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Nat Lipstadt Jul 14
I get her, she writes me,
so eloquently,
”the nub of me; gist, manifested poetic”

one of the many poets I have never met,
one of the many poets, by whom,
I have been suchly, justly, richly and correctly

this mesmerizing judgement,
her-over-easy, mini-essay so succinctly
assaying an accidental ability mine

a happy passageway to my brain,
a new aperture, the neurons firing at will,
the tormented inquisitor’s unasked question,
how did this happen to me?

rocking the Sunday morn cradle’s calm,
ok, ok, write me, write me,
demands my no longer free will,
utilize the free wi-fi of we fidelty

the bay, surgically barely treading water,
its surface of multitude of small waves
but now an entire ****** expression bidding welcome

the breezeways genteel,
invites and push us into its
directionless & tideless soothful embrace,
to the shoreline we goeth,
to watch the occasional crossing vessel intruder,
woking the waters gentle

its white path residual wake foam-formed,
then almost instantaneously absorbed, bubbly bursting,
a history of a million moments awakened,
then, instantly returned to restful sleep,
akin to a newborn’s gurgling happy dreaming,
wiped clean away off to
Peter Pan’s it-never-happened-land

this carnival trick sideline of deep tissue knowingness,
sensing the essence of the who and the whom within,
with no data to go on other than their poetic collection,
the hidden meanings of the spaces and places between
the gene sequencing of their wondrous word-fullness
DNA poetic children, freely given,
and well taken
by me

I cannot explain it well enough, but then
a strayer thought breakaway,
a prehensile comprehension insertion
proffers itself as an explanation
and here,

the perfect world exterior before me observable
thrusts itself through picture windows onto my demeanor,
a ****** addiction of mine, my soul enslaved,
cannot bear to be taken away from

this vista,

which begs me,
bring all those you know!
here, to share, this precious precise nook
where eye insightful incisions elicit poems-by-command

but I cannot, bring you here,

so I see~imagine it better through
your eyes, then
is in my stubbed pencil nub, it is
poem’s destiny manifesting,
penciled through my scruff edged fingertips,
which-when-then transcribed to paper, to history,
‘tis all you
who writes,
not I

for now
are the solitary vessel waterborne,
are the captain and I

but a
Samson-nite, burdened, baggaged and blinded stowaway,
hopeless, yet still see-worthy,
with your guiding eyes,  
keeping me to keep
your copyright righted,
onto its course true

7-14-19 9:43am
in shelter, on the isle
she’ll ken her authorship by the title
SJG Sep 29
Lose the space. Lose the moon.
Aspire to die drunk in late June.
As Tokyo spins itself out of a sigh.
As secrets fall before our sight.
As secrets fall fodder-like.
As secrets fall fodder-like before our sight.

Violent time. Violent place.
Conspire with a girl to hole up
In a motel by a Great Lake.
Ask her what lies by her side.
Ask her what lying is like.
Ask her what lies beyond our cold dense sight.

And Astral Weeks.
And the rest of space.
Don’t know who you are
But you seem to be doing well.
And the contrary feeling rings
Like an empty bell.
Don’t know your name but almost
Feel like I know you well.
This ghostly projection that lies.
This ghostly projection that lies by my side.
S Bharat Apr 8
The Secrets

It is mind which brings for what you yearn;
This is the gist of book by Byrne.
“Thoughts are contagious.” I changed mine.
“Let them be positive” said Einstein
Energy, frequency and vibes you ever knew
Are the secrets in Tesla's view.
What Buddha had told made my head reel;
“You can attract what you feel.”
“If you think you lack nothing” said Lao Tzu
“The whole world belongs to you.”

S. Bharat
Eléa Jan 14
can' - but help it,
have to
words string from fingerprints

did you die when you got the gist, i tried
not to, tied my chin to the world
spinning synonyms beside me

shadowed its corners, filled the
of its borders

making a story that
someone would find me,
unearth me

and not to not to ;  
each one of you
to disorder, to fragment me

so sleep softly, if it's only that, child,
if that's all it is, my darling,

the earth sliding gently underneath,
it's forward age
it's backward commotion,

forget the eternal movement that
could wriggle under fingertips

and - Take, no questioning,
this coke, this coke,
this bra, this ring,

take everything
sembling some
form of desire

just not to know,
it's me you really want;

that i really do exist
Dimitris Sarris Sep 2018
Our voices covered the silence of the night.
Just me and a beautiful woman talking
about our vivid lives. The road is getting
darker, the moonlight could shed little light.
She tightly grabbs my arm and kisses me with
her soft red lips. No words could be spoken as
i lose myself to the pleasures of her kiss.
I responded "I am not a man who mistreats
a lady for a night's satisfaction."
She replied "I know, i can feel it. But what would you
do for a woman in need. In need of your love,
of your caress, of your kiss?"
We drove our way back to my house.
Her beautiful green eyes could see within my heart
and her passionate kisses fill my lips and tongue.
I lose the sense of time as our warm breaths become
a cool breeze to our throbbing bodies.
She holds me tight as i lay her upon the soft sheets,
gently she kisses my neck and lets me slide down to fountains
of pumping milking beats, ******* her healing liquids like honey drops.  
Slowly i enter the altar of her lustful ventricles
becoming one as we press into silken gist
and break open as her skin brushes like silk.
She holds me tight with her angelic body as i permeate
deeper when oceans of liquid lava burst at the white sheets
of our bed and her breast ignites in slow movement
as we gasp and sigh the air around us.
She holds me tight to take in a river that will
quench her thirst, licking heavens milk that covered the secret
spaces that our kisses marked.    
She holds me till the sun rises to put an end to this salacious sin.
She holds my hand and crowls her way back to me. Back to my craving heart, back to our prurient desires.
A bold release of trapped emotions. We had to break up cause of our age
difference (she was older) and i just wanted to prevent her from getting hurt in the future.
Breaking up for something usual hurts but when you have to break up
cause the circumstances of life itself block us
is a different quality of pain. I know that is happy now...
Wishing happiness and joy to the troubled hearts
out there.
LexiSully Jan 2018
Perched quietly in the shadows of the night,
Observing completely, using all her might,
Untouched the landscape sat; she breathed a sigh,
She leapt and began to fly

She soared through the trees, dark and murky,
Weaving in and out, the ride a little jerky,
Until she reached the clearing, blooming and sprouting,
Where she landed and began scouting

She spotted a baby, small and alone,
Hungry and confused, wanting to be shown,
Flying over to the area in which it sat,
She pulled some wisdom from her hat

Unmoving and silent, she sat as an example,
Showing her apprentice just a little sample,
Teaching patience and perseverance was first on the list,
She didn’t quit until it got the gist

