme christmas with
business with busy bees with jabberwocky
or something like that -
but indeed the foremost discouragement
people place on you is to get your worried
about money, concerned enough that
you begin to wonder - are they really
chasing their own tail and insert that
serpent-eating-itself into you?
i mean, all the italian renaissance masters
didn't bother with adorments and fashion
for proof of being rich - they had a motto,
only one: we're not a bunch dumb peacocks!
how about i paint you a mona lisa
and make myself shine like gold in rags?!
surely enough modern art, on that
massive scale, in galleries across countries
is obsessed with space, perhaps the lack
of space in real life, the almost claustrophobic,
the sheer number of people on the streets,
all it's fighting is technique and detail,
it's trying to be a child again,
it cannot stomach the fact that old techniques
were never passed on, or if they were
they are like a magician's deception -
whatever that means - i just think that
what modern art has become is almost
architectural - how on earth could
you elaborate on a square is beyond me -
unless of course it isn't, in which case
it's forceful intellectualism:
trying to squeeze out some orange juice
from an old & dry orange.
Patrice Diaz Mar 2017
I had a light in me
It shone so bright that people could see what was inside
I talked about things that I loved religiously
And I clearly knew what I wanted to do

I did not give two *****
About what anyone thought of my work
Until I found myself wanting recognition
I asked people to tell me what was good and what was bad

I saw no wrong in that
Neither did they
Until I realized that I craved for compliments
I craved the praise

It was not for bad intentions
I wanted to get better
I wanted to be heard
I wanted the world to know me

But slowly, I became obsessed
I started relying on people
I relied on them to tell me my work is good
While I no longer believed in myself

The more they told me it was not good enough;
That I was not good enough
My light started to dim
And discouragement was staring me right in the face

I spent so long minding what everyone else thought of me
That I forgot the reason I was doing what I was doing
I listened to what everybody wanted me to do
I pushed aside the things that I wanted to do for myself
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
In all my paralyzing confusion, only one thing is needed; in all my anxiety over my much less than ideal circumstances, only one thing is needed; in all my this-is-so-unfair discouragement, only one thing is needed; in my pressing-down-like-a-boulder-on-my-chest grief, only one thing is needed; in my feels-like-my-insides-are-being-scraped-out sorrow, only one thing is needed; in my falling-apart-at-every-seam life, only one thing is needed; in my can’t-seem-to-muster-the-will-to-get-out-of-bed depression, only one thing is needed; in my sure-I’m-finally-going-crazy state of mind, only one thing is needed; in my so-mad-I’ve-got-to-throw-and-break-something anger, only one thing is needed. In the scorning and tormenting face of rejection or betrayal or failure or devastating news or disfiguring disease or the worst fears of my heart coming to pass, only one thing is needed—to come and sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to what He is saying.

To entrust myself to Him, to acknowledge His presence with me, to submit myself to His perfect authority over me, to just look at Him and recognize His all-surpassing worth, to feast on Him, to wait for Him to speak and know that He longs to do so more than I long to hear it, to meditate on His Word and speak it back to Him both in praise and request and to ask Him exactly what it means for me right now, to be ready to respond to Him in obedience and follow him wherever or however He leads, to be willing to tune out every competing voice no matter how well-intentioned and to say “No!” to whatever He has not called me to, to believe that He cares deeply and passionately for me both in His emotion toward me and in His personal tending of me, to see that the details of my life matter even more to Him than they do to me and that He holds every one of them in His hands and is perfectly directing them for intimacy and glory, to refuse to be drawn away or worried or upset by the many preparations and distractions all around me by casting every burden down before Him and taking up His all-sufficient grace for every need, and above all to want Him more than anything and to let everything else fit into that all-pervasive desire—this is the ONE THING that is needed both now and throughout every season of my life, and if I will choose it, it will not be taken from me. It is the one thing worth fighting to the death for and will, no doubt, require just such a dying again and again and again...
~~~


"But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of His resurrection and participation in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
~ Philippians 3:7-14


"As Jesus and His disciples were on their way, He came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what He said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to Him and asked, 'Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!'

"'Martha, Martha,' the Lord answered, 'you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.'"
~ Luke 10:38-42


"One thing I ask from the LORD,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the LORD
    and to seek Him in His temple."
~ Psalm 27:4
curlygirl Nov 2014
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
Umi Mar 2018
I am darkness I am light, I am chaos I am might, lies and truth unite,
Fear and bravery, envy with hatred and love finally combined,
I am the difference between illusions and dreams, nothing as it seems,
Nightmares and mirrages, a realm of infinity and finite by its means,
I am fusion and fission, with one simple yet very complex misssion,
Energy and indolence, a wall, another fence, questions upon answers
If small lies give rise to grand falsities, what is the truth gonna bring ?
A place where you should be able to feel reality and fantasy's sting,
Apathy and concern unite, come closer I don't really bite, trust me,
My teeth look sharp, yet they are blunt, you can rant or stay calm,
I am a living death wandering yet standing still, does it make you ill?
Generosity and greed are both present while they are missing, still!
Control the lies of your uncontrollable tounge, listen to the silence,
Could we possibly agree that this unanimity relies in total dissension?
I am the discouragement for your precious, little yet pure intentions,
Aimlessness for hope of a future unexplored yet near enough to grasp
I am the rue in pride, a lamp without light, elusive but not transient,
A harmonic ramgage, riots over the horizon in undefined dark light,
I am malevolent and benevolent, bent yet straight, right behind you,
What am I ?

~ Umi
If you can solve this riddle I give you a cookie °^°
This took very long to make and actually combines my old rhyming writing style and the one I engaged myself in a while ago, I do hope it is somewhat enjoyable ^-^
John Stevens Aug 2010
Hope arrived... limping severely.
The journey had been quite long,
Searching for Something to hold on to.
Hope was weak but would not give up,
There is always hope, no matter how small.
For: ”Hope springs eternal”.

Faith was greatly weakened and vulnerable,
Wounded by the words of discouragement.
Naysayers of the day were chipping away.
Faith needed help to overcome Doubt.
Lurking close by... and closing in....
Keep the Faith Baby!

Love felt lonely and threatened.
In need of some friends to lean on.
The days were long and dreary with
Hate knocking at everyone's door.
Love glimpsed Faith approaching and knew
Hope was not far behind.

Hope, Faith, Love;
Together, they formed a bond and
Began flourishing once again!
Together, they opened the door
of the heart in need of repair.
Together, they rescued a heart,
Filling it to overflowing.

Love began to grow and  blossom,
Bringing Light to the darkened heart.
Hope, walking tall and standing straight,
Began to breath  deep again.
Faith leaped forward with renewed vigor
to guard the Heart's door
The Three Musketeers... together...
Unstoppable...  Conquer the world.
(c) Aug. 16, 2010
John Stevens with much valuable input from my wife.
Obar Mark Dec 2013
The real power of desire is doing the right thing at the right time;
It's about making a decision knowing that nobody's going to notice your good works;
There's so much negative imagery of black fatherhood in continuously postponing to do right;
You should ask yourself, “how come postponing things hasn't paid but instead it's robbed me;
How come that's not as newsworthy? Do it now.

