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"freeing" poems
Umm, the presence and scent of a man Magnetic attraction where his feet stands His natural body charismatic aroma Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history It is his nose that smells out my charms An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content The strength in his biceps His triceps Strong, yet such comforting arms An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears His intellectual mind to think as a man A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth Erected compass of his wand now pointing North A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind **** I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins From the first taste of honey dipped Butter *** me As his giving oral fixation is traveling free Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate Hooking my twerking bait His physique in general…Oh, God thank you Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do Your presence to a woman is our earthly food Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around My Dream Weaver My distance heartbeat receiver His dripping sweat Droplets to my skin have been met The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
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Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
The Scent Of A Man
Umm, the presence and scent of a man Magnetic attraction where his feet stands His natural body charismatic aroma Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history It is his nose that smells out my charms An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content The strength in his biceps His triceps Strong, yet such comforting arms An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears His intellectual mind to think as a man A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth Erected compass of his wand now pointing North A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind **** I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins From the first taste of honey dipped Butter *** me As his giving oral fixation is traveling free Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate Hooking my twerking bait His physique in general…Oh, God thank you Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do Your presence to a woman is our earthly food Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around My Dream Weaver My distance heartbeat receiver His dripping sweat Droplets to my skin have been met The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
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our destination is the journey edged with culture curved with meticulous attention infested with corruption fumigated with potential waiting to reveal itself to the world taking time to perfect itself because like fine wine we don't age, we mature into something so different refreshing the norms creating a new era of dimensions a relentless spirit perfectly flawed oh blooming flower a tree known by its fruits a shackled continent waiting for the chains of judgement to break freeing the truth this is africa
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Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 4:59 PM UTC
Africa
The crowd fades away As chords in every melody Rings in our ears, And shivers downs in our body It vibrates in every muscle A musical fusion Almost everything didn’t matter It’s you, me and the beating rhythm The graceful posture The sway of every gesture It’s a motion adventure. Feeling the adrenaline pulsing through Pervading the entity Beating rhythm pounding, it electrifies the body into graceful art, emancipating the sound of the music Captivating the mind, liberating the young, reckless soul covertly hidden inside an indifferent exterior A freeing beauty of movement to the rhythm A therapy to the mind and body. Dancing to the music, feeling every tune every beat every breath of every movement, with Explosions of Euphoria
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
Of Grace and Beauty: Dance
#*God's love is delight itself it is beauty itself it is tender yet fierce sweet yet wild steadfast yet unpredictable enveloping yet freeing captivating yet boundless protective yet empowering certain yet never boring relentless yet gentle secure yet mysterious trustworthy yet exciting all-consuming yet unfathomable He is everything you’ve ever hoped for, dreamed of, longed after or imagined and so much more He is the Lover of your needy, thirsty soul and He fights continually for your heart*#
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Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
The Infinite Paradisiacal Paradoxical Paragon
Thinking, tangling shadows in the deep solitude. You are far away too, oh farther than anyone. Thinking, freeing birds, dissolving images, burying lamps. Belfry of fogs, how far away, up there! Stifling laments, milling shadowy hopes, taciturn miller, night falls on you face downward, far from the city. Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing. I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you. My life before anyone, my harsh life. The shout facing the sea, among the rocks, running free, mad, in the sea-spray. The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea. Headlong, violent, stretched towards the sky. You, woman, what were you there, what ray, what vane of that immense fan? You were as far as you are now. Fire in the forest! Burn in blue crosses. Burn, burn, flame up, sparkle in trees of light. It collapses, crackling. Fire. Fire. And my soul dances, seared with curls of fire. Who calls? What silence peopled with echoes? Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude. Hour that is mine from among them all! Megaphone in which the wind passes singing. Such a passion of weeping tied to my body. Shaking of all the roots, attack of all the waves! My soul wandered, happy, sad, unending. Thinking, burying lamps in the deep solitude. Who are you, who are you?
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XVII (Thinking, Tangling Shadows...)
