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Purcy Flaherty Nov 2018
You came to me like a fairytale,
I held you close;
I looked into your eyes,
they were deep and full of soul; chancing fate.
I kissed your neck and shoulders,
your belly and your ***,
We took each others bodys and tasted freedom.
~
I couldn't help feeling this was:
"your one and only"
A secret that you'll keep to your self ~
"A happy thought!"
Secure in the knowledge that you were once utterly cherished;
And that you alone chose martyrdom; rather than embracing change.
choosing martyrdom and brutal familiarity rather than embracing change.
Yonder comes the eastern sun
Dragging me another day
No place to run
I guess I stay

Someone has to work the soil
Plant the cursed seed
Endure the merciless broil
*** the rampant ****

Wish I were another man
Not in this forsaken place
A heartless God devised this plan
Probably die without a trace

I dream of a blue refreshing lake
A sunlit meadow vast
Relief from this persistent ache
Expunging memory of days past

But alas, there’s no escape
Forever squalid in the dirt
Clothed in this dusty drape
My body in tedious hurt
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Exhausted, drained of all energy,
Seeking to fill this void with life that will fit.
The pain and drudgery of all has become almost too much to bear.
My soul screams out for change and relief.

Eyes closed in torment, wounds bleed with frustration and contempt;
Closed in a jail, a circle that never ends.
Life without living it has become; entombed within this existence
Isolated and alone, I have been left to die.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Janek Kentigern Apr 2015
Your life is threadbare
and it's cosy

Uncomfortable
but safe

Poor
yet secure

It's not killing you
but then neither are you living.

The head is above water,
Struggling against the tide.

Grinding along on a hamster wheel
that badly needs oiling

I mean

You now earn less than you did at your first job.
It was **** all then

and that was 5 years ago.

The years have not been kind. The hairline has crept upward
Roughly in line with inflation.

A job's a job's a job's a job's a job.

There's a damp roof over your head.

Are you ready to trade all this in for a taste of adventure?

A main course of personal growth
washed down with a side order of

Drudgery

loneliness

and Japanese Encephalitis.

Will they find you out?
Will you be pulled into an office

while a polite local
explains how her English is better than yours?

That could all happen, says the head

but the frightened, quivering heart longs to change.

To jump into the fire and emerge reborn
strong, dynamic, brave. All the things you aren't now.


Just don't hope for too much.
sledgehammers finish off the drudgery
some moments are pounding
others are cool like the crystal ocean
a depth of vision is necessary
if you wish to transcend
the edges of your inevitable vulnerability
i am in need of shelter from her fire
a muse that burns all that she inspires
a silent lover of beauty
furthering her art
between the spaces of dreams
our fingers slip into everything
and become entangled like twine
rest here and unwind your heart strings
the scintillating heat is blinding yet rejuvenating
if you are my love then uncover your soul
give naked silence a chance to grow
surround my faithless jungle
with your vines of hope
i am conscious of the lack of rope
this happiness is binding
like kindness climbing invisible ladders
you shatter the silhouette of my perfect idol
i sneak a peak at a photograph
that you have kept hidden
silver visions destined to uncover
the lust of beauty
smiled in my direction
if we wish to dance then circle around the fire
aspire for magic to abolish your name
switch places with your shadow
and feel the earth within your skin
give god a better reason than your sadness
and she may even begin to sing again
Terry O'Leary Sep 2015
1
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

                              2
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

                          3
To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

                    4
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

                        5
Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

                          6
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

                 7
The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

                  8
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
Don Bouchard Oct 2018
Same old drudgery,
Papers fresh for grading;
Topics, seldom new,
If honestly presented,
At least encourage worth
In form, in format, in tradition.

Plagiarism creeps up,
Always shocking,
The unauthorized changing
Of voice, of tone, of diction,
Not unlike the sting of a ruthless needle,
The drip of a hollowed, poisoned fang,
The bite of frost, burning a tender cheek...
Sadly familiar, this strident pang.

All hope is lost.

Anger sets in,
Trust wilts,
Hope fades gray.

