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ChildofGodyay Sep 2018
I hope I guess it right.
Why you were disappointed and upset.
You can leave me, you can give up on me aren't you tired of me?

Is it because I talked to other girls?
Is it because I wasnt there for you?
Is it because I didn't talk to you?
I miss your summer hues.
Now you give me snoozes and mutes.

Saying sorry won't help.
I can't hug you either.
I disappointed you and I don't even know why.
I am adding drama to your life isn't it.
You hate drama.

I don't want you to leave.
But if you are tired of me, giving up on me, not loving me anymore, you can.
I am not the one for you then.

I love you.
But I think you are doubting that.
I don't even know if I am loving God or not.
And I don't know what to do but to tell you to "wait."

I can't do this.
Can I.
I can't be the one who you want.
Can I.

These are my guesses.
And some of my confessions.
But don't leave me.
Because I still have an affection,
for you.
Terry O'Leary Feb 2017
Awaking blithe each morning,
with eyes upon the World,
I wonder, are we mourning
with ebon flags unfurled –
or are they but a warning,
some draped like snakes and curled,
stray stars and stripes adorning,
sent from the netherworld.

I wander through the garden
with nothing on my mind
and say 'I beg your pardon'
alarmed at what I find
as winds begin to harden
and fate begins to grind.

Confused, I watch my neighbours,
they're wide-eyed, unafraid
to halt all useful labours
and join the death brigade;
the ritters rattle sabres,
the frail and fragile fade,
morticians tap on tabors,
the potentates parade.

The military blesses
(in tunics somewhat browned)
its crimson-stained successes,
**** bent and heaven bound.
Such scenes no more distress us:
a ****** battleground,
dissevered heads with tresses
and arms and legs abound;
the fourth estate suppresses
the heaps of bodies  found
(collateral excesses
discarded in a mound).

Society regresses,
now living by the sword,
with torture and its stresses
upon a waterboard;
a captive kid confesses,
his innocence ignored -
fallacious facts and guesses,
the guts of justice gored!

With canting vindication
a big brass bully brags
(with pearls of perspiration
and swollen tongue that gags)
of third world  subjugation
for gelt and oily swags,
of human rights' castration,
and on and on it drags.

The manifold migration
of refugees in rags
while searching for salvation
soon finds compassion lags;
uprooted populations
are fleeing from their flags
else dying of starvation
as ***** hunger nags.

With trump cards politicking,
two little hands (all thumbs)
may send the Mad Dog siccing.
Insane! All sense succumbs.

Atomic timepiece ticking
until the Reaper comes
as Geiger counters clicking
drown out the droning drums.

Cast out for not conforming,
I wander day by day
to find the earth deforming
as nature wastes away,
with bees no longer swarming
(expunged with garden spray)
and ocean depths transforming
(neath plastic overlay).

With CO2 performing
the climate's led astray,
the atmosphere's been warming,
the grasses ashen gray,
eternal tempest storming
while permafrosts decay,
and ozone holes are forming
in deadly disarray.

The people profiteering
descend a slip'ry *****
destroying, never fearing        
of running out of rope;
instead they sit back sneering
“our wealth’s your only hope”.

Yes, Armageddon's nearing,
it's doubtful that we'll cope,
for Evolution's jeering,
she's scanned our horoscope:
we'll soon be disappearing
with whale and antelope.


The multitudes were jumbled,
some milling ’round the mall,
while politicians bumbled
when bracing for the brawl.

The World around us rumbled,
our backs against the wall,
as bombs were tossed and tumbled
across our broken ball.

My kneecaps creaked and crumbled
but I, too proud to crawl,
took but a step and stumbled  
yet found no place to fall.

And no one heard me grumble
although I tried to call,
or maybe I just mumbled,
as strength began to pall.