The real power of character is doing the right thing when nobody's looking;
There are too many people who think that good things are best done under people's watch;
Make an initiative to change the way you handle matters of procrastination in your everyday life;
Then you will know that Initiative is doing the right thing without being told, and doing the best;
It's a choice, not a chance; it's an initiative not only a desire; Do it now.

It's not doubt that the biggest exam that we fail each day is discouragement test;
Does it mean that life it not always fair for people who fail the test of discouragement;
I believe in the contrary; I believe that if you keep doing things in time, you always be right;
Next to doing the right thing at the right time, is to let yourself know you are doing the right thing;
So, ethics are not necessarily to do with being law-abiding but being interested in the moral path to do it now.
AmazingsanPoetry Jul 2023
It's well even in the land of well..
It's well even in the kingdom of well ..
It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those  in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent.
I wish.
I understood.
things, words, language the fingers  scribes some times...
Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense,
twisted for the disabled.
It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables.
Twisted.......
Books..
Twisted..
Poems...
Twisted....
Beli­eves.
Twisted...
Unending....
Twisted scientists making clones..
Twister...
Imagination...
Twisted..
Flexibility...
Twist­ed..
So they say...
Anxious..
So they feel..
Unbearable.
So they remain...
Twisted it is and twisted it will be..
Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing..
It's the outwordly.
It's the unreal..
Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian..
A partner and a mentor...
Hence they sleep with twisted..
Pray with twisted..
Worship twisted..
Eat with twisted..
Eats twisted..
Marry twisted..
Bond twisted
And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted..
Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness...
Even fates are twisted..
Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon..
By the
Steps taken...
Choices made...
Thoughts expressed.
Thoughts conceived..
Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony..
Agony in processes.
Agony in delivery..
Once again twisted it is.
Sense is one third of nonsense..
Wakeup...
Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal..
So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end.
Drought might be handy.
Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart.
Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate..
Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength....
That's the TWIST..
Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness.
Shoma morita's..
Embrace with..
Accept it..
Adopt it..
But never tolerate it from the weak..
Else excuses will be made from it.
Procrastination will be fashioned.
And discouragement will be manifested..
Manifestation..
The resulting culmination of things..
Things precipitated by TWISTED...
Now Wakeup.

It's well even in the land of well..
It's well even in the kingdom of well ..
It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those  in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent.
I wish.
I understood the things, words, language the fingers  scribes some times...
Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense,
twisted for the disabled.
It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables.
Twisted.......
Books..
Twisted..
Poems...
Twisted....
Beli­eves.
Twisted...
Unending....
Twisted scientists making clones..
Twister...
Imagination...
Twisted..
Flexibility...
Twist­ed..
So they say...
Anxious..
So they feel..
Unbearable.
So they remain...
Twisted it is and twisted it will be..
Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing..
Is the outwordly.
Is the unreal..
Escapes.
Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian..
A partner and a mentor...
Hence they sleep with twisted..
Pray with twisted..
Worship twisted..
Eat with twisted..
Eats twisted..
Marry twisted..
Bond twisted
And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted..
Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness...
Even fates are twisted..
Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon..
By
Steps taken...
Choices made...
Thoughts expressed.
Thoughts conceived..
Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony..
Agony in processes.
Agony in delivery..
Once again twisted it is.
Sense is one third of nonsense..
Wakeup...
Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal..
So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end.
Drought might be handy.
Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart.
Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate..
Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength....
That's the TWIST..
Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness.
Shoma morita's..
Embrace with..
Accept it..
Adopt it..
But never tolerate it from the weak..
Else, excuses will be made from it.
Procrastination will be fashioned.
And discouragement will be manifested..
Manifestation..
The resulting culmination of things..
Things precipitated by TWISTED...
Now Wakeup.
Twisted inspired,   live is twisted  and only the twisted enjoys it.
eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hound hog dog crossed bayou levee last night all right what did you say if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right i heard what you said the first time why you got to repeat eph you see kay you ******* ****** **** what? what did you say you ******* ****** **** heard you the first time you **** a **** a ***** a ***** hello stop end begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate what? what did you say begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate quit ******* repeating yourself  you ******* ******* hello stop end begin believe conceive create eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right

the renown physicist dressed in brown wool suit brown leather laced shoes white shirt burgundy knitted tie wild curly graying hair climbed the stairs walked across the stage stood at the lectern adjusted narrow support pole height reached down into brown leather briefcase retrieved his thesis concerning the relative theory of everything tapped microphone composed his posture made a guttural sound clearing his throat looked out at packed full auditorium it became evident to the distinguished audience the renown physicist’s fly was open and his ***** hanging out it was unanimously dismissed as a case of professorial absent-mindedness

all the creatures of the earth (excluding humans) convened for an emergency session the bigger creatures talked first grizzly bears stood upright explaining demand for gallbladders bile paws make us more valuable dead than alive sharks testified Asian fisherman cut off our fins for soup then throw us back into the sea to die elephants thumping heavy feet stepped forward yeah poachers **** us for our tusks rhinos concurred yes they **** us for our horns wild Mustang horses neighed about violent round-ups then slaughtered processed for cat food whales complained of going deaf from submarine sonar tests then sold for meat many dolphins sea turtles tuna swordfish sea bass smaller fish swam forward pleading about getting caught in long line nets barbed baited hooks over-fished colonies chimpanzees described nightmares of being stolen from their mom’s when they are very young then used in research labs for horrible tests song birds chirped about loss of their habitats land tortoises spoke in gentle voices about being wiped out for housing developments saguaro cactuses dropped their arms in discouragement masses of penguins solemnly marched in suicidal unison to edge of melting icebergs polar bears and seals wept honey bees buzzed colony collapse disorder bats flapped about white nose syndrome coyotes and wolves howled lonesome prairie laments the session grew gloomy with heart-wrenching unbearable sadness sobbing crying then a black mutt dog spoke up my greyhound brothers and sisters and all my family of creatures i sympathize with your hurt but it is important to realize there are people who care love us want to protect us not all humans are ravenous carnivores or heartless profiteers a calico cat crept alongside black dog and rubbed her head against his chest an old gray mare admitted her love for a race horse jockey who died years ago a bluebird sang a song suddenly lots more creatures advanced with stories of human kindness Captain Paul Watson Madeleine Pickens Jane Goodall a redwood tree named Luna testified about Julia Butterfly Hill the winds clouds sky discussed concerns by Al Gore lots and lots of other names were mentioned and the whole tone of the meeting changed every one agreed they needed to wait and see what the next generation of people would do whether humans would acknowledge the cruelties threats of extinction and learn grow figure out ways to sustain mother earth father sky then the meeting let out just as the sun was rising on a new day

there is a cemetery in Paris named Père Lachaise buried there are the remains of Jim Morrison Oscar Wilde Richard Wright Karl Appel Guillaume Apollinaire Honoré de Balzac Sarah Bernhardt the empty urn of Maria Callas Frédéric Chopin Colette Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot Nancy Clara Cunard Honoré Daumier Jacques-Louis David Eugène Delacroix Isadora Duncan Paul Éluard Max Ernst Suzanne Flon Loie Fuller Théodore Géricault Yvette Guilbert Jean Ingres Clarence Laughlin Pierre Levegh Jean-François Lyotard Marcel Marceau Amedeo Modigliani Molière Yves Montand Pascale Ogier Christine Pascal Édith Piaf Marcel Proust Georges Seurat Simone Signoret Gertrude Stein Louis Visconti Maria Countess Walewska and many other extraordinary souls it is rumored at late dusk their ghosts climb from graves gather drink fine brandy from costly crystal glasses smoke fragrant cigars and once a year on November 2 party hard all night culminating in deliriously promiscuous ****** **** it’s difficult to know what the truth is since the dead don’t talk or do they
Steph Dionisio Jul 2015
The strings
the way I pluck it
gives extra strength
to my soul.
