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"immersing" poems
The all seeing iris imperial city The swiftest of stylus this side of the ‘sippi The trippiest spittin’ Promethean hippy Conspiracy theorist of eeriest verse The despotic hypnotic black flag bearin’ Hearst Still immersing myself in a poverty trap As I grapple with lack of fact check cashing crap Cryogenically frozen emotion vibes flowin’ From out my funk bunker boombox Overthrowin’ Your global dominion opinion with ease Shootin’ breezes with Tirailleurs Senegalese I’m the kid wicked picket sign paintin’ Tom Sawyer The ill eagle Taino privilege enjoyer Still swoopin’ in mean on each **** I make clean Pick the bones dry of serpentine oil green dreams Then I bury what’s left of your money machines With the pharaohs of old’s latest pyramid schemes
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Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
Horus the Youth
On Monday I didn't go to school because you wanted to take me out instead We walked around the park downtown all afternoon finally we perched ourselves in the gazebo immersing ourselves in each other's thoughts and wading in traded words. My attention was shattered when a lady bug landed on my knee. I was baffled- I exclaimed that it's orange. You laughed and I coaxed it onto my finger. And you told me "Some of them are green you know" I didn't know. I said "maybe those ones just aren't ripe yet" I played with the bug for a few more seconds until I felt your gaze, and I lifted my emerald greens to your cup-of-coffee mahognies. You were looking at me the way I imagined Gatsby must have looked at Daisy. And you smiled a little too wide for the stupid thing I had just said. You touched my chin and kissed me gently, and i could feel your lips still frozen in a grin. But when I looked back down my coveted orange lady bug had flown away- and left no trace that he ever came.
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Fleeting
when you start feeling as if just being you     is not enough ,.. when you see the sunlight slipping away sliding into the ocean and the outbound tide     is pulling strong ,..    gravity throbs downward ― you see it's weight groan pacing in lonely eyes, you feel it's burden bear down on a wayfaring stranger    wandering away alone ,.. wondering what went wrong stalled by a riverside frozen in time ; walking on slippery rocks and fallen stars, searching for peace along the meandering shoreline the waterfall surrenders a river's silent lament ; the storm gales' surge stirs the urge for moving on a heart broken knows how fickle tides change which way the wind blows ,.. which way the rain      comes falling down ― watershed moments undulating serpentine rivers, unbridled terrain waters veritably cascading  beyond blurred latitudes, uninhibitedly drifting      in shapeless symmetry ― a deep ocean rises with the calling tide's murmur,   the shorebirds linger ; hole up with the peace of the unsullied sands at the sea stained       tide-mark ― barnacles cling to the pulse of the tidal sway where starfish hold on to    slippery rocks ,.. being enough to while away just a little bit longer ― to simply let it all be and wholly wash out in the water waiting for the tide change, to swallow whole the rivers stagnant flow, immersing     the stars in swirling silence ― in the unrestrained     rhythm and the sea ...
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Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
Slip Slidin' Away
every time he touched me i felt him memorizing me like a wreck every time she touched me i felt her heartbeat caught in my own neck they are problem solvers. i had cushioning companions fuller and calmer than me. perhaps someday i'll tell them this if i ever learn to handle it: the open, raw closeness. In the meantime, i'll remember her laughing into my legs immersing us in the soft hair from her head and his enchanting voice inflating my lungs; the simple gift of speech in bed the moment right before their contact, a few light-years away from being. the moment between shine and its reflection, just a hollow eternity to all the space in between. company? I starve for the long moments that thick time of silence together feasting on whatever he just said. community? I crave gazing at an orb of truth wholly understanding one another a vague sense of being like her family. civility? honoring the ghosts of our realities and remaining gravely touched by the mortal ritual at hand. I couldn't deserve either of you just promise me you'll understand or at least try to get the **** off my land
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Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
training
#***Blackwater rise up from artesian fountains Upsurge from the provenance of earthen soul Mingle unto a river of willow’s bend and sway Rooted in boulders***                                                           *scattered  within                                  milestones                                                   and*                                                                 ***riverbed Cornerstones                                                                                           Gray As though empowering sown seeds mightily strewn With intent a higher law's freshet flows For to stream from silence in a satiating tongue Rolling currents thickly bestow A  river  of  simple  truth lay  bare A stream of random kindness betides, Rivulets of unconditional love abounding    Rootstock birthplace coursing passage from whence Unbounded rivers' silent reverie manifests Rippling cadence immersing pulsing whispers Unbounded rivers rushing deep and wide Blossoming undercurrents gushing, resounding, rhythmic  ebb  and  flow Verve undulating wholly alive Genesis of soul marrow's enlightened shine ― Wellsprings arise from bedrock ancient mother earth A surmounting light leavens abidingly From imploring water's flowing river song To illuminate the beckoning pathway's bearings divergent from thither and yon                  Through  which  to  portage A way to carry back home in psalm*** h.a. rivers ... November 4th, 2017