Lovely mornings, evenings, nights our hearts took flight Laughing ceased as sighs increased. Wafts of sensual sweet smells rose. Bodies, curved in writhing poses glowed. Cares lost in arousing touch, lingering fingers longed for Secrets, shared in sacred sighs and wanton lies. Arching union quivered and quaked. I whispered then and will again Stilettos are not made for walking, Their soul purpose, freeing our rising desires, Feeding rapturous tinglings of sensual ecstasy.
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
A fond remembrance
i don’t know how someone as small as me with bones that break at the sight of heat lightning and heart strings that thread apart at the sound of his voice could make anyone feel like the sun shines brighter through kaleidoscope eyes— you’re okay if it brings out the freckles on your face, and you feel good, you feel alive you say i showed you how to love in a new way, that i taught you to be so much more okay with your tummy, “it’s been very freeing and life is a lot better, thank you,” but i feel like i can’t say you’re welcome because i am a messy cliché of imperfect scraps and hypocrisy loosely sewn together with “you are strong you are strong you are strong,” but i feel so weak i feel so weak i feel so weak and i am not steady hands, they shake like wet dogs after kiddy pool baths, i am flower seeds that forgot how to bloom, trapped below the surface of a garden that feels like quicksand and i’m sorry but you don’t see all the mistakes i make, all the words i’ve preached that look back at me and laugh when they see what i feel, what i think, who i am behind closed doors, i’m sorry. you keep hanging medals around my neck, and they’re so heavy, and i don’t know what to say besides i love you when you speak words of adoration, but please do not praise me, i am not good.
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Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
i'm just as broken as you are
With a face and voice like that you’d never guess the girl was five foot ten she walks in and towers above the image you expected a girl pushing five feet, dainty, even whimsical but surely petite she’s far from petite This girl sympathizes with transgender bodies yet envies those who succeed Hormones and knives can fix gods mistake but nothing can fix me so women will sit dreaming of dropping pounds and she dreams of dropping feet never complete Psychs and shrinks digress this to be nothing more than another disorder Her views on herself are simply brushed off as body dysmorphia yet therapy nor pills shall shake her desire to fix gods mistake by freeing her soul of this giant hell hole leaving it for someone else to take.
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May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
Ode To Body Dysmorphia
Did you read what Tyler Knott Gregson wrote "Wasted are the days where the skin beneath our clothes doesn't get touched" she told him. Before she knew it he fiercely ripped open the buttons of her shirt. He took his hands and touched her chest freeing all that was trapped within. Lips to lips they created a magical kiss. Skin on skin they felt the shivers begin. Body heat filled the room sweat dripped like rain slipping off forest tree leaves. Moans got louder as they felt the thrill begin. She said kiss me over and over to write fine poetry on my skin we'll read It together to see if it could rhyme after we have a glass of red wine ~
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Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
How words can be seducing
god gloats upon Her stunning flesh. Upon the rechings of Her green body among unseen things, things obscene (Whose fingers young the caving ages curiously con) —but the lunge of Her hunger softly flung over the gasping shores leaves his smile wan, and his blood stopped hears in the frail anon the shovings and the lovings of Her tongue. god Is The Sea. All terrors of his being quake before this its hideous Work most old Whose battening gesture prophecies a freeing of ghostly chaos in this dangerous night through moaned space god worships God— (behold! where chaste stars writhe captured in brightening fright)
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God Gloats Upon Her Stunning Flesh. Upon
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields In what myriad guise it wraps! At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil Sometimes a deep sensation A strong surge of emotion Permeating every atom Pervading from top to bottom It heightens the pulse And makes every nerve convulse It has left kingdoms fall asunder And many a mighty man - surrender Often, like dew drops falling from above Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody Changing every sensation into rhapsody As beams of silver cast by the moon Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart Filling the void and leaving no dearth Love sublime, sure like a candle lit Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers Music to flute or shade to bowers Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised Nor be stifled or be construed Love puts all other things into place And hems life with a lovely lace Love is all we seek and too scarce to find A magic thread by which hearts are bound Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around And cures all the ills that surround Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
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Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Love