Well now the World’s been humbled
I seek an urban sprawl,
but since the feuds were fumbled
there’s nothing left at all.
His hearing loss is going fast
Speeding past his aching heart
There's no foot on the brake
Just inches of peril
And how he wishes there was a pearl
One, one with life
Not one that now opens to a calamity
As old age creeps
Wrinkles and gray
Are part of the bay
As the sun weeps on the horizon
But his ears
And maybe his mind
Are a different story
He sees an impending sunset
Where the bay meets the sand
Where the pearls bask in the sun
There's still a splash
A tongue roars somewhere
He guesses
He sees the crescendo
A beauty, blues merging with white
Ripples and small waves everywhere
Seabirds might be squalling in the sky
He hears nothing
He feels a tap on his shoulder
His imagination
It's the whisper of the wind
For a moment he's at lost
The ones in the bay
The purples, whites, and golds mutating, too

Logan Robertson

For this old friend, there were setbacks. Life marches on. It was sad watching dad, then mom.
Aaryn Nov 2018
you aren't going to win

no one                 guesses

what terrors                     lay behind                   my       eyes

because                             I hide

behind           this          smile
Although if you really look
when I'm alone
the game stops
Classy J Jan 15
Run rotten, for things have gotten out of hand.
Turn coat ducking, torture got him singing and eating outta my hand.
Getting scrapped by the beater like youse a percussion instrument;
maybe that’s why a group of people are called a band?
For we all play our part to either be an influence or to be influenced.
Yet we won’t know anything if you never venture into the forest and meet the temptress.
When one experiences all six senses, when in present tenses, which then puts the body through stresses.
That makes the mind flood with guesses that clouds up our lenses.
But that’s just what war is like for one is always in the trenches.
Whilst other’s sit on benches, but each choice brings rewards and consequences.
Which bears questions on what your quest is?
To run free or to be held back by white picket fences?
For being hard pressed brings out either killers or medics.
To choose to be real or synthetic.
To become abstract or symmetric.
However, things aren’t always so metric.
So be wary of being a critique for just like branches of mathematics in arithmetic,
We have many great qualities but when in a group we can become manipulated.
Ishika Oct 2018
Sometimes, I simply think of colours, you know.
The world is so complex, the human brain and the ocean unexplored, wars and marriages are battling with its side effects and a lot of good goes ignored, so sometimes, instead of Newton, I think of colours.
Like black. What if black is just the ink squeezed from a blind man's dreams?
And yellow, the Sun's abominable hot ****?
What if Snow White was just a Snow"man", a 5 year old created
but forgot to add the nose to?
Was it Olaf disguised as Charming who broke the sleeping curse with "true love's kiss"?
You can hit the bandwagon and say "Haha! Then, white is an angel's ****!"
And I could believe you!
I'm a believer!
I'm also a wild guesser! I'm the harlot of semantics, or whatever that is.
I have never met a naive gold digger, except of course, a gullible beggar.
I hate vulnerability, but then I hate strength too,
because I revel in crying and feeling my face wet and pretty
secretly waiting for a stranger's **** to give me sympathy.
Let me tell you something today.
You can give me food, clothing, warmth and a shelter to sleep under, but if you can't give me peace, comfort and acceptance, my world inside my mind and soul is a thunder waiting to erupt once I lose you and never bother to come back.
I would care less for love in fact.
I guess I'll go searching for a Kentucky's to ravish on a chicken leg with my legs up and heave a sigh of having found solace in no bra!
I see a rosary dangling down a fat woman's pious chest and I think of Jesus Christ.
70% of the world's population celebrate the man who died on the cross and topped it off with resurrection
And then again, I think of valiant soldiers who die on the borders trying to protect their nation
Who are grieved and honoured for a day, no, not celebrated no! They are forgotten.
This ******* contrived sense of sacrifice and nationalism is causing to humanity, its suffering and damnation.
Eve offered and Adam ate! ****** snake! Because, when I didn't know any better I was too scared to *******!
All these esoteric questions and theories and debates and elocutions and apologetics and guesses, what's the ******* point?
The sanctimonious have the God of gaps, the Spaghetti monster for the iconoclastics and then we have the ******* with a  purpose to save the planet from overuse of plastics!
"There's a lot wrong with this world today and we MUST change IT!", asserts a 14 year old onstage in an air conditioned school,
where hundreds have gathered in an international thinktank for "imitating truce".
What is maturity? Tenacity? Or Acuity?
Do you understand subjectivity?
So, just because I'm 20 now, it's hilarious to still watch me drinking milk instead of "adult tea"?
I would rather listen to stories of people who've travelled the planet and lived to tell about it all, than load Stories on Instagram of people who barely make it across the hall.
And I wish I could say "Social media can **** my *****."
Because in this planet of intelligent creatures, one gender accuses, the other waits and muses, so the former forms a movement, hoping for some improvement, but really all this is a sham. All of this? It's just entertainment.
It's not about free will, it's about freedom.
It's not about fear and dogma, it's about reason.
It's about effortless loving with no condition. NO condition.
My mother says all the time "Live and let live", and I believe this is the only greatest gift we can give, to people around us and unto us, also to forget and forgive.
Why seek for mankind's origin and destiny? Why not find the  purpose we need to serve right now?
What can you do now?
And this will never have a proper ending, because I like it that way.
The world will never change, I snigger knowing because there was just one thing the Priest said right, "And we all like sheep have gone astray."
Amanda Aug 2018
Tears dripping down my chin
Water collecting in deep lines
Beginning to feel insecure again
Painted mind should see silken signs

