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Phil Riles Jan 1
Hormones raging...for what I'm told not to engage in, even if we're engaged, if it's not official than its still revealed as...fornication. There's a disturbing underestimation of the result given for this particular sinful demonstration, society has taught us that we test the car before we drive it, but the 1st issue with this analogy told is that we're comparing human sin to...driving a vehicle? But if we're going to entertain analogies on this subject , then, well, how about these: do we begin eating Thanksgiving dinner before were done saying grace? Do they hand out diplomas and degrees for classes you haven't passed yet? do they give Super Bowl trophies to  teams expected to win? So how do we justify receiving the prize of an unmet process? We’ve allowed marriage to become an afterthought or not even a passing idea our better judgment caught because man had rather receive a temporary pleasure that sin conceives birthed in disobedience, deceptive grip around your conscience until your choked by the demands of a lustful flesh that wants to be fed in continual expedience. Or...Maybe, I’m fighting this, fighting not to be twistedly envious and curious of a world unknown to me. Maybe I’m fighting...the temptation and frustration of being a single man patiently searching for that good thing and the favor my Father blesses along with her. Maybe I’m fighting...not to nosedive into the traps laid for human souls lured in by lack, of self-control. It troubles me in just how simple...he explains his ability to desecrate his own creator’s temple. It’s not all his fault, because it was up to her to give him the key to this priceless location better known as her body.
Everything is falling apart,
It is too late to see.
No one is left to trust.

Crumbling into ashes and dust,
Lost in a meaningless sea.
Everything is falling apart.

Turn away if you must,
But it is too late flee.
No one is left to trust.

Fight for a fresh start,
If you are too blind to see.
Everything is falling apart.

Escapism is an art,
The world is too chaotic to me.
No one is left to trust.

Moisty eyes and a broken heart,
All I wish is to be free.
Everything is falling apart.
No one is left to trust.















Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
Just a thought that I wanted to convey via words. Hope you like it. Happy reading!
Jay Jun 5
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over ******, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
AS Jul 16
Life is not free,
it comes with a cost just to breathe.
The expectations not to be emplaced on the seed.
Judged for how they choose lead.
Punished for how they believe and chose to breed.
Marked and abandoned,
for choosing to see and to move away,
to reject disgusting displays.
To be shown disdain for following their own way.
Blamed when they choose not to stay the same.
Cost of the invisible chain,
placed on the terrain of birth.
Dependent to the pain,
to the mother who reined.
Tossed away when finally mirrored the destructive game,
patience snapped and apologised for the same way the birth-maid acts.
Distanced to detach,
to move away from the shame.
A promise made when a little babe,
to never be the same.
Shocked on the way,
they pushed patience down the drain.
Enacted by refusal to be the *****,
to take the blame and defend the endless plague you enrage.
Expected to be thankful,
guilted to stay in line.
Manipulated every time they attempt to  fly.
Co-dependently wrapped,
to give meaning the way in which your life lacked.
An ear to smear all your hate,
fear and tsunami tears.
Flooded in your pain,
you  the victim and to take no blame.
Born a parent in the early days,
cleaning and protecting you from the dirt you spurt.
From the countless monsters in which you learnt.
Sadness,
that you ever witnessed that level of madness.
Not to be kept to your past tense,
to swallow and drain with your inner hallow.
To clip their wings,
as for only you they can sing.
To demand,
offended when the glove is on the other hand.
To not poison others land or be offended when they flee.
When the hunger to find serene,
**** dry for too long.
Came to a point,
grief hidden within the earthly core finally exploded.
No longer naive,
willing to adore or ignore.
Needing to breathe,
to speak,
to burst out what has been hidden underneath.
To truly breathe,
to find reprieve.
To heal from the demons which deceived.
To unfreeze the mind,
from all the other monsters you missed slip by.
Not to be told that I lied,
because it breaks your ******* pride.
Not to be hissed at or dismissed,
for what you missed.
Life has been,
was what I owed,
for being brought up and given food.
The basics to accept the rudeness and being clueless.
Don't give birth if your child does not come first,
don't let them bleed to feed your own needs.
Recognise they're a child,
not a friend to take care after you've gone wild.
Not to be confined in places they seem wise.
A child is a gift,
not someone to heavy lift.
Not to manage your whims.
As a child do not owe,
no entitlement to treat them low.
Rid of your countless rules,
the one's incredibly cruel.
Those only practised by the few,
the ones who spread the blue,
to those who surround.
Unable to find stable ground.
Life should be free,
in this way you see,
it cannot not be.
Children deserve to breathe,
not to have them mentally disciplined onto their knees.


© 2018

Abigail Sheard
Poetry is my release, a place to reveal and heal.

I am very lucky that my anxiety and depression no longer fully control me, it has taken a lot of hard work though to get to this point.
Jessica H Oct 2012
Left with traumas that are immensely heavy, too frail to keep dragging them along.
To flee is not an option
my woes have quick legs to chase me,
I fall to the ground in exasperation,
to wait for an able-bodied hero that will never come
Cné Feb 8
Woe to the one,
Who is stung by a bee.
F*ckin hurts a bunch
Makes one want flee.

Even after he dies,
The bee knows what to do.
You might not realize,
But the stingers in you
“The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.” ~ Fernando Pessoa
nadine Jul 2017
lock me in your eyes
never set me free
i'll be the person who'll try
to calm the waves of your sea
a sunken boat
that will never flee
this has been
nadine
ryn Jul 2014
Wild stallion live free
Galloping unbound
Always you flee
Never chained to your ground

Wild stallion how swiftly you fly
Over distances and plains
How courageous you try
Hide your aches and pains

Wild stallion your hooves beat the earth
With fierce determination
Let loose and be rid of your girth
Be free from trepidation

Wild stallion covet your solitude
Embrace the run in silence
Your formidable strides of fortitude
Bound forth with repentance

Wild stallion I see you there
Mane billowing as you thundered across
Grounds fly beneath you without a care
Running without remorse, gliding without loss

Wild stallion I was once like you
Soaring to the ends on unrestrained wings
A life that is now but an echo; a faint pathetic hue
A life that is now filled with broken things

Wild stallion keep on running free
Keep galloping and know no bounds
You're free, no need to flee
Outrun the chains, leave them as faint indiscernible sounds

Wild stallion how I envy you
As you canter, your coat gleam in the light
See me as you always do
Just a reflection who has ceased to fight
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