Can I write you a love song I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long Blow gently without words on my saxophone Diamond and Pearls behind the throne A beautiful ensemble meant for only you As I give credence too Take my hand Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts I’ll sing love songs of old A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon Destiny overcasts in the lyrics Fate floating stratospheric Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric Opera, I give you so grand in its grace French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace Sounds of my flute resonant to face Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace Can I write you a love song Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong My guitar stringing your philosophies along An equal equation, one plus one equals two Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please Orchestra sounds Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound The last note sung by me as we gradually come down Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound Shh, close your eyes Meditate on the music for a little while Hush sweet baby don’t say a word My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird If that mockingbird don’t sing Can I write you a love song created only for your being As minds are sightseeing Hearts fleeing Timpani drums guaranteeing Entwined of our divine wellbeing Emotions freeing Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long Can I write you a love song
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Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Can I Write You A Love Song
Can I write you a love song I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long Blow gently without words on my saxophone Diamond and Pearls behind the throne A beautiful ensemble meant for only you As I give credence too Take my hand Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts I’ll sing love songs of old A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon Destiny overcasts in the lyrics Fate floating stratospheric Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric Opera, I give you so grand in its grace French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace Sounds of my flute resonant to face Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace Can I write you a love song Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong My guitar stringing your philosophies along An equal equation, one plus one equals two Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please Orchestra sounds Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound The last note sung by me as we gradually come down Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound Shh, close your eyes Meditate on the music for a little while Hush sweet baby don’t say a word My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird If that mockingbird don’t sing Can I write you a love song created only for your being As minds are sightseeing Hearts fleeing Timpani drums guaranteeing Entwined of our divine wellbeing Emotions freeing Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long Can I write you a love song
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I have always had pride in my independence Always made my own decisions made my own friends done my own work As all others I learned this at a young age; this self-reliance of sorts It is freeing to have freedom and relieving to be relieved of responsibilities that are not mine But it is nice to think of myself as small and dependent on mommy and daddy because it was a simpler time.
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Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Autonomy vs. Shame & Doubt
The saga in her eyes converts into a Constant downpour soon after She realizes her freedom from the spell of the dark witch, The curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body. What land – what sea – what wind... All my life now seems her story. "Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me." Her words reverberate throughout, What wind - what land - what sea, Everywhere is her presence as I can see, The wind whispers her name in my ear, Since a long long time now all I wear, Is her scent in my immortalized memory. ***"Will you stay with me forever, or, Will you go back to the heavens?"*** Though I really wanted her to stay, I love her and realize what she felt, I offered her freedom and a choice, I was not binding her to me in turn, Everything was instinctive from me. She seemed in a serious dilemma, Struggling hard she was in herself, I again offered & insisted this time, "It's better to go back to your world," But I knew that she loved me a lot, She tried hard controlling but said, "I am in love with you since long." So I am quite right that she loves me, I am sure even she can forget me not, Beading all our memories together, I now know how I can gain salvation, Not being another self-centric tantric, ***"But you don't belong here, dear, You shouldn't torture yourself for a mortal."*** After this, she now looks comfortable & composed, Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone, Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile, Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness, Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good, ***"You can't make me stay away because you love me too, I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."*** But I wanted her in my real-world now, I prevented her from vanishing again, I said, ***"Please stay, now do not go away, Because I really can not bear that pain,"*** She had almost vanished by then, Listening to my words she chose to wait, She said, "Even I want forever to stay." Continuing with her divine dialogue she said, "Say those golden words to make me stay," I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel," "Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel," She didn't wait for anything more to say it, "I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor," Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
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May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
Angel Ultimately?