In plagiarism, the fool's truth lies;
To belie one's honor is to watch it die.
Proverbs 1:17 Surely in vain the nets are cast under the watching eyes of the birds...
Sillo Anderson Sep 2018
Idle love sways around
Capitalizing on what's done
Filling narrowly the fissures beyond hurt
As profound lust gnaw at berated flesh.
Mimicking actions entitled for the best,
Woes trawled at peace, slicing forgiveness
Leaving the immoral of humanity senseless.

Acute arbitrations mingle solely around favors
Spectating drudgery amongst humans and its nature.
For wreaths fall closely, to dreams of being needed
And pleasures steep low from dreamers with bright egos.
I.
from one direction a voice is heard
the Word pours forth from the mountain
i hear the language of the birds
truthfully we converse often
they recount tales of passion
beauty and satisfaction
our mutual attraction is gaining energy
i feel the pressure building
its all consuming
like a waterfall it threatens to consume me
and dissolve me in its intoxication
her scent is everywhere
a constant reminder of the divine
i am taunted by her essence
her fragrance and her spine
inflict mortal wounds
dare to hold her tight
if you do the energy of love
will overcome her
sweet innocence
bound to the intellect
essential qualities
communication
sensuality
actualize presence
in feeling and form
i freeze
her beauty is numinous
surreptitiously blooming it almost fooled me
she took hold of my insides
it lingers near me
i sleep with her memory
can i shield myself from this surge of music
hunger and inclusion
an institution of feeling

II.
her eyes are furnaces
her breath vapor
never less than the totality
liquid light crashes
fast and than slowly
the rhythm laughs at our feebleness
saturated innocence
bursting out like steam from coal ovens
simple ecstasy is my only hope
form is pain
a prayerful reminder of our impermanence
swiftly **** me and let me dance
sledgehammers finish off the drudgery
some moments are pounding
others are cool like the crystal ocean
a depth and vision is necessary
i am in need of shelter from her fire
a muse that burns all that she inspires
a silent lover of beauty
furthering her art
between the spaces of dreams
our fingers slip into everything
and become tangled like twine
rest here and unwind your heart strings
the scintillating heat
is blinding yet rejuvenating
if you are my love then uncover your soul
give naked silence a chance to grow
surround my faithless jungle
with your vines of hope
i am conscious of the lack of rope
for happiness is binding
like kindness climbing invisible ladders
shatter the silhouette of your perfect idol
sneak a peak at a photograph you have kept hidden
silver visions destined to uncover
the lust of beauty
smiled in my direction
if we wish to dance then circle around the fire
aspire for magic to abolish your name
switch places with the shadow
and feel the earth with your skin
give us a reason for you to be here
or you better start swimming

III.
what is this feeling
of loneliness and shame
as it arises i witness our pain
like flaming eagles
it circles high in the sky
our instability gives rise to flight
you gave me the impression
that you were alright
now i know the difference
between the darkness and the light
as featureless women
become a formless sea
of instant gratification
is this the medicine i seek
our trials and tribulations are tripping me
every which way i reach
i feel you chasing after me

IIII.
never quite on time
we run always behind
i am dancing in flaming spirals
a feather high up in a tree
i am a shepherd and i am a chief
i am the river, the mountain and the sea
life gets hectic and full of noise
in the confusion we reach out for toys
to anchor us to reality
yet it never works
these childish games remain shallow
and keep us narrowly awake
barely alive
what a dismal dive
into lakes of cold liquid
refreshed by the water and the ice
our humanity survives

Megan Sherman Jul 2018
To write of Love, of Heaven, and of God,
Hills of joy, o'er which Angel pursued
Of that Boy, a sublime hippie shepherd,
Who in Heart the wisdom of Heaven had,
My pen, it labours, I give sweat and blood,
To paint world in cerise, a sweet red flood:

Or Prussian blue, depending on the scene,
Let Poets tell true folk from chess piece Kings,
Feign benevolence, when they are mean,
Who strut and rule above, superior things,
Who on the carcass of the suffering wean,
Drunk on power, Almighty sovereigns.

To write of Love, Heaven, apart from days,
Spent in drudgery at whim of Lords,
Who sit engorged by gold, wealth as they graze,
Upon the fruits yield by the mass, that horde,
As mass toil deep 'neath sun's sweltering rays,
To give and barter time they can't afford.