Next thing she knew, her student was growing,
In no time, it was the one doing all the showing,
She took a step back, gazing proudly at her work,
While the child continued doing all the groundwork

Rays peaked out across the horizon in all hues,
Most of which consisted of reds and blues,
She looked at the child, beckoning it to fly on home,
Although she longed to stay and roam

As the sun rose, slow and bright,
She decided to turn and take off in flight,
Twisting and turning through trees and brush,
She flew on quickly, as if in a rush

She spotted it then, modest and small,
The place she longed to go most of all,
Adventures are fun and she liked to roam,
But there’s definitely no place quite like home.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 13
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two

this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******,
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly

unfazed, unphased,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:

next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:

You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present  your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant

she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,

“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes

take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged

I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”

along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime

I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,

even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
Someday the words will be right there
Of poignant value and so much social  implication
That it will ensnare
the unwary
Hopefully probing deep
for some thoughtful inclination
That such effrontery
would normally inflame so many
But here I have the last word
the last meme.

the quote of quotes,
the Ayatollah of RocknRolla
My words set hard in Stone
soft in gist as jest
clearly seen
To be ... absolutely correct ,
mirror bright in reflection
Telling  in the action.
what they will....albeit in slight delay
Inspiring  more ...I hope
Than simply
a reason to smile,  
May they become
a direction
Hopefully  to be a remindier
that we may have lost our way
But not our self respect
Sorely tested
But never completly arrested
Is our humanity
If  that be so then
may some laughter
some genuinely thoughtful
moments after
To comment a silent homage
As a few will  ....suddenly take action,
leaping up and aside
..once it will dawn upon
All who are drawn in
by those
small ...elaborately engraved words hopeful consideration
To  inspire ..both
Elevating  thoughts
Tentative  to raucous laughter


JUST  LOOK.... what YOU too  
   are doing right now  ,

I can't t wait ...oh OH! Oh no.. yes I can ! I can wait just fine
Sorry to...
Hit yo noes
like a brick of green
Like the grass that grow
nourished by the Celtic saints that know

Man tell a lie better make it true
if you don’t, then what do I make of you?

Now Wonder Woman
no wonder were human
bringing Brooklyn
some thunder hoodlum

My baited brown eyes look up and down you

Mile marker .66
and I’m still hitting this
crisp as a chrysalis
you may be the eyewitness
of my fist to this

more like the wittiness
of my pen tip dipped in ambergris
I get around you get the gist
healing hands I mend the cyst
with broken hands I gripped the rich

don't understand
don't worry
like Krishna I persist

zzzz Slept on like
The buzz of viciousness
**** the violence
turn the red to VIOLET
just look right through my eyes slit

Now and then
divine feminine deigned
to grace my face again
turned fake eyes to grin
false pride, double subs, and sin.

Complete appreciation, genuflected form reflected in

this fertile goddeSS
who puts the seeds in season
She see through SnakeS and reedS when
She based in wiSdom

designed to take the basest race
from darkest depths to airs of divine space
till we’re flushed with grace
some are hushed by my ace in the whole

I'm a S33ker throwing axes
but YOU better only call me

an axehole


***** simple as this.
I͕̩̞’̘̞̯m ̩͙̫͚̳̼͚s͇̞̞̯͕̳e͚ṱ̖̼̯̯̟͔t̘̞̹ͅi̼̠̺͇̪n̗̝̫g ͍̞th͈i̮s̮̟͕̫̫ ba̠̠̮̤r̠̙̼
͉̲I͖̱̫͈͖͈͖’͈̯̘̞̘m̞̠̠̯ͅ ͔̯̬̳̮s͚̘̝͎̮̣̩t̩̩̬̖e͉̖p̜̻p͕̼͎̗̣i̝̗̙̘n̰̫g ṱ̪̺͎͖̬̳h̰̝̘is̲͇̺ ̫f͍͉̠̹̣̯ͅa̟͉͓͖̦̗̩r͇̫̬͎̥
̹͉̱̫̟̩T͕̼̯̣̼͉r͍̘̘͎̝̤̟o̜͔̣̭͎͇n a̭͈̘̜̻ͅn̬̩̱̭̞̜͉d̺ ̠̖̯̠th̺̜e̦̯̫̙̤̠͉ ̫̟͉̗̠̤̦m͔̳a͔̝͉t̯̜ri̥͉x̦
̝̦̳͙̯b̭̤e ̯̰̖̤̯s͚̩̺̩ha͚͇̼͍͇p̭̜͖in ͕t̙̤h̟̳̣̯̬is ̠̼̹ͅc͓̼̝̣a̯̭r͓͔̙̮̠͎̠
̱̟ș̝̞̫ome̯̜͎̙̤̜ͅ ͔͓͔̝͚̬s̗͍̹̟͖̼u̦b̙̜͚ͅs͖̯ ͈̦̣ ḅ̼̬̬̯ͅu̞̬̩̻͙̝m̜̭͔p͙̟̩̼̼̳ ̳̘͔͕͖͖͓s̜̺͕o̜me̖̱͓̺ ͈̣
̣͔͔̖̖b͈͖͖͈a̫̰͔̤̜̹r̤̭ͅs̻͉̼ ̗̯̪s̤͓̟o͈͕̞̞̜̯̭ ͖͙̮h̻a͙̞͇̟ṟḍ͕̻ ̖̯̘̝͕͙weͅ ̻ri̹̖̞̣͙̬s̻k̹͇̼̬ ͎̬̤̪̳̹̟mars̜͇̩͇
V̺̙̞e̲͓̤͍i̹ṇ̥̰̮͍̜̟s̼ ͕s̘͍̮t̫͍͚͕͎a̙̹rṭ͖̭͕̟͙ ̺͕͎͎̖ͅp̼̮͔̭o̲̻p̙̞͕̯̫p̹͉̮͇̼̗ͅi̥̱n͚g͕̱ ̯̣̙̘̗̺̤
̤h̰̤e̺͓͓͕a̻͎rṭ̥͈̗̮̻̣s͖̠̠̤͚̼ ̗͉͓̫̱̫c͍̫̜͎͉ṛ͚̭y̘̰ ͉̗̙̻̩h̙̱͈a͔̮̟̥̞͕r͙̣̠͎d̟̬̰̫ ̰̻̭̖̻̜̬i̻n ̟͎̳̹͉ͅt͕̠̟̖̘̹h̻͓̗͉̭͖̦e̱̞͖͓̰̪ ̩ra̗͉̜̞̻ͅͅi͉͕̱̹̠n̩
̝͎̙m̜͔̱̮̻͔̜u͉̜r̮d̟̫̞̗̹e̺̭̟r̞̘̭̤ ̘an̞͔̬̫̥ͅd̺ ͙̭͔̖̤͎b̠ḷ͔̜̭̩̫͕o͕͙̬̦̝͇o͕̺̝͚̖̙ͅḓ̻̯̤̫̪̦
͇͓͚̪it̘͉̬̞’͇̞͖̺͓̲̱s̱͕̼̣ ͖̰̺̮̼̠̣n̥̝̥̼͉̙o͍͚̥͈̫t͍̜̰̞ ̼̻̗̮ha͖̭̺͙̟͖̭r̰̬͖̙̣̬̭d̲ ̻̝͙͙͔̤̘t͙͔͍̟̫͉̗o̬͓̟͙̘ ͖͈̥̬̠͎ͅe͙̮̱͓͉n̼̫̜͉̘t̪̠̹̼̲̝e̝̱̖͙͎rț̠͕̰ͅa̲͇i̥̜ṇ̙ͅ
BoringBoy Apr 17
I don' like this feeling filling, festering inside of me.
A boiling juice of jaded envy, too much of it to really see.
I've not a home where I exist but call me crazy, you'll insist,
I feel alone in all of this, but when I share, I'm just dismissed.
Black cat in a field of gold, my lore is just a timid gist.
I'm just as guilty as you
scrolling down hitting like without reading it through