The notes
I try to read
drives my thirst
spirit.
The lyrics
I write in a paper
expresses every single
emotion.
The music
I hear and I make
mends shattered
feeling.

But

The passion
I have
and truly love
seems fading.
The comparison
I get from others
is breaking every
notes.
The people
who are showing that
I am no good
made my paper empty.
Discouragement
scrapes the willing
and hoping
heart.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 26, 2015
I PROBABLY SKIP FAR MORE MEALS THAN I SHOULD AND SPEND MORE TIME SLEEPING THAN MOST PEOPLE. I CRY TOO OFTEN AND TOO HARD AND FOR FAR TOO LONG. I FIND MYSELF WAKING UP COUNTLESS TIMES THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT OR NOT SLEEPING AT ALL. I BURY MYSELF IN BOOKS WITH STORIES OF TEENAGERS WHOSE LIVES I WOULD TRADE FOR MY OWN. I LET BOYS BREAK MY HEART AND I LET MYSELF BE BROKEN DOWN BY GIRLS WITH PRETTIER EYES AND HAIR AND FACES AND BODIES. I DONT WEIGH MYSELF IN FEAR THAT I MIGHT STOP EATING ALTOGETHER AGAIN AND I LAY ENOUGH MAKEUP ON MY FACE EACH MORNING TO BE COMPLIMENTED ON MY LOOKS. I AM A GIRL WHO WILL PROBABLY ALWAYS NEED REASSURANCE BUT WILL PROBABLY NEVER BE ABLE TO KEEP SOMEONE WHO IS WILLING TO GIVE IT. I AM FULL OF SELF LOATHING AND I ENCOURAGE EVERYONE TO BE NOTHING LIKE ME. (r.r)
M K Whitmore Jul 2014
Bouncing down the tall stairs
Hazel eyes and short blonde hair
Daughter, the first of two
She looked up to you
Mama’s girl was so small
Not like her dad at all

Daddy liked to fish, hunt and hike
Kayak, canoe and mountain bike
She liked all the little girl things
Barbies, crayons and trampolines

Today I sit in your old kayak and gear
And think about us as if you were still here
I wish we could do all these things together
Now we’re the same, but you never got better

In and out of hospitals all the time
Still we all thought that you would be just fine
No answers, no cure and little treatment
But you had hope in the discouragement

Time has passed and you’ve been missed greatly
I realize now just how much you gave me
Your stubbornness, determination and drive
Your deep love and passion of all things outside

Dad, so many things we could do
I want to be back there with you
On the water with that kayak
But nothing will bring those days back

So many things you’ll miss
Stories of my first kiss
Frightening my prom date
Seeing me graduate
Walking me down the aisle
Tearing up all the while

Dad, you are loved and you are missed.
samasati Aug 2012
sail boats
and oceans

and really anything that floats and carries a person

far away
in a big body of water

I don’t think I have to say why

it’s obvious

I’m sure everyone has a thing for sail boats
and oceans

I like busses too
I seem to get really impatient on them, and I like that a lot
because I know I can’t do anything about it

it’s a game of
Will I Go Crazy Or Will I Have A Snooze?

I like being stuck between being stuck and being unstuck

one day I want to sit on a bus for 24 hours and see what happens
(I will be doing a lot of that in the month of October)

I’ll bring books, my iPod and movies to watch on my laptop
but I’ll probably just stare out the window hours on end
tall buildings will turn into blurry trees and blurry trees
will turn into pixilated neon canola crops
and there’ll be cows and ponies and one long road

to Montreal
then Toronto

then who the **** knows where because I am already dreading
going home after the trip
even though I haven’t left for the trip yet

it’s months to come

I have a thing for finding a new home
everywhere I go

but I never find one

I like the process of looking for a really long time
then giving up from discouragement and sad feelings of
abandonment stemmed from my childhood daddy issues

I’m pretty sure everyone has daddy-abandonment issues

I have a thing for assuming every one has the same problems
that I do

but it turns out that there are loads of girls that like to eat
lots
and don’t feel ashamed of the extra scoop of
double fudge ice cream

and there are teenagers that get along with their fathers
and look up to them
they go out for lunches and joke about dates and fix cars
and tell their little girls they’ll always be their little girls
and go on awkward shopping sprees and barbecue

but everyone has a thing for sail boats and water
we all want to escape

our eating disorder and drinking problem
a skinny body or a bulky body
bad grades and perfectionism
the people pleasing pushovers
fathers and mothers and old european traditions
family dinners that go perfectly and are so boring because of it

the fragility of feeling unique
the arrogance of feeling unique
the lack of faith in ourselves

being alone
1010

Up Life’s Hill with my my little Bundle
If I prove it steep—
If a Discouragement withhold me—
If my newest step

Older feel than the Hope that prompted—
Spotless be from blame
Heart that proposed as Heart that accepted
Homelessness, for Home—
Ron Peacock Jr Nov 2011
It’s been said to cause success,
Yet its’ face is boldly grim.
Some even say it makes or breaks you,
Kills your soul, or fills the brim.

It’s been deemed the roughest test,
Where preparation meets implausible.
Whenever passion makes a breakthrough
Sounds of hell’s end become audible.

It’s received reviews of stress,
Of endless torture tearing through.
Leaving good men self-departed,
For they had no will to make it through.

It’s been seen in years of the past,
The trials of Job denote it well.
As Satan crushed his joys,
Job consummated to prevail.

It’s been said, “show no regret!”
When you look deep into your mind,
For this test is truly an artist
Creating a man, from pure divine.

So why let discouragement corrupt
Your trip through the abyss?
For it’s been said to cause success,

And that’s one hell of a gift.
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.

Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.

That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those  ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.

She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Connection
From the past just a voice memories come strong and fast the school its walls doors and windows dissolved they live still
They were an integral part you can’t interact daily come to know them how ever wide the divide extends over years
They were life then now in shadows they still command your imagination never very far from the heart quietly they thrill
Sometimes alone you deny and go but you can’t leave them they were implanted ingrained in your life always they exist

Difference opposite levels vary the constant going and coming a circle one in front one in back this defines grows character
The rubbing and friction goes beyond outer circumstances it reaches inner reality from this constant exposure an unbreakable bond
This is not mundane life these are core components we cheat and allow failure if we close ourselves off our own worst detractor
You will change yourself forever when stimuli and good will is rebuffed there pulsates defenses more than we know in past friends

A prison we make when we choose isolation brick by brick we wall ourselves in close out the sunlight that shines out of other hearts
Mix words with action and then allow yourself to be moved images possess power they can forcefully carry you to unequaled heights
Those long ago days hold seeds from a harvest that can be birthed again and of all times now is crucial the time is now get ready start
The sun at your back the future ahead speak without faltering you are the guiding light of all that is to be shared and made brand new

How strong the future will be is determined by how willing you are to reach into the past being selective you draw on all that is good
Fellow students your parents their history and victories all are your guideposts unerring unwavering their spirits lead a guiding star
Many battles long has been the fight discouragement drags your smile down enlightened others beat fear now you have understood
Yours and their quality is like timbers tested in great sea storms you have come into your own now masterful owners of life now give
I am angry, but am not sure if I have a right to be. Between all or rather among all the other emotions I am feeling it is hard to discern and clarify the balance and reasons for my anger. Naturally I want what is best for you, that in itself is a conundrum. Is having what you want best? Or do I actually believe that what I have to offer can ultimately elate you to a higher level of happiness than that of your current situation? Another question comes to light now and that is, is what you currently want what you actually want, or is it merely that it was something which at first appeared to be and has over time slowly dissolved into something far less, into something you thought you had wanted but now see that in it's current form, really is not?