Circular thoughts of sadness and shame
Pool into large puddles of self-loathing
Pondered epiphanies spill out of my head
You stand by, watch them stain clothing

I am on my hands and aching knees
Sorrow outweighing endurance and bliss
My existence is heavier
Each moment feel less and less

Golden guesses and hypotheses are yours
The ambition is gone from my soul
Expand the horizons of written thoughts
After self-acceptance so I can be whole

Sit there fumbling for the right words to say
Your freshly worried face in my sight
Self-hatred forcing us to drift further from happiness
You win with passion, fight with kisses every night
You help me more than you understand
Adrian Joseph Dec 2018
He guesses at truth
Compelled to antagonize with stubborn difficulties
Yet distracted by things his intellect cannot even pretend to recognize

He knows there is a solvable solution to life’s impossible contradictions
But design disappoints his calculations at every turn

He throws aside the various volumes of apologetic rhetoric  
In search of persuasion
Making regular visits to proof’s grand library
Where he finds manuscripts blurred and blotted by clumsy hands
Yet importantly unaltered in every particular

He touches the leaves of history’s book here and there
Sorting the pages between the covers of his heart and mind
Concentrating years of study into a single stanza  

Armed with ammunition from wisdom's shelf
He stages a coup
Against his mental monarchs whose logic is illiterate
Holding them responsible for the estranged errors in his head
Arguments drawn from antiquity are now his authority  

Man knows he is not altogether an imbecile
lovejunkie Feb 11
it's so so late and i can't sleep
i'm tossing and turning and
feel haunted by a ghost i don't
even know. i tried so hard not
to, but i couldn't help but stare,
and maybe it's only because i
needed, today, for this, so it
is so coloured and clouded
but somehow, it's crazy, but
somehow today i saw the most
beautiful woman i've ever seen,
and, yeah, she probably wasn't, it
was about what i needed to see, yeah,
it's got to be, but i did, this isn't just
poetry fodder, i really, really did.

we were standing 10 feet from
each other for at least an hour
before she turned around and
when she did turn to be introduced
she froze, like deer in the headlights
froze, and i immediately thought somehow
i'd been busted, or that there was something
on my face, or that that that that i don't know
what what what but i noticed after i tried to talk
myself into being terrified, i strangely felt like
running away, that you were looking only and
exactly into my eyes. oh, ok, i got it, i have eyes
like david bowie had, one pupil always really
huge, so from a bit of a distance the one
looks so dark blue and the other sea
green, she must have been disturbed
by that, but we exchanged pleasantries...
but her face turned beet red, her ears, too,
and even her nose, a nose so cute just that
nose at that moment made me glad to be
alive and drawing breath and feeling like
something inside me just melted, melted
all at once. she touched her nose with her
hand, like she was self-conscious, and i
wasn't staring anymore... the tip had this
little point, i don't remember seeing a nose
like that ever in my life, and she had a chin
just like i do, one that i hate on myself and
try to hide with my beard, it gives me lips
like betty boop (my mom always said
elvis, but, yeah, she was my mom),
but on her it was perfect. she turned
away pretty quickly, and i didn't
know if i had somehow embarrassed
her and my own ears started to burn.
as i mingled around i didn't stray too
far from where she was, not in a creepy
way, i just didn't circulate, and she stayed
close by to me, too, not working the room.
she self-consciously twirled the long mane
of blonde hair that parted on either side
of her neck, it wasn't curly, but the larger
part laid over her left shoulder, and it had
these big, deep waves, her finger twirling
it and twirling, and as i tried so hard not
to be seen to be seeing, anything not in
my peripheral vision just melted away,
the noisy room seemed to quiet a bit,
but i was starting to feel like that creep,
so i made my way through the crowd
to the door, and i had no fear, the crowd
was just people, there were no unknown
dangers in it as i was walking away, and
i swore i could feel her eyes on me, but
dismissed that notion just as quickly
as just more wishful thinking. just as
i got to the entrance, hand already
feeling the freezing wind outside
making it's way through invisible
cracks around the door frame i
suppose, a hand on my shoulder.