I wanna read them all
I swear I do but I now
know how it hurts;
I feel really small

It's easier to glance
at a painting and see
what the artist intended
for you to believe

But to scan through
a poem to try and
get the gist...
does nobody justice
There's plenty to miss

I'll try to be better,
I'll slow it down
Give you all feedback
and not just
jump all around
( “Love sets the heart a-dreaming.”)

God hasn’t(as yet)

making the world
just…the…gist of it.

He makes “the place
where the mountains live”

and had still to sketch in
the actual landscape.

So that the mountains
Just float in mid-air

as if upheld
by mist only.

He is listening intently
on his headphones

to music yet to be

He digs Gabor Szabo’s
“Half The Day Is Night.”

I don’t know where He
gets His slang from!

He also had not got around to
making people.

So that the earth
was empty

The mountains
looked like gigantic beasts

that had somehow fallen
asleep…frozen into place.

One day the mountains
will come alive.

I tiptoe past
their sleeping…just in case.

“Well..?” asked God
unsure of Himself.

“Whatdoya think
is it a goer?”

I emmm and hawww
“Yeah…it’s…something else!”

He beamed from ear to ear
“But might need a tweak?”

“So what is it going to be called?”
I obsequiously enquired

knowing he had invented me
Just to agree with Him.

The Big Guy smirked:
“I’m thinking of calling it

or perhaps

Think I thought that Scotland would be just a continuation of England with a different accent! How wrong was I? It was overwhelmingly awesome and so uniquely itself. Oh and its people! I fell in love with all its magnificent beauty.  And oh its mountains and the sense of being at the dawn of creation. Just then Gabor Szabo’s“Half The Day Is Night”came on the car radio and so it was that it returned me to the original maker putting it all together. God of course as it happened was listening on His headphones to the same track because...well...He could! He also as it happened had a need to invent me to give Him the nod as to whether it was all working out.  And so it was that Love set the heart a-dreaming.
Pagan Paul Jan 18
Jerrica had found Lost.
The treasure buried above ground.
The memory foam with dementia.
The quill with no nib …
she thought about feather pens.
Catching herself from falling
the swoon had caught her cold.
This **** ****** sword
was proving to be elusive
and now she was under sustained attack.
From a personal fetish.
It just wouldn't leave her alone,
creeping into her mind unbidden.
She needed to scratch an itch,
if only she knew what that itch was.

Trolls are magickally bound to their bridge.
Leaving it is usually fatal.
But Gyb had bones to gnaw,
and once he had his teeth employed
his mind was a captive onlooker.
A crazy plan formed in his head,
possibly avoiding the brain.
He took mud and formed a figure,
then some of his hair clippings
moulded into the head.
Then he took a leap of disbelief!
He looked into the river and … Click!
Snapped his fingers and fixed the image.
He cut it out of the meniscus
and attached it to the doll familiar.

“Did Achilles have damp ankles
or was he well heeled?”
Morfine had asked Choklut.
“Neither. He was the one who sneezed
and opened the Fête of the Suitors”.
“No. I think he was called Telemarketing,
he sneezed and they drew the tombola raffle”.
“Wasn't there a Goddess involved as well?”.
“Um … Yes, maybe the Goddess of Tissues?”.
“Snivel? No, she is more tears than snot.
I think its the one who turned her husband
into a swan, and made him ****** her handmaiden”.
“Oooo Nasty!”
“No, Nasty fell in love with his own profile,
and called things off with his nymph,
the reverberations can still be heard today”.
There was a brief pause … then,
“What are we doing Choklut?
We found a magickal sword and …
talking of which, where is it?”.
“I don't know. You had it last”.
Just then a serving girl gave them a note.
It said. Tomatoes, Peppers, Onions, Eggs …
“Not that side you dyk” she said.
Morfine turned the note over and read.
“Quick, no time to lose.
Someone saw the sword in the river.
We have to get to stanza 8
before it goes over the waterfall!”.
“Oh” said Choklut “I've never seen a stanza belly flop”.

It was true.
Contrary to the laws of physics.
Kelm saw the sword floating down river.
It looked like any other sword.
So he let it be, dismissed it.
He couldn't swim anyway.
He mused on the irony of that.
Nobody learnt to swim and yet drowning
was an undignified death for a barbarian.
If he could swim
he could find the fishes hiding places.

Jerrica had also been musing.
With a Poet.
That was during the last 3 stanza's.
But now …
she saw a sword floating in the river.
Something didn't quite fit.
Something was not in the right place.
She placed the Poet back in her breast pocket.
'If only he wasn't just 4 inches high' she thought
'he is rather handsome and intelligent'.
Bingo! She had it. But she didn't want it.
Armydiseases Principle of Liquid Dispersement!
It states!
Introduce a solid object into a body of liquid,
then the corresponding volume of liquid is dispersed
back to the nearest solid.
So, right now there is a very small flood
in the shape of a very small sword
ravishing the local area.
She decided, quite rightly as it turns out,
that she was feeding herself a red herring.

Slim stood on the bridge
staring at the churning water below.
How did it happen?
A stanza all of his own,
ruined by the intrusion of morons.
“Morfine and Choklut” he bellowed
“I'm going to eviscerate you”.
The wind carried a few of the words away,
but that was the gist of it.
“Hello” a voice said.
Slim had an accident, and jumped out of his skin.
And plunged into the cold water.
A strong arm pulled him out,
and he was face to face with a troll.
“My name is Gyb. I hate Morf Chok also”.
Nothing had prepared Slim for meeting a troll.
Not even the etti-queue-etti lessons at school.
'Would you care for afternoon tea?'
seemed rather inappropriate.
Gyb broke the awkward silence.
“Look! Sword floating”.
Slim didn't look.
Convinced the troll would eat him.
Thats their way. Distract and devour.
But he couldn't help it, he snuck a look.
And the sword slid on by gently bobbing,
tiny little runes glinting in the sun.