But they will be the ones in Heaven crowned,
As all time vindicates the plight of souls,
Who in port, or wine, have never drowned,
Rich gluttony the faithful mind abhors,
Upon which Saints and angels incensed frown,
So to tyrant's whims take pious war.
Priyanka Oct 2018
Left behind
After a devastating ruin
I was the last of poets,
Left alone, to ponder
in a barren world.
They wanted me to write,
To tell our story
But how could I,
With you not around?

You weren’t among those
to submit to longing
And fairly warned
that burning desire
could etch history, or
We could bring us down.

Togetherness had a cost,
It pulled us low
from the high pedestals,
Of palaces we built
to justify our pretences
In the functional world.  

But how could I
Tell them of all the tales
You wove for me,
Silently,
each word dotting
the timeline of my life,
And of the parallel universe
the one we created,
Like children knitting
magical tales
Oblivious to the adult sphere.  

The way we receded
into nothingness
and quiet evenings,
beside each other.
The night, a fellow traveller  
and the wind whispering
songs of our past,
That then faded
into a sea of companionship. 

The horizon of togetherness,
lost souls finding each other
its silver lining, working
Like the sunset taking away
trials of the day,
A blanket of the dark
soothing the aches,
The scent of our love
covering all wounds
like healing gauze.

What could I tell
of the unspoken words
that spread out each day
like fairy dust,
Sprinkled over
a mundane existence
Lending a special,
O special meaning
to our dreary lives
Complicated, yet so simple
in its wants,
that heard only
language of the heart.

Could I even begin
to talk of the rhythm,
The pulsating earth
beneath our feet,
When we danced
to those songs,
the numerous serenades
That held our minds
communicating
like morse code
messages from another
parallel universe,
Feet on feet
rocking together,
Swaying like madmen
to the tunes of our
silent disco.  

If only I could narrate    
alongside you, this tale
would bring alive
Saplings in a barren land,
Brought about
by that devastating ruin
called the real world —
the marriage of pain
with daylight drudgery —
fresh flowers would emerge,
Jasmines of love,
not those plucked buds
saved in a book of poems
that neither you, nor I wrote,

If only I were not
The last of the poets
Left alone
In a barren world.
What am I if not the last of poets in a barren world, without another to complete my story?
nja Aug 5
It's too late,
We can’t talk anymore, everything is nostalgic.
You’ve changed.
I’ve now hated you too much.

The hate overpowers your emotional concoctions.
Your drudgery of drugs are dead and used cells in me.
My head doesn’t drool for your highs and low presence.
I just don’t get a kick out of you anymore.
Ur needle’s been dumped.
I’ve become a heavyweight.
U loser.
Poisonous boy was my drug.
Whit Howland Jul 21
Dear Sister

Although right now
you're not too keen on memories

there was a time when it used to be

stories and memories
were our musical symphonies

masterpieces serving only
to pass the time and get us past

the dreadful weekends of our
chores and other drudgery

so let us take one more trip
down the red brick road
and reminisce
about the robot we tried to build

the end result being
nothing we planned
but more than we ever could have dreamed

for the eyes the arms
the hands and metal feet
of our doomed creature
that should've have worked

failed miserably

but what was successful
was our monochromatic journey
through lands
of pewter steel silver and
shiny chrome

and at the end the road
was this marvelous monolithic
impotent monster that I still see
in the wee small hours of the night
when I close my eyes

and let that be the coda
for this fantastic voyage

signed

your fellow maestro of absurdity
and your brother

Whit Howland © 2019
Disclaimer: Narrator and subject  fictitious. This poem was inspired by the paintings of James McNeil Whistler, namely "Whistler's Mother".