        Suppose one of these speculations takes a solid form and settles as the true idea, then in what way could any of this upset me enough to reveal itself as anger in my mind? Primarily, it would seem my own jealousy or want of you could be a proprietary perpetrator in this matter, but I am sure that the true identity of this perplexed feeling runs much wilder and entangled with a slue of uprooted inner conflicts. So then, what are they? As I reflect on the many faces of this anger, the feeling of pain surfaces, but not the kind you feel for yourself, rather it's more of the selfless type. I am, by all means, a bystander on looking the trials and troubles that lay ridden in your path. I see you struggle to hold on and in turn attempt to stay as composed as a rigid coastline baring the constant battery of each careless and possibly calculated undulation of every crashing wave which from where I stand rises more often than not than the natural course of a waxing and waning tide. And it's as if from a distance I can see and hear bits and pieces of you crumble and crash, slowly receding into the horizon with each unrelenting wave.      
        At times finding myself diving into the chaotic and churning crush of waves to gather and salvage whatever I can mange to and still keep myself afloat so that when the tides recede I, with safe passage, climb ashore to safely return to you whatever it is I managed to cradle from the depths. As I take those sandy steps I now understand the reason for my anger, if but only for a portion of it. Watching as I do from my ship, it hurts to see the waves crash, to see something so paramount in beauty, in life be so carelessly attended to. Yet, the fault is not but of one, but of two. It can hardly be helped, you are who you are, and the beauty in you is as with most, your flaw. The core of you, revealed more and more with each crashing wave, smells damp and sweet of hope. Such a hopeful being, that even after the tempest has risen a tsunami to thunder coldly on your very shores, you merely wince and hope that just maybe a windless day will break through to passing clouds to ease each tide to a lapping kiss upon your now jagged shores that in time, piece by piece, return to you what is rightfully yours.
        Throughout all this though I bare a different caliber of weather, one which strikes at my splintered ship with jagged volts of lightening, searing all aboard until your gentle rain turns its pulsing red embers into a faded glow slowly giving way to smoke and ashes. I watch from this distance angry at everything on this side of the world. Anger towards the carelessness, towards the helplessness, at the one flaw that you and I share, at knowing my selfishness in it all, toward the thought of walking on your shores but only quietly as not to summon another unwelcome tide, and finally and most perplexing of all...for being angry at all. It's what upsets me the most, that I'm even angry. Yet, I am as helpless against it as we are with the sunset of hope we both hold so close to sight and mind, for you, hope of a sleeping tempest and in return a more attentive life by the ocean, and for me, the hope of one day being able to cast my anchor down into the depths so that I may enjoy the warmth of your sand, cool nights against your moonlit caves heated by the warmth of your heart, your hope, and to above all tenderly enjoy and return to your ever-reaching shores of love all that it gives and deserves.
        But at times I see that this endless commotion disorients even the strongest of shores and that in it all , there is no surprise that a mere ship in an open sea can seem to be anything more than a flick of candlelight alongside the heat of a chaotic wild fire. Despite this pulsing surge of discouragement,I angrily, hopefully, caringly, and thoughtfully will continue to cast my net to show you that though right now I quietly wisp each flickering dance of summer light, that I too am relentless in my will, but for a different reason. I see now, that my anger is acceptable because above all else,I am your friend and wish for you only the best, for what would make you happiest. And that despite my wants, yours will always come first, whatever they be or you may think they be. My ship will sail alongside you no matter your choice, and if ever the day comes when I walk up on your shores with candle in hand, you need but kiss the tender tendrilous flame I carry to awaken its unconditional and fervent inferno that lies patiently inside, waiting.
Angrily, your loving friend
F Alexis Mar 2014
All my life...
There has never been a shortage
Of people to tear me down.

I have never been without
Someone to throw the words that cut,
And leave me bleeding
Without a nurse to tend the wounds
Or the means to heal them.

It wasn't often that I went without
Hearing something to remind me
Of how little I was worth.

I was told that I was no good at this,
And shouldn't pursue that.
That, "if I were you, I would skip the audition."
And that I wasn't allowed to do certain things,
Because,
"You're not good at it. Get over it."
Still a ******, I was called a *****,
And was only bought clothes bigger
Than what I needed,
Because someone would rather
Convince me to hate my body,
Than change their own.

I was told that if I didn't do
Certain things,
That no man would want me.
And that he would go look elsewhere.

Though I had hands laid on me,
And not in love,
It was the words that held the most
Power.

The words that followed me.
That haunted me.
That poked at me and taunted me,
Making it impossible to ignore them.
The words that eventually,
Despite my greatest efforts,
Began to ring true to me.

And the mission whose missiles
Were these very words
Became a success,
Making me feel unlovable to the
Highest extent,
Packing me with baggage
That no one should ever bear.

The pain was indescribable.
The recovery, impossible.
The hope that I might prove it all wrong,
Harder to keep alive than
A butterfly who had already had its wings
Ripped from its body.

I had never wanted so much
For a kind heart,
A brief, flickering light
To draw me in
And keep me warm...

To nurse the cuts that always bled,
No matter how I wrapped them.
To offer gentle words
And a gentle touch.
Things that I ached for
Like food and water.

I struggled to hold on to the hope
That there was someone
Who might tell me differently.
That I was no *****,
But beautiful
And deserving of love.
That I was no terror to behold,
Or bane to their existence,
But someone that made it a little
Brighter.
That I was no problem to be solved,
But a person, a being with value
To be held
And loved
And looked after.
Someone who held purpose
And whose heart deserved
Healing
And someone to hold it,
Someone to look after it.
Someone to hold and
Look after me.

I strained to hold onto the possibility
That I could make someone happy,
Instead of only inspire their hateful words.
That I might hold some merit to someone,
And be a welcome part of their lives.

But then I realized...

No one would want all of that.

No one looks to nurse wounds
And fade scars.
No one aims to prove false
The insults and jabs and discouragement
Thrown at you.
No one wants to wait patiently
For the trust to grow while the
pain subsides.
No one wants to bear the patience
Of dealing with a broken person
Who every now and then,
Cracks a little bit.
People want shiny, new, and undented.
Not something that has been shattered
And clumsily pieced back together,
Never looking quite as pretty or worthwhile
As the perfectly intact,
Looking like it might break all over again.