For its part the sword was serenity itself.
Chilled out to the max.
Resting on the water. Relaxing and reclining.
Life was good for the sword.
It had just passed a boy fishing,
poking his rod down a fish hole.
It had passed a young woman,
who looked confused and flustered.
It slid under a stone bridge.
A troll with a doll,
and a man with questionable odour.
And then he heard the roaring.
He sent out his senses,
no mean feat for a sword,
and 'felt' its surroundings.
Its image eye caught sight of the future.
It was an effing great waterfall.
And the future was the way he was heading.
For now.

Narrative Interlude

At this point in the story the author, Pagan Paul, is compelled
to inform the reader/listener of a complaint received
from Messrs Morfine and Choklut.
The substance of which amounts to the following:
That the said author is willfully under using their talent
as supporting cast and denying them access to many stanza's.
Furthermore they are threatening to expose the authors
'irregularities' in his relationship with Princess (name redacted).
The author, Pagan Paul, responds thus:
I should like to remind Messrs Morfine and Choklut
that, with astroke of my quill, I can eradicate them.
Drop them from the story all together.
And with reference to Princess (name redacted) -
'Its my Poem and I'll irregularit if I want to'.
Dear reader/listener prepare yourself for stanza 9.
It has a waterfall in it.
Maybe Morfine and Choklut will appear, maybe not.
They are the ones over a barrel.

Minutes after the sword floated by
something else caught her eye.
To boys on a barrel, in the water.
Boys barreling along or a barrel buoying along?
Choklut noticed her by the bank.
'funny place to have a cash machine' he thought.
Doing his best to impress and look brave.
Morfine waved and nearly fell off.
Suddenly the barrel lid opened
and Slim poked his head out like a tortoise.
“What the …?” said Choklut.
“Just repaying a debt boys” he said.
“But you owe us nothing” Morfine replied.
“Oh but I do” snarled Slim
“I owe you one times intrusion into your own stanza”.
He ducked back inside, and slammed the lid.
“Of all the fatherless ...”
“I blame the author” said Choklut.
“Yeah well, he is the one who's gonna be sorry,
we've just muscled in on stanza 8,
and relegated that waterfall to stanza 9” Morfine chimed.
“Morfine. Morfine! I hear the waterfall coming”.
“No! Not now. He has to leave it until 9 now,
we are about to cross the finish line on 8”.
The waterfall loomed.

Actually the waterfall knew nothing of weaving.
It just stayed where it was, pouring.
Spectacular, it was a very pretty waterfall.
It must be. It attracted tourists.
And it had fun!
It loved watching detritus tumble,
teeter on the brink. And fall.
Especially tourists.
It was over 300 paces high,
less than 40 paces wide,
its descent magnificent liquid ballet,
sparkling droplets shining like jewels,
forever transcending light refraction,
and plunging, plunging, plunging,
into a gorgeous azure puddle.
About ankle deep.

© Pagan Paul (17/01/19)
3rd poem in my Strange World collection.

Part 3 out soon :)
Joseph Zenieh Sep 12
I ask if you do know, poets of great renown,
what gist this life can have, and what for people live.
We move from day to day; the change is just the date.
We look at time and say we are as always late.

We feel that life must have a meaning but we are
too lazy and too dumb to find its sense and depth.
I fear that time will pass while l'm still quite distraught.
Please, days, slow down till l can find my hidden wealth.

There must be something tucked somewhere but l need help.
Who can give me a hand to set my mind at rest?
Then l don't care if days are slower or the same
as l have found what l have reckoned my tucked aim.
All rights reserved
patty m Oct 11
Some traits and idiosyncrasies
can be recipes of doom
like hermits attracted to impending gloom.
With burgeoning fascination and protestation
he spies while heavy voices
in his head shout hate and lies.

Dream herders plotting murders in sleep,
they heap strange scenarios
and everywhere he goes he knows
people try to avoid his eyes
brilliant orbs that shift
and randomly flit, along with curses
and cries, grunts and slamming fists
the gist is he's outside the norm,
yet pride is harmed when no one will befriend
or send a bit of love his way.
All stay as far away as they can,
no woman, child or man,
will while away time or feel inclined
to hold his hand or make him feel that
he can be like everyone else who melts
unconsciously into the stream of humanity.

No relief from white noise
that destroys as hallucination and inflationary bouts
shout out in tyranny:
look says he, see the pictures on my wall of those
who chose to damage and hurt with curt words
cutting deep, or throwing stones while he's left disowned
from every chance of love.  No velvet glove or arms to hold him
tenderly, as he's pronounced a freak and
banished from humanity.

Now with mad success he stews and brews upheavals revenge
and no good comes of screwy ends that lend violence and
hate to firing guns, creating puddles of blood where the dead thud
to cries of the grieving.
While voices quite deceiving fill his head
saying from the shelf to save that last bullet for himself.

Grim reaper, a steeper price than thought
in a life wrought with desperation,
now a mere equation of insanity
ends in the brutality of a killing spree.
too many such incidents have become the norm.

His hands(tobacco stained)    
twisted & gnarled

knotted like an alive piece of wood
scrawled gestures across my mind

as the sick calf bucked in his arms
& his quiet strength - calmed:

'Shhhhhh... shhhhhhh...****...****! '
he crooned

& the sound

And the veins(line vines)    
ran up & down his arms

pumping crude life like a sudden sketch
to suggest the gist of rather than

the meaning of things.

And he walked(& I ran)    
towards Granny's garden(like God tending Eden)    

& the gate(a little hoarse)sighed at his hand and

the leaves murmured
(like worshippers in a church congregation)    

& the sunlight genuflected through the trees
and the trees wore socks & apples.

A tablecloth was laid
on a loganberry bush.

And the young tree gave herself to him
broke tenderly in his hand

and, the knife whistled & whittled
& out of the branch came a man.

And he told me(& I believed him
'cos he was good as God & strong)    

that the little wooden man(the silent statue)    
had been waiting(all the time all ready made)    

waiting to be released
from his prison of wood.

'All things...'he whispered
'all things are waiting for you to call them.'

'Call them to come out...'
'Awake them...create them...! '

The rhododendrons were blue with amazement

-at this revelation
a dragonfly walked upon the water.

A butterfly became infatuated with a flower.


I watched as his hands talked...
...explaining things that could not be...said.