Always in an entrapment
Humans are not fully evolved

Whatever humans do
Always caged in a cocoon
Unfulfilled and distressed

No matter how many births...
Drudgery remains

It isn't easy
Because
To let go grudges
No 'conditioning' budges

How much / many times we struggle
How much we pretend to be happy
No door opens up to break-free

Like a butterfly
Lying dormant within cocoon
Awaiting illumination to seep in

Like dead corpses
Scratching the inner skin
Peering though translucent shells
Breathless and restless
Decaying within -
With a hope of a "crack"

That's the time when
The cocoon tightens

Colors teases the rues
Heart beats the air of freedom

The fairies of courages
Spreads its wings
To soar higher as "dreamZ"
To battle and baffle
To ciphers and blunder
By taking a clue from within

Breaking the shackles
To embrace the sparkled dust
Digesting and leaving behind...
A transitional state to ONENESS

One need not cry for quiescence
Now one awaits the cosmos -
Sky, rainbow, stars.... infinite

Bidding farewell...
The LOVE's butterfly
Desires to flutter and fly



LOVE is the only #chrysalis
zebra Mar 29
you need each other like a vampire needs blood
you've always loved her ***
those long legs
unexpected arguments
the word no
fantasies of make up ***
make up ***

late night sneaking farts
off spring
springing
debt and drudgery
till half dead
weight gain from a sagging liver
and retching love

labyrinth's of desire and anger
divorce; the sword of Damocles
a mad hatter chandelier

seeing stupid through her eyes
my face like a vitrine of broken masks
the way she looks in floppy slippers
or dressed up in black and pearls

snoring with a gaping mouth
of floating spirits in intricate patterns
of  darkness made of nothing

making believe your with someone else
*** fantasies I've never spoken of
in sultry dioramas of glistening leg shows
mosaic starred
baiting Shanghai nights

on my knees again
eating thorns
and she is more adorable than the rumba
a hot arsonist setting me on fire
canopy of flowers
golden apples and blood
pouring down shade sun and rain

decades of the same sentences
and the same dead sea silences
in claustrophobic tangles
of devotion

seeing who dies first
and left desolate;
with a legacy of remembrance
that chews like a moth to cloth
lantern of vapors; weeping
flicker heart

it beats the hell out of being alone
at the end I go back to the beginning

the marrying kind
Who is buried under the rock
It's a friend of mine, in Barros
Walloping scallops in French Kitchen, cradling reserved Paris
In the free, memories are made often
Of these great following, greetings today
Now tomorrow now comes yeses and sclera
Is a rocking soup, in the full stomach, day after and after

Hue, in the colorful streetlight
Imagine the night of the thunderous clap, when the fly is a ****** hull
And it just hit me, and I kicked the dirt, you're life has to full of sons
If I had music like this ramble on the porch, bleeding by the fire with the letter of tout wheatish complexion
By the dog who waits on the Mitya and Alyosha is your friend in the thought that you will survive the thing that stays after that is what survives in my mind, the Ivan remembers you in his searching elegant looks

Hooking for readable pages that him to a crime of the senescence wailing, waters won't come back again tainted by the hint at the story and talk oh human nature and passion, a bold letter took from your open book, now strewn hanging in the room

Even when I'm in the drunken haze in the clear, swarthy and dressed, lilies wilt in cold art nouveau, talk of colorful tambourines
Dietrich, Lithuania rebarbative is not subjective
Folgen Sie nur auf der Ersten unlike this we search for some facts between the lines of anticipation of something crawl from under
Auf Wiedersehen from the sending  halls that for romance was once, breadth, lengths to go if you're in dearth sickness and you just keep looking to change how you react
Now, you don't even attract me anymore with stories of Lithuania and unspoken in the loveliest languages, how slovenly though
In need for love, drugs can keep this warm, the finding a drunken haze in drugs, ******, are we arriving at the naked frumpy girl or your heaven's in crisis