I worked to fix myself,
Always trying to make better
Something I couldn't even identify.

I worked to become perfect,
To gloss myself over
And fill in the cracks,
Hoping to look like that
Lovely, intact counterpart
That I would never be.

I felt as though I waited
For something to happen
That never could be,
And for someone to come along
That would never show.
Like a constant replay
Of a jilting at the altar,
I waited for something
I dreamt about so often
I had nearly convinced myself
It was real.

I realized I could never undo
What had been done.
I could never take back
What had been said.
Because these actions
And these words
Were not my own.
And making up for someone else's
Mistakes
Is about as successful as taking
Medicine
To cure someone else's illness.

I could never fix it,
But I must always
Bear the results.

I deemed myself,
Again,
Unlovable.

I began to wonder
If this had been the purpose
Of those words all along.

To create someone unlovable
Because the speaker could not
Find love themselves.

Surely,
Only a monster would do such a thing.

But monsters are real.

And this one wasn't hiding under my bed.
David Chin Dec 2014
I wander aimlessly in my mind
Trying to get my life back on track.
I see my future, my goal, up ahead
But I’m pulled in a million directions.

Darkness creeps in every second,
And I’m drowned with words of
Discouragement
Like “can’t,” “won’t,” and “impossible.”

These words become my demons and
They push my friends and family away
As I sink deeper into the dark abyss
That I like to call my mind.

“You can’t do it!”
“You’re not good enough!”
That’s all I hear every day and night
As my demons take control of my life.

I can’t do it!
I’m not good enough!
That’s what I begin to tell myself
As my demons take control of my life.

I’m crashing and burning every second
As I listen to my demons more and more.
What’s in your past is in the past but my
Demons always bring my past to present.

“You always fail!”
“Why can’t you be more like …?”
My demons taunt and haunt me by bringing
The bad experiences of my past to present.

My mind begins to spin uncontrollably
As I become overwhelmed by my demons.
I believe their every word and every action
And I begin to disengage myself from reality.

I’m a failure!
I can never be like …!
I believe that my demons’ every word is true.
They’re controlling my life and I can’t escape!

Crashing and burning, I’ll always fail!
Escaping my demons, I cannot and never will!
I fall and I crash and I burn, at least in my mind.
This is my life, my demons’ life!
preservationman Jan 2016
Many doubters said I wouldn’t be
But CUNY Medgar Evers College we shall see
I was educated in being a commodity
The lectures with theories of actual life reality
CUNY Medgar Evers College instilled “Precision”
Thinking strategy and reason all under my decision
I became a believer of myself
I don’t think like everybody else
CUNY Medgar Evers College saw my distant horizon
They saw my efforts of being successful being yonder
It makes all the doubters wonder
But it gives CUNY Medgar Evers College the honor
They have a familiar name with a distinguished face
It’s all rounded at a time of the Civil Rights race
It’s Medgar Evers College in taking its place
It’s my own honor in being educated that no one can erase
A trace of philosophy and being prepared
Business world, this is an achiever who is stating a knowledge mode, but establishing a voice in knowing I should be heard
Many thought I would never go through
Doubters tried all kinds of negativity they could do
CUNY Medgar Evers College helped me to ignore
Prosperity is much to explore
My alma mater of CUNY Medgar Evers College
They showed me I am everything I was trained to be
I continue to be ready for all to see
But I want to remind all came from thee.
This isn't a poem but I just wanted to share it. There is a poem at the end however.


Chapter 1: Kenzi


The room is dim. The only light emanating from the small desk lamp in the corner.

“Unhappy with the life I'm living,
Not finding anything to
Wash my ***** slate of emotions
And to keep me from crying.
Nothing to turn to when I cannot
Take anymore of this pain.
Each tiring day I 'm getting thrown
Deeper into the rainstorm.

Trying to find a peaceful way to
Escape contention and get
Away from this life I hate. I
Refuse to cry anymore.
Sunshine doesn't stay with me for long.”


A poem I once wrote. The words ran through my head like a melody.
As I rummage through disorganized desk drawers, I search for a paper and pen. After glancing at the time on my cell phone, 2:11 AM, I begin to write:


“Dear—“

...dear who?...

        “—Everyone,

                          If you are reading this—“


...what do I say in a note like this?...

                “—it means that I've finally released myself from this painful world. I'm   
                          sorry for any heartache that I have caused you and I want you to know
                          that I love you more than anything. Once again, I'm sorry...I'm sorry I left
                          like this.

          Kenzi Mullberry ”




After signing the letter I just sat there, staring contemplatively at the paper.
...am I really going to do this?...

I looked the time again, 2:25. I usually hear the train roll by around 3.
After carefully folding the paper into thirds, I laid it on my bed.
...I hope they see it here...

Peeking out, I slowly opened my bedroom door.

CREEEAAAAK

I froze, listening... All quiet. Cautiously creeping down the carpeted stairs I let out a deep breath of air and arrived at the front entrance. Then, hesitantly, unlocked the door and stepped outside. Standing in the cold night air, I scanned the empty street. Then finally took a deep breath, and started walking.

My thoughts quickly drifted to Adam, my boyfriend.
...would my family tell him about the note? I don't want him to worry...

I took out my cell phone and typed up a text. Staring at the words, a tear rolled down my face. SEND

I checked the time again before putting the phone back into my pocket, 2:43.
...I'd better hurry...
Picking up my pace, I wiped my eyes and then shoved my hands into my sweatshirt pocket.

It was crisply cold out and my pale nose was red and running. A quick shiver ran through my body as the chilled breeze whispered past my ears and fluttered my dark brown hair. I looked up at a car traveling across the freeway overpass. It's surprising that there are still people driving this early in the morning. It's like that saying, "The city never sleeps."
There wasn't a sidewalk on this road so I stayed on the grass, even though there were no cars in sight. I looked to my right as I passed the canal, dry and empty. The irrigation water has been turned off for the winter.
Slowing down, I approached the crossing and my eyes examined the rail line. I could hear the train getting closer. I stepped onto the tracks and could feel them shaking beneath my feet. The train was getting closer and I started to panic as the bright headlight grew and I heard the horn.
...no. I have to do this...
I closed my eyes, embraced myself, clenching my teeth and my frozen fists.
”I'm sorry...”



Chapter 2: Adam


Music ran through my ears.

“...I miss you and it still feels like I know you
I've got pictures of us side by side to show you
But it feels like I owe you so much more

And you will always be perfect
You'll always be beautiful
Our hearts will never forget you
You didn't belong here
And it's become so clear
Why heaven called your name

And it just doesn't seem right, was it really your time?
Are we dreaming?
We'll never let go of you
Wish you were here but it's becoming clear
That Earth's just not the place for an angel like you...”

BZZZZZZ

I paused the music and looked down from the bright laptop screen, picking up the bottom corner of my pillow to reveal my phone.

*               1 MESSAGE:
                 Kenzi

“Huh, what's she doing up so late?” I thought, as I waited for the text to open.

                *Hey babe. i...im sorry...i know i'm about to
break ur heart, but i just cant take it anymore.
When you wake up and see this, i'll be gone...