And he took my hand in his and I understood

flowed like a little stream
into his big river

felt God(close)    
near at hand

By: Cedric McClester

The devil does exist
He’s living in our midst
But William Barr insists
That he’s not a liar
While impressing those
Much higher
Beware to the buyer
The situation’s dire

The devil does exist
If you get my gist
And let me tell you this
That he’s not a joke
Look at how
He goes for broke
Smell the sulfur  
From his smoke

The devil does exist
And those who can’t resist
Are on his naughty list
They gladly sell their souls
While assuming
Their various roles
That he’s assigned to them
They all bow down to him

The devil does exist
And so we should resist
He’s looking to enlist
Willing supplicants
To follow him
Like a colony of ants
Then they take a chance
By lowering their pants

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Sailing the mystic omnipresent seas,
on a craft made of dragonfly's wings.
Tacking across the magical breeze,
caused by songs that the sirens sing.

Weathered and worn by infinite tides,
holding lines made of eternal foible.
The warrior's blade like a rudder she rides,
in a sheath made of filigreed sable.

Virulent flow of futurity's pandemic,
vibrant waters fertile subtle surreal.
Ephemeral beings translucent endemic,
purveys omnipresent augur's appeal.

The starlit sky imbues waterfall's mist,  
myriad creatures seek eternity's mantra.
Vivid delineations of artistry's gist,
seeking virile omnipotent yantra.

Celestial heights where eagles traverse,
soaring and gliding we learn to fly.
Must life be terminal we say of terse,
whilst composing music to make angels sigh.
omnipresent omnificence.
Bo Tansky Sep 2018
To Choose or Not to Choose. is it a Choice?
For the love of o!

I learned not to choose when I realized the choice had already been made.
What do I mean by that and why am I telling you this?
I say choose to choose
with 2 os because choose with 2 os is not- choice with one.
Oh, no. (Both with one o) And I love os.
Now anybody who's anybody knows that os come in two varieties.
Single os and double os.
And then there are cheerios and xs and os.
Oh, and how, (both with one o), those were the days when things were simple.
An x was just an x and an o was just an o.
Now we have so many choices.
Do you see what I mean?
Kind of like the days when women were women and men were men.
And kids didn’t get to choose. (with two os.)
Yuk, we were so limited back then.
Do you remember the not so good old days?
Everyone knew who they were and they sure as hell knew- they weren’t you.
No choice back then; when men were men, women were women, kids didn’t get to choose and that was the end.
Duality was trending back then.
Now there are so many choices.
Like how many ways can you answer the question?
To choose or not to choose.
Well, any question really.  
It’s not that simple anymore.  
You do know, yes you do, know what I’m talking about.
Let’s get this straight, I’m quite alright, even endorse the choices, as long as we separate the single os from the double os.
That’s what really drives me crazy.
What about 007.
Why did he need to be double o.
Was there ever a single o that came before the double o.
Did he choose to choose with two os or was there a single o predecessor?
Can’t say.  These are questions everyone should ask..
Instead, they choose contrived, manipulated, untrue, fake, phony, falsified, bogus, doctored and utterly ridiculous theater and never concern themselves with the bigger issues in life. yuk
And it is, for this reason, the I take up the challenge and try to answer the more serious, fundamental, visceral, honest, ultimately and timely questions. huh.
Is choosing a choice?
Without hesitation I declare.
Of course, it is not.
Anyone can see that choosing has two os and choice only has one.
Now, some may find this explanation to be quite o literal, but I can assure you it is not.
At the risk of repeating myself.
A simple glance will let you know that choice is not in the choosing for it was- choice it would have two os and it does not.  
Not that there should be a preference of os over say xs.
Yet I really like the way it sounds. Xs and os, xs and os.
Cheerios. Happy os. Videos. Delirious. Serious. Not really os- but
That’s the way it rolls in my prose.
Corny, I know.  
A rose is never a rose in my prose.
It’s all about the xs and os.  
But, one shouldn’t get hung-up on os and neglect the xs.
Oh no.
Hey, what about the x ***?
What ***?
I thought there were only 2 sexes.
That was then, remember, and this is now.
Wow, I didn’t know you didn’t know.
Well, x ***.
Has a nice sound.
And since we're all moving in that direction anyway, seems the x *** just got there a little sooner.
So they just got tired of choosing (with 2 os) and when whoever does the asking, asked, ‘so what *** do you want to be in your next incarnation?’
After realizing the party was over they just shrugged.
I don’t know man. I haven’t had much success with either.
Oh (with one o) that’s too (with 2 os) bad.
Why don’t we put you down as an x.
Ok, I guess, if that’s what you suggest.
I’ll agree to an x for my next ***.
But, wait. What the **** that is an x?
An x explained, whoever the **** does the explaining, is a human that shares both sexes.
So, what do you say? Is it a go, (with one o), or is it a nay?
So, if you ask me, there really isn’t any choice at all because it’s already been chosen.
Who did the choosing? Who knows. (both with one o)
Me, I think it was 007 because he has two os and I love os and the hell with my xs.
The subject is so xhausting if you get my gist.
I’ll leave the rest for tomorrow. A wonderful word with three os. A subject yet to be discussed.
So now, I have to go and so I leave you with mucho xs and os.
** ** **.
If you don’t mind me saying so. (with one o)