it was one of my ex-wife's good friends,
an older woman, and she invited me to
come join her and her husband joe for
breakfast, and as i turned to talk to
irma i glanced up through the crowd
and this beautiful vision of a woman,
and, yeah, i feel so shallow going on
about a surface beauty, i'm old enough
to know how skin-deep it really is, but,
what can i say? you had to have seen
her to understand. i knew she was
a woman who has left without trying to
a long line of crushed hearts in her wake,
not necessarily through anything
she might have done, she was just
that type, where every boy or man
that's probably ever met her couldn't
help but fall at least a little, all guesses,
but guesses that i was also sure were true.

and as i looked at joe, and at this woman
(i know her first name, but i'd rather leave
her name out of what i'm writing maybe to
make it less real, like just a verse of a song
that i was lucky to hear), and it struck me
that she was going to be eating with them,
too. i was flooded with all kinds of conflicting
feelings, like, am i being like a predator, did
i read things into realities that were not real,
there is no way she could be attracted to me,
though i couldn't really find a solid reason why
(i never can find a solid reason why) it was just
inconceivable, or if she was, it would have to
be some play, some trick, and i thought of
my ex-wife, and i hate even typing this
let alone admitting it, because i haven't
missed her at all for so long, but all of
a sudden i missed her so madly it felt
like a knife pushing up through my
stomach into my upper torso, i missed
her keenly, like the keenest edge of a
knife or sword, it cut deeply, and my
knees even began to wobble and shake.

i thanked irma for the invite, happy to
know her and joe don't hate me like
a lot of friends do, it was like we
divided up our friends just like
we divided up the furniture and
house-hold stuff, me with blue tape
and you with pink, marking our
territory, gathering allies and
gathering enemies. i wonder if
every couple that goes through
a divorce makes whispered vows
to walk away with nothing but love
in their hearts as we did, only to have
the resentments, recriminations, quibbling
over the smallest things, and literally, things,
just material objects that in another ten years
will mostly be broken, or obsolete, or out of
fashion, it was so petty of us both maybe,
but you get so wrapped up in it you cannot
see the big picture anymore, like standing too
close to a Monet, so you only see what look
like random splotches of colour, and i so,
so wanted my ex-wife to be there, and i
so, so, also wanted to join the three of them
for brunch, too, and just to see, just to see,
not to do anything, but just to talk to
this woman, that maybe something
she could say would break this spell,
that my fantasy of bumping into
cinderella or sleeping beauty so
at random but maybe not by chance
(i don't believe in coincidences anymore),
that she could say something that would
burst the bubble, and bring her back down
to the level of a mere mortal, and i hoped
even that she might say something that
would tell me how impossibly wrong
all my senses and every single part of
my gut was telling me, but i knew there
was a spark, i couldn't deny it, and then
all i could think of was how i never ever
want to get so close to another person again
as i had been with my spouse. when it
was still good, it was so **** good, we just
never ran out of the our secret & silly
things to talk about, and her beauty
captivated my heart before any subtler
charms as well, and all of this i'm writing
flooded through my head and my heart in
just the space of a moment or two, like the
past on fast forward and the present, and
maybe even the future, on pause... i'm
flustered again just trying to get this
down right now... yes, so i thanked
irma, and walked away, me more secure
than ever in the knowledge that i never ever
never-never-ever-ever want to get as close
to another human being as i was
with my wife when things were
still magical, when she was still
my disney princess, and she really
seemed to really love me, despite
all my emotional disfigurements.