I Love You Adam <3 im sorry...



“What?”

I re-read the text...

“Kenzi! You idiot–“
I jumped out of bed and threw on my jacket as I burst out of my bedroom and around the corner to the front door. I quickly slipped my shoes on and bolted out, not caring if I disturbed the others sleeping in the house. I had to stop her.
I sprinted across the driveway, knowing exactly where she was going.
She had talked about it so many times before, she'd say, “Adam, I'm so depressed I wish I could get hit by a train.” She'd pretend it was a joke, but I always knew she was being literal.
The air was cold and thin, making my throat dry so it was hard to breathe. I heard the train whistle.
“******* Kenzi...”

I strained to make my legs move faster, they were burning.

After cutting through the park, I passed the cemetery.
“Don't end up there k?...not yet...”

My shoes we're untied, due to my rush out the door, and I stumbled, but regained my balance. All I could think about was running. I could hear the train rumble as I turned the corner and the tracks came into view. I saw her.
“Kenzi!...Kenzi get off!” I was breathing hard and my face stung from the cold. “Kenzi!”

I saw the headlight and knew I wouldn't reach her in time. But I kept running.

CLICK-CLACK CLICK-CLACK CLICK-CLACK TOOOOOOOOT

I finally stopped 10 feet from the tracks. Raising my hands to my head, I grabbed my hair, then threw my arms back down and placed my hands on my knees as I caught my breath.

“Kenzi...you...stupid...” I softly spoke, I could feel tears creeping out of my eyes.

The end of the train finally passed and I jogged over to the tracks. Her body was on the ground, limp; lifeless.
...I can't believe she actually did it...
I bowed my head and closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath of air, then gazed up at the sky in discouragement.

...why did she have to–…

-----------------------------------------------------

*He­ looks into her motionless blood-shot eyes,
and sees something he hasn't seen in years.

A pain so deep, it's stitched into her skin,
leaving dark scars she knew would never fade.

He wants to help, but can no longer feel
The life that once ran through her veins.

The cold has taken over her weakened soul
and left it in the troubling dark of her mind.

She can no longer see, no longer taste
The endless joys they once together shared.

In a world full of happiness and sun
Were only memories of things left behind.

She couldn't see, didn't want to feel, the light
that was softly beckoning her away.

And now he stares at her in a state of something
He knew he could never bare the thought of.

As he kneels beside her he plainly whispers,
“This heart wasn't made for suicide...”
Lauren Miller Oct 2012
I'm running about with my mind scattered around,
There you sit quietly alone on the ground.
I hardly see you, I'm in such a hurry.
As I whirl past your image is blurry.

When I stop for a moment to eat my meal,
You soft, quiet voice makes an appeal.
I don't even hear you, I'm not paying attention.
Your story begins with misapprehension.

When you notice how little my ears are hearing,
You become quiet depressed, your voice disappearing.
My response to this; agitated, and sharp.
Naturally, not failing to go straight through your heart.
"Darling, please, I'm quite busy today.
Yes, of course I'm listening, but remind me: What did you say?"

But to you the message is already made clear:
You are negligible, and my apology completely insincere.
There, your self-worth is crushed under my shoe.
You sit back quietly, shrouded in blue.

I brush off your discouragement, I have no time to spare.
As I rush out the door, you are left, though it may be unfair.
Sometimes things are just as they appear.
I am too preoccupied, and the top of my priorities you are no where near.
Warda Kashif Nov 2012
The look in your eyes has got me mesmerized tonight.
Pick up your dreams, glue on some wings and watch them fly.
Over the mountain, through the clouds and out of sight.
But don't forget the world you will return to when you die.
All of my wishes are illuminating the path you travel
Hoping for the best, praying for your safety as you carry on
Steer clear of discouragement and at the distractions you must not marvel
Our love and support will make you strong.
I will hold your hand forevermore.
But keep your wings up and soar.
Close your eyes and dream.
Ann M Johnson Aug 2014
I don't know the secret to having poems trend
There are some poems I feel certain that they will trend and they do not
I have read many excellent poems that did not trend, the list seems unending
I still feel that they are worthwhile ,especially when they caused a laugh or a smile or even a  tear when I really need a good cry
If the poems effect me or others I feel they are successful no matter whether they are trending or not
I feel bad for fellow poets if they get discouraged if their poems don't trend, the heart is such a fragile thing to mend, especially if discouragement sets in causing them to question their talents or ability.
My advice would be just write, if it trends great; if not keep writing don't give up
If you are writing to an Audience of one or 500 just get your feelings out you many be surprised by the results someday, you poems may really touch peoples lives that can relate to them.
Whether the poems trend or not Keep Writing!
Nihl Nov 2013
A strange recipe,
There seems a certain scarceness of plan to it all.
A summarized unfairness found to this madness,
Two parts chaos to each one part life and matter in equal balance.
A slight dose of loss and grievance, coupled with a dash of unpleasant discourse
and equal parts discouragement.
Break two hearts and empty them into the emulsion.
They'll be buried in there,
to be forgotten as individuals
and rendered part of the whole.
Dust with the sweetness of love,
loyalty
and fulfilled longing.
And present it all to someone special,
Only to find they don't like the bitter taste.
-
If each mans life was a dessert,
mine would be a dark cake, dry as the desert.

N.H.
Gabriella Moreno Jan 2014
of all creation who breathes it is you robbing me of my lungs' ability,
the electricity of your presence shocks
me into memories. they pull on my coat
because it is cold in my own heart unlike your
fingertips melting the ice of my first impressions. part of me
resides in your throat and I wait on you to swallow me yet. I am
nothing if not a reflection in your irises.
violence of dawn is enough to redirect me to your voice for discouragement. I was never
taught that this fear could keep me safe from fears.
you hold your own tongue and you land on both your feet and
I am still stumbling to regain balance. a beggar might ask me for some change and I will
rid myself of you this time. yesterday you said goodnight
and it is dark as night until you say goodmorning and
I seem to wait for the sun to rise with your chest. this was not supposed to happen
you were supposed to flood the garden now the flowers are blooming.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i never understood the concept of
intellectual *******,
coming from people with more than three
children.
personally i found it more economic
to sell the theory of relativity
than i cared to see three *****
   telling red from blue apart...
  the concept of intellectual *******
had me lost...
             i could only understand the worth
of ******* intellectually
had i the capacity to breed 3 or more children...
i found that intellectual ******* always
existed in people who had the capacity to breed
  Irish families... and did so... without discouragement...
inclusive of some ulterior prompt,
or some Amazonian whim.
or a potato famine.
        as paddy always does: move to the whimsical
care for strata.
      intellectual ******* only makes sense
if you come from large investment familial circles...
   or rabbit libido. who cares?!
none of them will ever build a Coliseum
what's the bother? a pint of Guinness?! why, i can pass
that one modern bother...
   i rather ******* intellectually,
than fulfil my biological obligation of a catholic
family... paddy oats.
        what do you get when you scratch a potato
long enough?
                                CHIPS!
                   squatter mckenzies! limp *****!
               kilt prone! chequers & cheese!
                        cheap joke... ha ha... hmm ha:
you got to load up on the romance
to **** off what's never bound to be funny.