ARuckus Sep 22
Sick of the facade. WHY NOT USE A WHIP AND ROD? Sick of these trolls, all they do is just scroll. Hit DELETE, RINSE and REPEAT. They on patrol looking for they next victim, lookin', and searchin' of how they can whip 'em. To all you Trollers out there, scrolling, meme'ing, sick of the facade.
These Trolls go on a roll and just scroll...
They are bullies in disguise hiding behind they cell phones and keyboard.
They taunt and sneer, while they smear your name, for their own fame, with no care for the game.
Throwing elbows and jabs, no penalty shot, cause they got caught
with their pants down, so now you need to sit the **** down, shut up, cause you in line about to be ****** up.
Bunch of ******* critics and hypocrites, with only one ticket to their own show. ECHO.... No one around, BLAST that's MY sound comin' round. Gonna shoot you down off your own pedestal, knock you down, off your high horse. Bunch of geeks, with their tweets, thinkin' they have some treat to give you, like you somethin' special. All they are is a bully behind their mask, a coward in disguise, who just hides. ****** losers with no end game. ******* tweet patrol, they are just weak patrol.
Just a facade... Undercovers is what they are...
These people are leeches, all I hear from them is screeches.
With a flick of the wrist, Nigel gave me the full gist.
It's just a mirage. Well, I give you applause, but this is SABOTAGE.
Mark Oct 23
The Frog That Took A Giant Leap For Their Kind"  
Forever being laughed at for not being able to leap  
Always last in the frog army sport, called ‘Jumping over the Jeep’
The little jump frog was embarrassed to belong to such an army  
So he packed his things and headed off on a long journey  
He crossed all over, the large wetlands of Florida USA  
Even made a makeshift home, made out of some hay  
After feeling a very warm heat, from about a mile away  
He came across some steps, but when climbing, they began to sway  
Frightened by a loud bang and an almighty explosive roar  
He hopped inside the nearest room, via a big white door  
Then, all of a sudden, he felt his feet, effortlessly lift off the floor  
Floating past a small window, he couldn’t see the earth, anymore  
After a while, the room hit the ground, with an almighty thump  
Looking out, he saw a strangely dressed man, pray and then jump  
He followed the man and went on down a few gigantic steps  
After making his biggest ever leap and without special effects  
Luckily, the frog was caught on camera, so became the first of his kind  
To reach the faraway moon and take a great leap, if you don't mind.  
"The Hare That Looked Out Of Place"  
The local country fair had arrived in town  
But one animal was looking angry and down  
For the farmworker had placed the hare at the fair  
With another breed of animal, without any care  
He looked out of place, while sitting in the dog pound  
To the hare it felt more like a very scary hunting ground  
One child yelled out, "That's a very small doggy, Mummy"  
No it's not, said Mummy, but it'll make the dogs meal taste so yummy  
She ran to the ticket seller and said, "There's a hare out of place"  
He said, I think your hair is fine madam, but here's some gel, just in case  
When the farmer found out, he ordered the workers to quickly catch it  
And to make sure there's no more hares where the dogs will sit.  
"The Sheep That Escaped From The Bars"  
The large family farm was not really up to par  
Because the farmer would keep the sheep behind an iron bar  
They wanted to escape from behind the metal brass  
And wander about and eat more of the fresh green grass  
Eating packaged food was not treating them well  
But they were getting upset tummies and not feeling that swell  
So they hatched a plan so they could graze on the vast land  
A billy goat agreed to fetch a plank of wood and give them a hand  
In return he would get all the leftovers of the sheep's fake food  
So one by one they took the plunge and escaped for a better mood  
The goat had a ball opening and then eating so much more  
And the sheep could be heard for miles, laughing Baa-Baa galore.  
"The Monkey That Lost His Grip"  
His name is Chip and he just can't get a grip  
He has to hold on tight for the entire round trip  
His friends in the troop said he wasn't very hip  
Always having to wear a parachute with a safety clip  
He tried to branch out one day, but fell and hurt his hip  
Then one day he got up early and decided to leave without the equip  
Now the monkey named Chip was so brave and he ran with a skip  
And he swung from branch to branch without any major slip  
His friends were in awe of his huge lunges and gave no more lip  
So from that day forth, everybody said he had great grip to do his solo flip.  
"The Cheetah That Wished For No Spots"  
Cleaning his teeth using long green grass as dental floss  
The healthy Cheetah often wished he had no more spots  
He was tired of hearing, while playing Hide n Seek, the sound,  
Of his animal friends yelling, "We give up, for you can't be found"  
He thought, maybe he could wash away his camouflage dots  
By soaking himself for a while, in some warm water and soap in pots  
It might be a long shot to remove those game wrecking blots  
But at least his friends would have fun playing in Africa's back lots  
No said his friends, you were born with all of them  
And after all, your spots make us all different, Amen  
So stay like you are and we will find you one day  
But never ever try and wash those unique spots of yours away.  
"The Zebra That Painted Her Stripes"  
She looked in the river and saw her reflection  
Her skin colour made males look in another direction  
For her colours were not really that bright  
With her body stripes painted in black and white  
So the next day the lady zebra decided to get a makeover  
By getting colourful paint and brushing it all over and over  
Now she felt like a beautiful diamond of a gem  
And maybe others would take notice, especially the men  
But the day she went back to her favourite watering hole  
Everyone thought she belonged on a merry-go-round pole  
Then it started pouring down, the hail and the wet rain  
And washed off all her colourful paint down the drain  
She wasn't that sad when she heard the laughter of other zebras  
For she was now world famous, from all of the tourist cameras.  
"The Mouse That Was Forever Getting Trapped"  
The poor little mouse was forever getting himself trapped  
He couldn't stop from smelling the cheese, even when wrapped  
His concerned mother told him to visit a hypnotist  
To try and help him get off cheese, you get the gist  
If he gets trapped again, he might not be able to tell the tale  
Because if the help he receives fails, his face will turn pale  
So let's hope this short tale of some very sore mouse tails  
Helps the other obsessed cheese loving females and males  
Can the poor little mouse keep away from the snap?  
Let's all hope that he doesn't forget, after taking a quick catnap.  
"The Panda That Got Bored Of Giant Plain Bamboo"  
Sitting under the tree eating gigantic bamboo stalks, sat a cute Panda  
But eating one thing all day long was boring for the cutie named Sandra  
So the workers at the zoo tried to change her diet to see what it would take  
They tried strawberries, oranges, pizza, meatballs and even rib-eye fillet steak  
But none of this food worked, to make Sandra the cute Panda, less bored  
The workers were confused why the delicious food was simply ignored  
She started to lose weight and became very agitated  
Quickly the zoo staff asked for help, but really they had to be educated  
For pandas only eat bamboo and not much of the world's fine food  
By just adding a bit of spice would've changed her boring mood  
They hurried back to the zoo kitchen to prepare a spicy dish  
Chopping and stewing and even adding a few drops of relish  
Sandra loved the change in her daily food of bamboo  
And was happy again chewing on her new tasting food at the zoo.  
"The Owl That Didn't Give A Hoot"  
When the sun went down and the moon came out  
Some owls could be seen in the trees hooting about  
But a strange noise one owl gave, was worse than a toot  
For the owl, for some reason, didn't give a hoot  
This strange sounding owl instead, made more of a screech  
A sound that the English owls have never been able to reach  
For this different style speaking owl, is on holidays from afar  
And his spoken language is so unusual to ours, by far  
The other owls wanted to know how to screech like this alien bird  
For they were so bored, with only knowing how to speak one word  
So they all took quick language classes to learn how to French speak  
And their guest also learnt to belt out a bit of a hoot, from his foreign beak.  
"The Spider That Stood Too Tall To Crawl"  
A large daddy long leg spider named Paul  
Had such long legs he stood too tall to crawl  
He looked like a gigantic monster, standing way up top  
All other spiders who saw him, would come to a complete stop  
Frozen in their tracks, insects would free fall and dive  
And go so low between his legs to hopefully survive  
The spider himself would get a face full of cobwebs  
As he walked so tall into his own hand made project  
Enough he thought, and off he went for a professional opinion  
The doctor said, he had a name for his rather tall condition  
It was called nothing at all, you are like this on earth  
For all daddy long leg spiders are like this since birth  
So he was told to bend down more often, stretch and do some exercise  
And to watch out for that high floating killer insect spider pesticide.  
"The Elephant That Couldn't Make A Trunk Call"  
While playing a game of elephant soccer together  
Using a coconut for a ball which was as light as a feather  
The elephant herd had finally ran out of pace  
One player named Noel didn't stop until he fell flat on his face  
When he got home later that night after his great fall  
He tried, but couldn't make his routine long distance trunk call  
But nothing came out and he went into shock  
Noel the elephant thought he had swallowed a rock  
So off down the road to the local doctor he went  
Also complaining about his loss of his favourite flowers scent  
The doctor first said, it could be all in your mind  
But after shinning a light he saw what it was, well down behind  
For it was the coconut the herd had been playing with before, with Noel  
After a tickle on the trunk, Noel shot it out and somehow scored a goal.  
"The Koala That Was Always Bare"  
Kyle the Koala loved to just sit in the trees and eat his leaves  
The tourist would come and take photos without having to pay any fees  
But he once took a peek at one of those friendly tourist's cameras Polaroid  
He saw some family pets wearing fashionable clothes and was rather annoyed  
For you see, Kyle then noticed, that he was always totally bare  
Dogs with jackets and cats with gloves, but he had nothing at all to wear  
So he decided to make all of the paparazzi pay for their shots  
When he saved enough money, he dressed up with the lots  
He purchased some pants, a hat and T-shirt and a colourful woolly scarf  
He felt more natural and not as bare, but mainly because, he made all of the tourists laugh.  
"The Rabbit That Stared Into The Light"  
When Warren the rabbit went out on the town  
He wore a lucky tail, pinned all the way down  
Hiding from cars, buses and motorbikes driving past  
Then hurriedly crossing the road, hoping not to be the last  
For if you were left behind, you'd be all alone to cross again  
And be able to have the strength to not look into the lights of the men  
But on this night he kept on staring straight into the light  
His mother always told him, to wear sunglasses at night  
The car stopped and out stepped the driver and along with his passenger  
Warren couldn't move even a bit, luckily for him, it was just a messenger  
The driver picked him up and placed him on the other side of the road  
Thanks, he said to himself, next time I might've got no respect, like that man showed.
© Fetchitnow
20 October 2019.
This children’s fun, colorful and rhyming, little THAT animal book is only for children from ages, 1-100. So please enjoy.
abby Dec 2017
You want me to write a poem,
About people I know before they knew me
And my favorite place,
And something about a baby picture,
But you don’t see it my way