The saga in her eyes converts into a Constant downpour soon after She realizes her freedom from the spell of the dark witch, The curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body. What land – what sea – what wind... All my life now seems her story. "Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me." Her words reverberate throughout, What wind - what land - what sea, Everywhere is her presence as I can see, The wind whispers her name in my ear, Since a long long time now all I wear, Is her scent in my immortalized memory. ***"Will you stay with me forever, or, Will you go back to the heavens?"*** Though I really wanted her to stay, I love her and realize what she felt, I offered her freedom and a choice, I was not binding her to me in turn, Everything was instinctive from me. She seemed in a serious dilemma, Struggling hard she was in herself, I again offered & insisted this time, "It's better to go back to your world," But I knew that she loved me a lot, She tried hard controlling but said, "I am in love with you since long." So I am quite right that she loves me, I am sure even she can forget me not, Beading all our memories together, I now know how I can gain salvation, Not being another self-centric tantric, ***"But you don't belong here, dear, You shouldn't torture yourself for a mortal."*** After this, she now looks comfortable & composed, Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone, Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile, Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness, Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good, ***"You can't make me stay away because you love me too, I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."*** But I wanted her in my real-world now, I prevented her from vanishing again, I said, ***"Please stay, now do not go away, Because I really can not bear that pain,"*** She had almost vanished by then, Listening to my words she chose to wait, She said, "Even I want forever to stay." Continuing with her divine dialogue she said, "Say those golden words to make me stay," I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel," "Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel," She didn't wait for anything more to say it, "I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor," Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
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55
Sleeping someone somewhere Dreams of drinking daises Laying lucid loving lavender Adapting admiration of the ages Koala kites, kaleidoscope cries Bubbles blowing bare beauty Riding radiance rapidly realizing Forsaken focus freeing form Soaring sensation seeps synchronicity Dripping differences deranged Rearranged ripples randomly react Enacting endorphins equally engaging Induced ignition infinitely intact Pulsating precision purpose full pact
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Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 4:52 AM UTC
Yonder yarn
12 steps towards the top Underneath the candles yellow drops Lighting the way in a spiral fashion The yellow flames burn with poise and passion Shadows and reflections catch the eye A beauty and grace that no man can defy Gracefully she'll burn until end Freeing herself to transcend
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Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Spiralling flame
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
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Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
to be without shell
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
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Be scared mortal,,,, for it approaches, The night be young, the spirits restless, The wind dances,, the trees echo,, Creatures of the night awaken, Deep dark voids are open, You can only gasp in terror,, Your worst nightmares will come to pass,,,, As the sky slowly turns crimson, As the eye of the night opens,, blood red and hungry,, Freeing the wild magic chained,,, The bloodmoon approaches...
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Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
Bloodmoon approaches
What if dawn never comes No more bright light from the sun With no sun the moon won't shine In the total darkness will you lose your mind Will you be able to face your fears When your monsters are closing in and getting near Or will you keep running trying to out distance them Feeling like you have been condemned Or will your turn and face those demons And find the greater meanings Will inside yourself you find that gem Will you find where your darkness stems Will you be able to restart your spark And leave in this world your wonderous mark To show the world your true being To let the world know you are no longer fleeing To destroy your mask can be so freeing To banish the dark with the light thats inside Because that's what happens when you have nothing left to hide
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Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
Life Without the Sun
To let go of the struggle and strife I wish to spend the rest of my life Going into the woods Escaping falsehoods Dancing in the rains Freeing myself from all the chains Watching blue skies Catching fireflies Playing with rays of sunlight Counting stars in the midnight Admiring the nature Identifying it as my teacher To let go of the struggle and strife I wish to spend the rest of my life Going into the woods Escaping falsehoods Pain is the only thing which is real It’s hard to find all my wishes are virtual
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Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:28 AM UTC
Into the woods
… and I can’t help but wonder how freeing it felt to fly.
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Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 6:58 PM UTC
My cousin jumped off a building
Someone once said that we die twice-- First, when we take our very last breath. The flame on our candle goes out as we Transition between life and death. But then comes our second dying. It’s similar but not the same. That death occurs when someone for The very last time says our name. So where are extinguished flames? What happens to the morning dew? What effect does speculating Have upon our point of view? Life has many questions to ponder. I wonder if such thoughts are freeing: Knowing that we once had been And not remaining attached to being. -by Bob B (10-26-19)
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Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
Twice Dying
I grew up ignored. Not neglected, never abused. Ignored. Blithely alone with people unawares of my existence besides them. They spoke about me as though I were not there, so I learned not to be. I spoke myself through days that stretched into years. "Don't draw attention. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't be the interesting one. They aren't interested in you, anyway." Siblings stole the spotlight and I let them. 'Being ignored is like being abused, kind of. ' No, not really. Being ignored is being silent and knowing what happens even though no one else does. Being the ignored one means that you don't have pressure to achieve; you don't exist. You are no better No worse Nothing at all. You are nothing at all. And eventually, You learn to appreciate that nothing-at-all feeling. It's freeing. You don't have to worry about things like looks because you don't get seen. Scars are ignored because they exist on you. Making friends, though, is hard. "How do you share like interests when you've never been important to have any at all?" I'd ask. "Figure it out." I would tell myself. "You have before." Take on the skins of people around you. Be who they want you to be. Be replaceable in that way that makes you needed. Simpler than it sounds, really. Being nothing is so freeing So calming So boring So cold. And empty. Like the nothing-at-all you are.