David Chin Dec 2014
I stretched my arms to those
Of my family and friends, but
No matter how hard I try
My demons are too powerful.

“You are a failure!”
“Just give up!”

I crashed and I burned, and my
Demons accomplished their goal.

My mind becomes flooded with
The ashes, still smoldering with
The Evilness of my demons and
Their words of discouragement.

I open my eyes and I see a light;
It shines so bright I become blind.
A voice I hear from the light and
I could not believe that I hear.

“Rise my child, from the ashes
You’ll grow.
Stronger, better, and brighter
Than before are you.

Rise my child, and spread your
Wings.
Your family and friends will guide
You along your way.

Your journey was harsh and filled
With so much despair.
The ups and downs, your journey
Was no a roller coaster ride.

Close your eyes and listen to
My voice.
Let it fill your mind with
Warmth, Love, and Happiness.

Your demons thought that they
Have succeeded.
But it is you who have succeeded
Thanks to everyone around you.

You have succeeded by knowing
Your demons.
Now wage war against them, and
Your demons will fall.

Rise my child, become the
Phoenix.
You are better than your past,
Reborn into Greatness.”


The Phoenix I am gives me strength.
Anxious I am, but fearful I’m not.
I am excited for a new beginning
And nothing can hold me back.

I am a Phoenix, stronger than before.
I close my eyes, spread my wings,
Hold my breath, and I break through
The Darkness of my mind.
Mayank Mishra Jun 2013
Without doubt my ******* points
To all those who discouraged me..
 
Even if you are my kith and kin..
If even once you treat me like a bin..
With proud I shall say..
You belong to the group of ..
All those who discouraged me..
 
Whenever you mocked in play..
On my dreams and say...
That I won't be able to do it..
Dear Sir, with pleasure go find your next victim..
Cause may be you ain't got what it takes..
Its discouragement which makes..
Me stronger by the day..
You can hit and hide..
But only I will decide ..Where you belong..!
And you are one of those ..Who discouraged me..!
We live the life
pined with sores
battling the battle
in a defeated
hope
out of lacks
we've known
plenty of yawns
in a helpless
battle where
none prevails
but travail
the future of the
youth of the land
is but buried in
the arms of
corruption
we run,more
haste less speed
the ambitious
youth becomes
enslaved to
unrewarded
efforts
but clothed in
gowns of
discouragement
we want to learn
we want to read
we want to write
we want to
speak and be
heard
but the road to
learning is
blocked
by them that are
known by
godfathers
who shall lead
us by the hand
to cross this
ocean that
opens its mouth
wide
to swallow all of
our effort,all of
our zeal.all of
our enthusiasm
which hope lie
for us?
When shall we
know reward
for our efforts?
When shall
success
breakforth to
harvest us all
that searched
diligently?
When???
Bound by the painful infliction of your words I bleed
Never imagining that family
Would be the ones who hurt fully
Raised me
Stabbing me
Continuously
With your words
I still bleed

My grandma never believed in me
Mama never defended me
It's okay ma, I love you
How could you free me
If you yourself are still bound in captivity?

I yearn to the moment you and I are free
But the possibility
Of this task is greatly
Unattainable

How can I
Break the curse
of the words
That bind you and I
If you
Are still locked up and I
Well I - am a coward.

A prisoner and a coward
Will never move forward
So I must break myself
And set astray
But don't fret mother - just pray.
Know I'll be there at the end of the day
Despite our hardships
And your past brutality
You whipped me with
Words of discouragement
But I blame you not
How can you possibly provide encouragement
When you have never had any
Pent up anger - with no one to vent
No self confidence

But it is okay mother I love you
And if you love me
You will let me break free
Temporarily
As I rid my baggage and come for thee

I can't free you and I
Or think about we
If my escape tactics must be sharpened
But don't worry mother
I hover over you spiritually
Until it's time to break you free
Through me
And the tactics I've uncovered through my journey.
Acacia Rose Oct 2012
Fading
into the depths of your arms
solace only found
in that deep, dark silence
aware
that this is wrong
her heart lain out
you the slaughterer
my conscience
sits on your shoulder
whispering words of
discouragement
yet you
in your blunder
blindly
continue
and she hurts and burns
and I hurt and burn
and none of us can see past
our folly
Paul of Tarsus resented his visit, among so many issues of paganism and Christianity that somehow tried to establish it in Jewish orthodoxy, for goods in non-Romanesque centuries of centuries, dissimilar to a Roman statute in the past to decree it today as ****-Clerical.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Christian doctrines were limited when they settled in Jerusalem, nor did they submit to worldly Judaism. He preached it while breaking the loaves in the fasmatémporos or sacralized breadbaskets of salvation, and of the company of those who were circumcised, by those who received the kingdom while they were born into Roman *******. Everything was Estebanian obfuscation as the first martyr of the ecclesiastical order, where the universe points between races, society, and sensual possessions; between Greeks as junk between barbarians and uneducated, and Israelites between Jews and pagans, to make capital laws but hidden among the subjugated codes of dictatorialism, like all the slaves, gathered in Corinth. And of female inferiority to male supremacy, without inheriting the flesh in the reconciliation of shared worlds. His policy moves the bellows of the free winds, for an enclave that begins to be a direct belonging of another man with the Alpha, and finally, this ends up being his landowner in Omega, as a fugitive baptismal sprinkling of those who become attached to the lord, that they do not recognize and if they do it under their clothes and thoughts, that they even carry sores or wounds even on their chromosomes. The genotype is the third month of gestation with embryos that can even be heard with their heartbeats beyond all the galaxies back and forth, colliding with the head of the woman who puts order to the established opinion of the extreme polarity of the genome. The coronation sculptures were made diverse with Gothic forms that differed with duplications of the stars that were built, not specified in any quantity of accumulated energy after thousands of years to be released in the channeling of the corbel, where the Cherubs rested. dedicated today to the lordship of the ancestry of the invocation, and the exaltation of the stained glass that descended from the sky with sectioned iridescence, marking the canonical hours of the first century, the beginning of the fifth decade, where Paul was already pointing to the letter to the Romans, "Where you give free grazing to the sheep, the rams overwhelm the density of certainty with their betrayals, the sublimity of the atrial rebound movement, makes their disparate ears warn of the justification of pointing out where the danger grows". In this way, Pablo de Tarso decided to name himself in the middle of Mataki, as Pablo de Patmos, because his soul still depended on the Marial outlet for his canonical lapses, in fact becoming the main and actant incarnation of faith, with the cardinal points.

Goddess Nike appears again to consummate the victory, then from the exhausted stadiums of the Pergamon amphitheater, Wonthelimar will bring Victory with the other "V" of the goddess Nike, also borne by Athenea Nikephoros. From this duplicity, both are transposed into Vernarth's "V" as an initiatory pseudonym; which will depict the reinforced twin of the Hellenic genesis of Wonthelimar, articulating from this Prótypo with the genesis of the cardinal Mandragoron, which will be Vernarthian architectural and divinized hierarchy.