Hue in the callow streetlamp, your glib about Ibsen, and talk of centuries and blazing etudes that your soul collates, a thrilling merit
When they told her, that she was "yelling."
They asked her to stop making the noise, forgetting that it was music once
They saw the determination in flowery spokes, that follow the sunflower
Parallelogram van in the dim light, strong verses terse hearses
Towers calls and church were we young once, are we full of ourselves
And becoming romantic, philosophizing on knowing you and I
We must have a purpose to do this, applying and ousting ourselves of comforting minnows yarns of jocular joints cracking by the Thomas Munroe book and fireplace, trust the recesses of your mind they aren't distinctly, but, a warm gun
A free drug and Englishman couldn't prevent the brew from brimming
The drudgery of a different time and passion
Time machine, wheels on fire that talks to us and also tells us to sleep, making sure that we keep a mindful eye optioned out of the dinner sleep and talked about that
Well, we are titillating, scintillating, coruscating, shiny friable animated
Frisco bay, curiosity in the shell-shock of the freedom that talks of captivity and caitiffs, call me a coward
We are soldiers in the prisons of our mind, except most of are in the kitchen making the derelict talk, a black cat crosses the street
Talk, and talk, then the electric silence missionaries, a tabled missionary serving food to the few toward the city in pursuit of the curious one.
Yenson Apr 29
Many desire that man so bad
just that man with the rakish air
calm as a cucumber, strong as iron
so smart and cool and you know what
he's also got the tool and a swagger that's hot
but alas none is brave or smart enough to go his way
been told not to and they are wimps and in control and tied
dare not go against their masters, they all live in fear of disapproval
no mind of their own, no independent will or thoughts or courage
rather do with the saps and fools that come their ways cause its same
drudgery small minded men with little prospect and mundane ways
that's the ones in the open pools for them for excellence scares them
Show me that brave rebellious one
the strong heady type that has a mind
why should you tell me good is bad and banned
when I can see the truth right before my eyes and its good
No, you can't stop me if its him I want, I know you are envious
that's your business not mine, and I don't give a **** about you
Now such a women is that I'll respect and take because she's no fool
I'll build her a castle with a sea view and give her all she ever wants
who wants a fool lead and blinded like a *****, dancing to craziness
what is an asinine lass who sees gold and say no, that is counterfeit so
I must only see what they want me to see and play games with idiots
So if you own your mind and don't lay with dogs come and see me
and lets show them what winners and power coupling is all about
Kambria Donnelly Nov 2018
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.


- Max Ehrmann
Stumbled upon this beautiful poem today and it brought many inspiring reminders on life. Thank you.
Sea Dec 2018
Glowing faces
In beautiful destinations
Saying "Pay me so I can show you how to live like me"
Give them your money, your time
Their joyous lives fill your Instagram feed,
Filling you with a insatiable need
To consume what the lifestyle they are selling

Life coaches, spiritual masters, transformation guides
All these people who've got the life
While you turn to them
Through your screen
Looking to them to tell you what life means
They say "Pay up, happiness isn't free"
And you scramble in search for money,
Because they say they sell what you need

You work your nine to five,
And live your tired life
You try to make ends meet
Your kids are ungrateful,
Never looking up from their myriad screens
Your husband left you
In search of a woman who looks like she could be in her teens
You eat your ramen, no, it's not gluten free
You wonder how your life got to this--
In two words: Miserable drudgery

You go on social media,
Look at all these lifestyle gurus
Talking about how happy they are
That they could burst at the seams
They've got the money,
And the perfect honey
And the luxuries,
They take selfies on distant beaches,
Smiling cheek to cheek
They are happy
And they are trying to sell you their lifestyle

They create e-courses, e-books, e-everything-and-anythings
On how to follow what they did
to become so happy, so wealthy, so blessed
It's all a mindset, they teach
You can get anything you desire
If you work hard enough for it

It's a revolution,
With all these self love lifestyle gurus
Infiltrating social media
But are we selling our souls,
To these people
who don't truly understand
What it's like to be you?
What it's like to be financially poor,
Abandoned and lonely,
Unattractive by society's standards,
I'm not saying they haven't been through
their own stuff,
But can you really commodify a lifestyle?
Can you put a price tag on helping others?
Especially when that price tag is thousands of dollars?
This help is for the privileged,
And those that need help the most
will go without,
as usual

I guess I just crave humility
In this selfie culture,
I truly ache for authenticity,
Real helping,
Real healing,
And not all of this showiness,
Disguised as expressing gratitude for your amazing life
On social media

Perhaps we can all wake up
From the spectacular little daydream of our own lives
To the reality of the worldwide suffering going on right at this moment
Maybe if we stopped posting about the atrocities on the news,
Got off our phones
And did something to change our world,
Things would be different.
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