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Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
Nothing At All
Innocence in the sunlight Lose all your inhibitions in the nightlife A feeling so freeing Intoxicated with the moonlight Drinking in its radiant beams Such a feeling
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Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
Nightlife
You’re pretty… he says for a dark-skinned girl I usually don’t talk to your kind. am I supposed to feel honor? you hopped of your pedestal, down to mine? I will not curve my lips into the half of the crescent moon that you’re expecting you do not deserve that. exclusion encumbers me and I am small in your eyes. Surely you can see that I am a dark girl, sweet berries ; color of night the same colors that allowed my ancestors to take flight. freeing them from ******* wounds that had them tied, without my hue, we would’ve died. I am a stone immortal, no work of erosion can seep through my cracks. the trials of my ancestors drawn on their backs. so our heads, we never hang down , we are to be found. scars to be hidden it is the gas in a run-away car, that last sip an alcoholic has as their arm and wrist lay dangling at the bar this is the prestige of my hue if I’m just pretty? then what could beauty possibly mean to you. a rare blend of history, struggle and strength. My head will not hang, not once more by noose or in self distress, I am history. No more do I long to sit at a table with you, in the wake of waiting for your admiration I have created my own table, in appreciation of your hesitation. To you my worth will always be in comparison to what’s missing that being pretty for a dark-skin girl, is a blessing. Worth far more than bedazzled insults , convinced I was worth less they could see it in my eyes, the way I dressed. The hue that I am is far greater than they told me accepting back handed accolades, that’s the old me. This house that holds my soul is only almost pretty… they say if I weren’t so dark I might be worth loving, caring wanting or staying. My color, a rustic espresso, no cream. you say I am pretty for a dark- skinned girl … no I’m pretty and that’s it! signed a FED UP dark skinned chick
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Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
dark-skinned chick
You’re pretty… he says for a dark-skinned girl I usually don’t talk to your kind. am I supposed to feel honor? you hopped of your pedestal, down to mine? I will not curve my lips into the half of the crescent moon that you’re expecting you do not deserve that. exclusion encumbers me and I am small in your eyes. Surely you can see that I am a dark girl, sweet berries ; color of night the same colors that allowed my ancestors to take flight. freeing them from ******* wounds that had them tied, without my hue, we would’ve died. I am a stone immortal, no work of erosion can seep through my cracks. the trials of my ancestors drawn on their backs. so our heads, we never hang down , we are to be found. scars to be hidden it is the gas in a run-away car, that last sip an alcoholic has as their arm and wrist lay dangling at the bar this is the prestige of my hue if I’m just pretty? then what could beauty possibly mean to you. a rare blend of history, struggle and strength. My head will not hang, not once more by noose or in self distress, I am history. No more do I long to sit at a table with you, in the wake of waiting for your admiration I have created my own table, in appreciation of your hesitation. To you my worth will always be in comparison to what’s missing that being pretty for a dark-skin girl, is a blessing. Worth far more than bedazzled insults , convinced I was worth less they could see it in my eyes, the way I dressed. The hue that I am is far greater than they told me accepting back handed accolades, that’s the old me. This house that holds my soul is only almost pretty… they say if I weren’t so dark I might be worth loving, caring wanting or staying. My color, a rustic espresso, no cream. you say I am pretty for a dark- skinned girl … no I’m pretty and that’s it! signed a FED UP dark skinned chick
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