Mandragoron Geodesy

- North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)
- South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)
- West: Dyticá (Sunset of Leiak)
- East: Aftó (Equinoctial of Kaitelka)

Faced with this geodesic repositioning, Pablo de Patmos makes the context of narrowing the analogy of the cross and the intersection point of them through, the Zohar Light that emerged from the iconographic program that was spreading out of the Ave Maria that was heard in echo intervals, The main one being the one heard by the oil press that Vernarth was holding, to lavish the first virginal thread of olive oil, which joined with the sleet drizzle falling between the intersecting points of Vóreios from north to south Notós, and from Oeste Dyticá with the Necromancy of Leiak to the Kaitelka Peninsula.

All seated began to pray, then the nascent of the Empyrean that came with the sleet emerged, and the ****** olive grove of the first degree, all went into a trance, the soul was overwhelmed only with light that each one could see in their features through the irradiation of the eyes of Vernarth and Saint John, and in the breathing of each being difficult and discordant. In the distance you could see the sparkles of Peter and James, together with the Mashiach, they came to enter the peace of each one of those who were here in the Katapausis, the night was warned by the Notós de Borker who prayed with the disciples of the Mashiach accompanied by the three winds from the south, which transfigured the colt of Bethany that admitted them to take them to the Seventh Heaven, here at the first stone of the Megaron with the Mataki, the seven bread baskets and candelabra, taken by the agony of the chalice that everyone carried in their bodies where they sprang from their interior, along with the thread of oil mixed with blood that had fled from Zion to Gethsemane, thus lifeless with the interdict stained the lights of the Menorah, which was propelled over the gray and agonizing shadows of the bread that asked why hand would be divided? They all say drink with their hands, but the hands of the Mashiach opened the sky first to illuminate the exacerbation of Leiak's Dyticá, saying that the sweat of agony will fill our chalices intensely adorning what is revealed by our disturbing sleet. The Equinoctial became magenta and Eritrean, where glory made it pertinent to leave and ask for an oblation in the natural reaction of the recipient, before offering himself! The shudders only spoke of the rictus, when Vernarth huddled every so often to blow the embers of the incense that spread from Aorion, spliced in the Fourth Arrow of Zefian, to leave the ergonomics bronze point, pointing out the Cherubs that came from Heaven falling, to those who went up with their sacrilegious bodies to purge their errors, adoring them with purely beatific simplicity, to bring them back to Patmos to purge there, what the error will make of virtue the light over the darkness in lives that stumble over the moaning death, whose sufferings ravage beyond life, where they suffer undaunted pains of danger, not knowing how to resist them.

Frontality becomes ordinal from unity to three, and from duality to four; that is to say, from Vóreios to Notós and from Aftó to Dyticá, making the Escurialense cross with the crossed lines filled with the celestial blue that filled them with the Seventh Heaven. The darkness macerated the embryos on the error of confronted anguish before an impartial body fallen from the discouragement of overcoming it and moving away from the eschatological. The Mashiach moves his hands through the Codices of Raedus pro generating Jubilee, for the branches that climb the thread of the olive tree that was scalding with passion, to hang on the wood of the Kashmar. The Kardiá resembled lost in the minutes of Kairós, failing to rejoice them, to then overwhelm them in some Escurialense demonym, forming the golden cross, whose four arms were already covered by blue and blue enamel, and in parapsychological fractality, making temporality move in the super imagination of Áullos Kósmos de Vernarth.
Seventh Heaven
Jill Stinehart May 2013
Everything
is a trap.
Everywhere I go
the monster is waiting
to eat me alive.
The sensation starts
on the inside, in my
Stomach,
turning and churning.
It moves to my
heart,
causing a beat that could
be heard around the world,
gripping terror
speeding up the thumps.
From there,
It can reach my whole body.
My head,
whispering words of discouragement
My hands,
trembling and spilling everything.
My legs,
refusing to let me run
away from the monster.
And so
I go only where I am
safe.
I don't go out
because the monster that is
me
always knows where I am.
It's all in my head
which makes it harder to
fight off.  I have
no chance.
I will never
escape
this
trap.
Vinicius Lira Aug 2014
looking at the mirror
even if not apparent
there is another image
another world, another half
on one side, the fanfare
the other, the silence
resilience amid despair
on one side, all I hear
the other, all that is left unsaid
and I still insist
to remain conscious
apparent
in one hand, nurturance
in the other, discouragement
absent
transposing every moment
that I still stopped
silent, talking
looking at the mirror
even if not apparent
there is another image
another world, another half
in one hand, the missing
and in the other
too.
It’s like crying in the rain
Being drowned out by the rest of the world’s woes.
A voice yearning to be heard
But can’t utter a single word . . . it’s too young.
Too young for a world so old.
Facing the brunt beginning of our future
We’re just the runts of the pack.
Aware of the all the deluded foolishness
Amidst this crazy circus
Trying to put a stop to the ruthlessness
And erase the selfishness
We only have a “futile” esophagus.

Old beliefs, but new fashion
Knowledge is dangerous to those who have it,
And all the youth who have it
Are shunned . . . because youthful thoughts are unformed views.
“Useful” thoughts come from a view
That is so high up and extremely corrupt
It makes the change seem distant.
And discouragement from the encouragement
Is the exact thing that’s sought.
Take a stand and make all the old beliefs rot
It’s time for the new fashion:
A youthful mind and fruitful esophagus.
Youthful minds are intelligent but shut out by the "mature" ones. Discouraged, they don't speak up for what they believe in. We are a huge part of the country but such a little part of everything that is happening. We need to make our voices heard because our future is being planned by those who didn't grow up in OUR present.
C A Oct 2013
Acrobats diving into a sea of exotica
Landing amongst the heroes and the renegades
They were equipped with the power of silence,
Subtle yet unafraid
And all disbelievers drown in decimals of a twisted maze
Were they casting  spells on the curious?
Or we're they the definition of what it is to be brave?
I wasn't ignorant
I was here to learn from it
It was force that lead me into the darkness just to find the light of faith and hope at the end of the tunnel
At the end of a race
After an avalanche of discouragement
I finally saw the weekly forecast of what it could be.
Partly sunny
Mainly rain
A light chill
Or a thunderstorm
I wanted more
I wanted everything
I wanted more
I had everything
I was dreamer drunk on dandelions only to find what couldn't be true
But I wanted to;
I wanted you
I was hopeless romantic with a bad attitude
With a delirious mind casting spells on you
I was entitled
You weren't having it
I wanted everything
But you wanted less from me
I was incapable, but you were everything
You had nothing
But you were my everything
Ashley Williams Nov 2013
Face to Face with
Anger and Discouragement.
Constantly rejected,
Fueling rage.
The cycle continues--
             Eruption.
             Calm.
Then--
             A fissure.
             Pressure.
             BOOM!
Destruction is at hand.
If today has been filled with discouragement and sorrow.
Don't give up.
Keep looking forward.
There's Always Tomorrow.

Perhaps you wonder if your life will ever come together.
Or if your heart will be broken forever.
Don't give up.
Do not lose hope.
There's Always Tomorrow.

Perhaps today was full of dark clouds
and the dark enemies of fear and doubt.
Perhaps you felt alone and weak,
unable to find the peace you seek.
Don't give up.
Don't despair.
There's always tomorrow.

There's always tomorrow.
Topher Green Mar 2011
Harbored in my chest
something like a beast
as such
That, passions hold sway
over all
tossing reason out
the window
of My speeding car
Like rage like
discouragement
exacerbated in a
moment's breeze
turning my tables
with it

— The End —