I am a vault, a castle, a safe,
I built these walls with my own two hands,
I learned these lessons through real people
That are roaming the planet, still
Sipping on their coffee, not thinking of me,
Downing their *****, not thinking of me,
Sleeping soundly, or maybe just plain old unconscious,
not dreaming of me
Their life before they knew me is supposedly different
Then their life after me, beyond me, past me,
I am a broken window pane in a house they moved out of,
An abandoned building the children throw cigarette butts at
Because they are no longer children,
They are growing orbs of fire that are just now learning to burn,

You want me to write a poem about my favorite place as
If this planet, this world, this whole universe is safe,
Like any one part of it can protect you,
But cops break down doors and debts steal kitchen tables,
People live in boxes and church is just a metaphor,
I am only sixteen and two years ago I swore love was all I was
And all I would ever be,
But hate leaks into the cracks in our heart on the days when it breaks,
And we become the things we were always told to avoid

Our parents tell us to eat our fruits and vegetables but mine didn’t do that
No, mine did ******, or crack, mine would have sold me
or my soul or my brain if it meant they could
Breathe the drugs one last time
They would’ve traded their memories and their wisdom
and everything they had ever done or made or created or worked for
If it meant they didn’t have to be sober
Didn’t have to exist in the real world
Or be a real person
They would’ve sacrificed their lives if it meant they could be translucent
And float right on by,
In a way, that’s exactly what they did

I don’t want to write about my baby pictures because
Babies are supposed to be cradled and fed and warned about men who offer candy,
But i wasn’t warned, I was fed ******* lies about where everyone went
Until i was 12 and figured out on my own
That this whole world is an illusion, a hallucination, a giant ******* acid trip
And death is the only escape
I learned through the fists of men and sad songs and a boy who swore he
Liked me when all i ever was to him was a needle he stuck into his arm
Just to f*ing feel something

You want me to write poems about simple things but it is not simple for me because
I bleed ink and poetry is the only language I have ever understood
I can not write you a simple poem
About happy faces because i have never known a life
Of laughter

So you can give me an F or explain the assignment again but I understand
What you’re looking for and I hope you can understand I would feel like
I was betraying myself if I wrote you sunshine paragraphs when
My entire life, and all the art I made to cope with it
Has only ever been stale words and someone else’s cigarette smoke

So I hope you can appreciate my metaphors and please don’t be sympathetic
Because I am a mountain that many people fear climbing
But my poetry is my peek
Where it snows and it rains all types of things,
I may not have been the perfect child with the perfect life
But my art is blood stains on a concrete wall and for that
I am proud
I survived 16 years and I would have with or without people who know me
Who almost never met me, who almost never experienced me,
Almost never saw or read or felt exactly what it’s like to be me

I would have survived with or without the woods in my backyard
where I like to exhale my bad days
I would have survived with or without the pictures of my family
who decided that two drug addicts
can’t make a masterpiece
I am proving them wrong every day
Especially with words like these
My dad may have loved oxycontin and my mother may have smoked while
I was just a little piece of her that would soon bloom into rose petals
But here I am, cutting my veins open for you,
To show you why I am here in this class.