i felt one tear of frustration roll down
my cheek, but i wiped it quick away,
and walking out into that arctic wind,
so cold exposed skin freezes within
a mere handful of seconds if into those
winds you face, i didn't feel frustration, or
insecurity, or ****, or anything at all anymore
except this warm and fuzzy and even
nondescript and vague feeling of just
feeling gooood, so good, and i closed
my eyes, just for the first step or two,
and i appreciated the encounter for
what it was, and nothing less, and
nothing more... but for that first
step or two, i swear, with my
face putting the wind on my
pay-no-mind-list, with my
eyes shut just for the fun
of that nervousness of
walking not seeing at
all where you may be
going, for those steps
i felt like i was striding
over entire mountain
ranges, and it felt so
good just to feel good,
i'd forgotten how good,
and it felt good to even
have a slight chance that
a woman so beautiful, i
can't use gorgeous, or
any other superlative,
only beautiful seems to do,
just might have looked at me,
and somehow, i don't know how,
but somehow might have felt a
pull towards me, too, a gravity
that dissipated the further the
distance i put between the two,
and that was OK, that was good,
i didn't need anything else, it
was just so nice to be reminded
i can still feel something though
i no longer believe in romantic love,
i could still feel an attraction running
in two ways, i felt a flattery, i felt more
like a man for some reason than i had
in at least the last four or five years, but
still no regrets for heading home, it was
enough for me to have on sunday,
february 10th, 2019, from 10-ish am to
11:43 am (i had to check), i still got to
sneak linger-long glaces at the
most beautiful woman in the
whole, wide, world. despite
the chaos of the rest of my
day, i will never forget those
103 minutes (the length of a rom-com)
for the rest of my life, a bold claim,
but you should've seen her,
and for me, that's enough, and
what a gift, what a gift.
"NEVER shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-coloured
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."

"But I can get a hair-dye
And set such colour there,
Brown, or black, or carrot,
That young men in despair
May love me for myself alone
And not my yellow hair."

"I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."

And ain't that sometimes the truth.

William Butler Yeats
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
cliche. click
I'm lost without you

you glanced my way and said,
"how do you know?"

I don't.
I won't.
I can't.

You glance away and say,
"maybe so."

Life's the test.
stand alone or be rejected
the subject of the action word
conjecturing the meaning

Hector's pride brought the mass.
Was that made sacred? Yechhh.

Higgs's made real,  massive change
end of the world
as we knew it, 2012, mass means more than x-mas

The message in the messenger from Greece's God,
"Hold fast, hold on, Hector, be
hold-- what a drag"

Achilles, shoulda had anger management.

Suppose, Achilles's momma had trusted
whatever the protection was to be,
divine, that kind o' dad,
it warn't gonna let 'im drown.

She coulda just tossed 'im in,
sink or swim, knowing, in her inner parts,
the protector's promise,
memorized, since the red tent.

Pandora's last hope trumps fire,
and flood,

Wee Achilles woulda squirmed, and swam,
invincible, every inch soaked,

it could been, but, you know,
Achilles's momma could not let go.

And the rest is mythtery.

the sign said follow the money,

but money is invisible, so I played like
I could see what other folk

Lot o'them took time to tell me,
"Only believe", or "trust, and obey".
Streets of gold,
we'll slide back
down on silk stockings
hung on spider thread

above the flames

that boil the kettle in the center of
the whole round world,

nobody in our family ever once
believed the world is flat,

nor that Jesus once was blue and had four arms,

stop me.
I was wrong, I, myself, can imagine
Jesus dressed as Rama,
who was blue and had four busy arms, in truth.

hallowed ev'ening of the light,
settling sun, lead in the night, when all
see monsters, every where,

no on will notice me. Watch and see.