I want to learn, how to be better, how to be determined, how to succeed, how to avoid listing the way I am right now even if I absolutely love the way that it sounds

Poetry breaks the rules of writing
And I broke the rules of what I was assigned
But this is real, and I don't want to write anything less or change a **** thing
So i apologize for the profanity and going in a direction you never expected
But that's what writing is about
Opening up
Here is my blood, my will, my drive, and my words.
Even if you fail me, or throw what I give you down the drain,
All I will ever give to you is storybooks about how I got through
The rainy days
This is how
Writing is how
Wish me luck or don't
I've learned how to hold my own hand and that's why
I don't want to write a poem about temporary people
Or a place that I will move away from when I’m
twenty something chasing success
Or pictures of me as a child who was seen as a mess made by two addicts
I am not a mess
I’m a writer
And writers make sacrifices,
So here I am, handing myself out to my creative writing teacher,
Giving her a gist of a life she never knew,
I am doing this for a grade, yes, and because everyone’s on
My back to be better, true, but also because
Sometimes stars mix with bone marrow and I get a bit off track,
I’ll admit sometimes I travel a bit too far,
And wander beyond the limit,
But I refuse to be another moving box,
I refuse to be taped into cardboard and stay
Trapped in a basement until somebody's mother asks where
The photo albums and poetry books are,
I am more than that and I will not be confined or
Color in the lines because that isn’t who I am.
This isn’t what you wanted from me, I know, and I hope you can work with me somehow,
but when it comes to writing I am stubborn and I learned that from my father
and just enough inspiring chapter books.
I wasn’t taught from school teachers or a caring mother,
I learned on my own, made decisions on my own,
And this is my way of communicating,
Don’t ask me to paint you a black and white picture because I am a rainbow,
And when it comes to the skeleton that keeps me from collapsing,
The blood the keeps my heart beating,
And doing the only thing that I’ve ever truly been passionate for,
I will not lie. I will not only go half way. I will not cross bridges just for the sake
Of shortcuts.
Not now, and not ever.
So I will write you this same poem again and again until you realize
That I am a world of my own and writing something flat
Would be breaking the only rule I have ever dared to follow.
this is a real assignment i sent in to my creative writing teacher impulsively at 3 am
Liz Alvarez Sep 2018
I think about the day I was born.
I had a leg deformity due to a stupid *** nurse ******* up.
They gave my mom to choose between a lifetime of surgeries to correct them or break my newborn legs into place and hope for the best.
My mother choose none.
She put me in double diapers till she noticed my legs growing back to normal.
And for her, I am grateful she choose to ignore them.

I think about the day my dad left my mom and I.
He choose 5 minutes of *** with an already adulterous married person than to be with his loving wife and only child.
My mom before and even after the demise of their marriage, would still pick up my biological father from unknown locations.
Too drunk to even remember, he wonders how he got there and why his now ex wife and baby were in a strange unknown car with him.
Too dumb to remember the person he's sleeping with, they didn't even bother to look for him or even care to notice he was out.
Those moments that I've soon to know about, I acknowledge my mother's strength in all the chaos that was to come about.

I think about the day my mother, my aunt and I got assaulted right in front of our home.
The man had a large machete sticking towards my throat as he asks for my mother's car keys.
She throws them out and quickly grabs me and pushes my aunt into our apartment.
My mother calls the police as my aunt tries to comfort me.
I cry for my biological father.
My mother tucked me in and kisses me to sleep.
I learned that day to never depend on anyone for security but myself.

I think about the day we lost our home.
My mother and I were to be evicted from our first actual home because of a disgraceful woman who had been defrauding us.
We moved in with my uncle in a tiny room he spared us.
It seemed it would wonderful living there, as I saw my uncle as my father.
A new life came into the house and everything changed.
My mother and I were now felt to be confined in our room.
I witnessed a paper by mistake of some apartments for rent on his wife's desk.
Who else would this designated for? Obvious right?!
We were then forced to look for a home as soon as we even just moved in.
I learned that day that *** is more important than helping out your own flesh and blood.

I think about the day I decided to end my 6 year relationship.
The beginning was great until he saw his potential with others.
Secret messages and meet ups began happen behind my back.
Yet still, I forgave him after finding out this later on.
Of course he continued as I turn a blind eye.
The last first time of our day, I began to see his un-interest in me and our future together.
I began to unravel and truly see for the first time that history was and would be repeating itself.
I saw myself caring a child as he would be off drunk and being with adulterous women.  
Just as my mother.
Later found out, he had physically cheated on me.
On our last first day.
I learned to let go of what was hurting me emotionally, of what was to be my future and what was the future of my children to come.

I think about the day this person hurt me.
He was to be my savior.
He helped me through a nasty breakup and what emotions I had coming out of it.
He comforted me as I comforted him as well.
He listened to my secrets I never even told my past lover, not even my best friend.
I heard his dark secrets as well as we hanged out in a beautiful cold beach.
What was to be our place of solace.
Our place.
Things couldn't go on anymore for him with our complex relationship.
He ended it as while he ended my trust.
I began to feel things I thought you could never feel with someone you cared for deeply.
But it was too late.
He had said goodbye before I could even say thank you for at least being there for me when no one else would.
I learned that the person you are meant to be with is the one.
Your soulmate, your sun to your moon.
But it's just not the time or even the right moment in this current lifetime.

I think about the day I wanted to end my life.
I cleaned my room spotless. Cleaned the bathroom, the backyard, everything.
You get the gist.
I placed a note on my bookcase.
Each note was to be dispersed to an individual in whom I love deeply.
I wrote down information to all my accounts to everything I was connected to.
Instructions were even put in place to what to do with my body as well as my belongings.
I had a plan.
Everything was set.
I looked around my house for what was to be the last time.
Swallowing a container and preparing a knot, I glanced at my dog and the picture of my best friend.
He looked curiously at the knot I was preparing.
He cried of course, being the crybaby he is.
I sent a message to my best friend saying I love her and I'll be watching over you.
No reply back of course.
Life moves on.
I know she was busy working.
I got on a chair and wrapped the knot around my neck.
I breathed in and out as slowly as I could.
Preparing of what was to be my escape from all the pain.
I began to cry, thinking about my mom.
How devastated she would be.
She would have to witness my lifeless body hanging in the closet.
Cutting off the knot so viciously and giving herself every ounce of her strength to bring me back.
Knowing what I know about my mom, she would 100% join me soon after.
That is how much we love each other.
For we could not live without each other.
I felt a tug at the chair I was standing on.
My dog wouldn't stop trying to get on the chair with me.
He began to cry and of course wanting my attention.
I loosened the knot and throw away everything in such a rush.
I immediately made myself ***** as much as possible.
And then cleaned up, and hugged my dog.
Even though he hesitantly hates hugs, he willingly let me.
I learned that even though things seem tough, there will always be a shining light waiting for you. It just wasn't my time to go yet.

I think about the day I needed to do something with my life.
I finally and unwilling let go.
I went on a couple dates.
Finally meeting someone that loves me for me.
I thought of before how some people look for certain characteristics when looking for a potential partner.
At this point of my life, I don't care anymore.
I don't look for a a person with money, with a extravagant home, rich lifestyle or any of that mess.
He was nothing at all what I had expected to fall for.
He cares for me as I care for him deeply.
He wants a future with me as I just want a future with him as well.
He builds me up and I encourage him up towards our dreams, our hopes and our desire to be better people for each other in this ever growing world.
I know I have a purpose here on this earth.
I just gotta keep looking forward.
And hope it will continue this way until it is my time to go.
Dedicated to my mom. She is the strongest person I will ever come to know. And to those who are starting to lose hope.
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