OH OH, ****** me by my pigtail, lift me to the third
floor, two stories past tellestial,
kingdom come,
which the mormon at my door testified
the angelic ***** had told Brigham 'n'em,

in the spirit, he agreed, not face to face.

tellestial is as close to **** as a Mormon man can go,
he said, "If you could see it, you'd die to go.
It's so much better than this."

Joe Smith, said that, according to his agent.

I pondered,
chewed a cud, as I could recall, holy cows do.

I leaned back, put one boot to rest,
on the bricks behind my knee,

A modified Crane pose, I suppose.
I folded my arms and stared that boy
right in the eye.

I said, "Wanna try?"
"We gotta bridge up the road a piece,
sure as haell,
we'll see if it's a lie, at least."

Then I repented.
That **** imagined by Joe and all them zionic-messengers,
they was guesses, at the best. But the feelers at my door,
they was bein' tempted
to put their own faith to the test.

I grow bolder. The experiment worked.
I know.
Same ol' story...

-She said it tasted,
first time that word was ever heard or tasted.

****, cold, evil, winter, summer, sweat, mosquitos, evil cold,
I'm sorry!

How do you know?
What's blame?
Oh, that, and shame, I know that,

epi genetically be guile-ish. gullibility
gone in one bite.

Taste and see, he saw her say, or thought
he did

Like a switch, with more capacitance,
than the cells of knowing can resist,
in the first few months of being matter in time.

Knock a fella in the head
with knowing all the hows of evil,
along with all the why of not,

the most beautiful woman in the world,
no contest,
*****, and he knows.

Thinkin' straight ain't in the plan.
Precedent set forever,
no plan survives first sight of a ***** woman after learning what ***** means,

according to the tutor in blame,
who sat glumly on Adam's shoulder
explaining as the jist
of the story unrolls, "***** is evil,
you are *****", no word, just

good luck if yer helpin' him stand,

spoken words heard and
obey essence initial instantiation

oops, Idols. The idea of idols. Don't imagine anything like that.

Gabriel came with that very message all over his face.

Knowin' evil and doin' it, not the same.
Learn to drive and do the math,

Then we talk about artifice beyond the ken of mortal minds,
not worry,
it is written, We have the mind of Christ,

but as an augmentation really,
we can fact check,
but, honest,
a heretic has to use any augmentations right,
or the being powers will

objectify his reason for being, and reject him, for

the sin of defining the happiness he ensues.

You with me?
This was to be my comment,
but it called out for search engine priority of purpose

Nothin', I was thinkin' --
we never get trick or treaters,
tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,
then I un cussed my thoughts
with my inner self and we agreed.
He who would catch fish,
must venture his bait.
Net criticism's needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Wise ones say, it ain't easy,
but true rest,
I can testify, it's found along the way.

Hallowed be your even-ing, level up,

trick or treat?
not on that old man's hill,
somethin' weird, too peaceful there.
Nothin', I was thinkin' -- we never get trick or treaters, tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,then I un cussed my thoughts with my inner self and we agreed. He who would catch fish, must venture his bait. Net criticism needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Laiyn Davis Jan 31
Tries to disappear, to a world of drama. Shocks real people far to much, end that **** with a comma. Confused by reality, diluted by hate. Wasn't given a real chance, no no, just told he could be ******* great. And he talks big ****, and acts real hard, cause he's afraid of dying. But I'll bet you twenty-five and a subway ticket he spent all last night crying. You don't gotta talk mad, for me to believe that you can punch my lights out. If you talk big game, what can you really be all about. Nothing, and let me tell, there’s nothing to make me angrier, so thank Saint Peter, that your protected by the power’s that be, is, isn't, and forever will sing!

As the world ends, and the chess board clears, fat man sings, then chugs a few beers, I’ll still exist, left behind by the rapture. No heaven for me, God’s light will never be captured. Yet I look around, and still see all of you. Even his people, have no clue what to do. Because all of us are with fault, unworthy of his plan. So he’s remaking the flood, just to deal with man. No rainbow to stop him now, he’s to go all out. And in heaven he’ll stay alone, his personal hideout. For he threw the souls back down to earth, he grew tired of them, but ghosts aren't real, cause I've never seen one man. Just saw a vision of the woman, who was meant to be my wife, hung upside down, taken her own life.  

So, as we waste away my dear, let us promise to never leave the other's side. For I refuse to be responsible, for your acts of mass homicide. In a kiss we bind our tongues together, now able to determine truth from lie. And now, just like late Sir Montague, I drink the poison, die. And then reach for the sky, see a man in blue, don't want to die. So scared of getting shot, it makes some grown men cry. Am I part of the system, of “systematic oppression”? I hope that it doesn't exist, and my kids learn the lesson. For it’s to late for me, i'm all out of ideas, and hope, and love, and anything to keep the world moving.

Tell my father, I'm sorry, I was disappointing. But let him know, he has a soul, worthy of voicing. Tell my brothers i'm sorry for being a bully. Making them backed in a corner, make em tumble down a gully. Dear sister, im sorry, i never understood our fights. Two top dogs always trying to say their right. If i, could turn back the clock i would. Because together, we could have owned the block, the entire neighborhood. And mom, we have had many a word. But i feel pride to call you mother, the same a gnat would a bird. And I all hope that you accept the one i choose. But I think still lose.

The world becomes unfamiliar, and i become filled with doubt. Not knowing who i truly am, something you know nothing about. When it all becomes against you, and your completely filled with fear, you begin to lose hold of everyone you hold dear. Then maybe you'll have an inkingling of what it’s like to be me, alone, afraid, all hope is lost, and you would make it better, at any cost. It’s just called emotional distress, and i'm under complete emotional duress.How can you find me this way? Acting like i got drunk, without a party underway. If I’m so lost without you, what's the point of sobering up? I think have nightmares of you, because your the reason i end up at the bottom, of a red solo cup. But in my nightmare’s there's a light that begins to destroy the darkness. Does it have a name? Is it coming for my carcas? Am i even of importance, to it’s omnipotence?

How does one even discern the inconceivable mass that is knowing all, being all knowing, rather, not being free, and never again having the chance to learn anything. It’s a, sad state of affairs that we’re in, when you have nothing else to live for expect living itself. Breathe. What does it mean? H20, science terms, and a few other things. But if you bridge away from your omnipotence, and look into the human mind, you’ll find, breath, means to live, live fast, strong, hard, and quickly. And that’s something omnipotence would never get you. Human emotion is far too complex to ever truly understand. Therapists, they make what we call, educated guesses, and listen to you speak to find the root of your problem, but beyond that….
I got a bit heated with this one, i suppose. Please suggest tags. Feel like this is one i want to update, so, look out for that.
Michael Marchese Aug 2018
Words have such a funny little way
Of saying just enough
A means through which the end conveys
Intangible dimension stuff
Composed of immaterial
Surrealist bits and pieces
Decomposing in ethereal
Extinction level species
At the pinnacle of pensive
We incessantly conceive
Perceptions formed in the defense of
Higher beings we believe
And often give it all to see
Their rightful place among the stars
And as we fell the final tree
We do it all again on Mars
As discontent with our successes
As we are amidst the bliss
Of failure’s most enlightened guesses
To elucidate what any of this
Saudia R Sep 2018
You fed my mind
and I was hoping that
you would feed my heart too

I felt like a fool when I said that to you

All you could do was stare
but in the end
now my mind is clear

No more doubts
or second guesses

No more worries
or jealousy over someone I never had

I can move on from this idea of we
to the idea of me

to cherish myself
nurture my mind
soothe my soul

and when I no longer think of you
when the right one comes along

I wont have to ask
JB Aug 2018
The whispers
The laughs
The names
The jokes
The speculations and guesses
They talk about you
They are shocked when you speak
They think you are weird
For being quiet, kept to yourself
The lockers talk
Earbuds in
Head down
Nose in a book
Mad face drawn
It works, they stay away
They don’t approach
Ignoring the quiet judgment
You are almost there
To the peaceful relief of the quiet corner in the library
Where nobody goes
The rows of books, other lives you get to live
Because you would rather live in those than your own
People talk
You ignore it
You are used to doing so
You don’t care anymore because
You realized a while ago that
Sometimes it could be a luxury
To be a nobody.

— The End —