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Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
Blackwater River
#***Blackwater rise up from artesian fountains Upsurge from the provenance of earthen soul Mingle unto a river of willow’s bend and sway Rooted in boulders***                                                           *scattered  within                                  milestones                                                   and*                                                                 ***riverbed Cornerstones                                                                                           Gray As though empowering sown seeds mightily strewn With intent a higher law's freshet flows For to stream from silence in a satiating tongue Rolling currents thickly bestow A  river  of  simple  truth lay  bare A stream of random kindness betides, Rivulets of unconditional love abounding    Rootstock birthplace coursing passage from whence Unbounded rivers' silent reverie manifests Rippling cadence immersing pulsing whispers Unbounded rivers rushing deep and wide Blossoming undercurrents gushing, resounding, rhythmic  ebb  and  flow Verve undulating wholly alive Genesis of soul marrow's enlightened shine ― Wellsprings arise from bedrock ancient mother earth A surmounting light leavens abidingly From imploring water's flowing river song To illuminate the beckoning pathway's bearings divergent from thither and yon                  Through  which  to  portage A way to carry back home in psalm*** h.a. rivers ... November 4th, 2017
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34
Mercury stops~~~Before Retrograde Motion Time to sink deeply immersing in truth Paying attention to what drives distraction and all that we've buried as if it's no use Be sharp with contracts and service your engines Revitalize ~ and absorb what's abstruse ***Now is not hinged upon past or the future This precious portal is our gift to nurture***
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Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
Mercury Retrograde
Bathing thyself in Lethe, not ingesting, forgetting, yet not reminiscing on thyne torment, though immersing thyself in it nonetheless, persisting on pain and uncertainty. El océano sin agua, ese is what thou art, unable to breathe, unable to control, longing for a hand to halt the quiver. In the midst of submission, thy capture in the seductive dance of the monster, thou utterst sólo una palabra, “help”; the first and final request, yet thy time in Lethe were much too lengthy, not one hand shall be lent to those who menacingly, cherish death.
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Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 6:19 AM UTC
Daunting Transparency
She is the water immersing the shore a motion moving entities into the shadows of the lore sirens call on rising tides men of flesh flock in waves falling as they fly dwelling eternal within her mystical whiles.
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Jun 22, 2022
Jun 22, 2022 at 1:53 PM UTC
Water-nymph
Asian girl is a ****** mystery in her **** ****** eyes in her sultry look with a burning passion, hypnotizing her beauty with very delicate strings like charming ****** melodic hints with flirting eyes. Asian drum rhythm gives the insight of love as if her eyes are beckoning to her, immersing her sweet moans into ****** romance like a flute melody, her silky snow white or dainty honey caramel or a golden body that radiates brilliance of indescribable beauty is like indescribably epic beautiful scenery. Her character is like a cloud as she is sweet and gentle, like sunshine illuminating your life. You gradually know it, it opens only with time like a striptease where they take off the details of the clothes, and then attacks you like a tigress protects her happiness she is able to give you a cosmic scale love and ****** in the rest of the time she is gentle, sensual, soft and very feminine. You love her in return, she will become obsessed with you. Like a wild cat, she guards her happiness, as if the pillow is tender with you, will cover the cover of love with her body and soul. With you she is like a little kitten, like a child eager for care and love. And you depend on her beauty and love and love for her goes to the depths of yours, I and you soak through it and understand that you will love only her gentle face and life without her is meaningless. Over time, love only increases and it seems to you that she knows no bounds like you in a fairy tale. She smiles at you and you see that your priceless happiness is sacred happiness of the universe, priceless gift of fate and you smile at her and so warmly at heart and you think that this is love is what I will look for in all lives. Life with an Asian girl is like a beautiful, unforgettable ****** dream filled with spiritual romance and the poetic lyrics of the harmony of soul, mind and body. The Asian girl is a secret that only the chosen ones will know her love is the key to heavenly life on earth. The beauty of each Asian girl is very clearly subtly delicately noted in graceful details. Each of them has its own imperial face of divine beauty as if the queen of the world. Her love is a kiss of true love is a kiss of the soul I want it to last forever and you understand that you love her to the very depths of your mind and soul that there is nothing more valuable than her love she gives you a child genuine sincere joy and your soul shines with romance and happiness you are like a flower stretching towards its light of beauty that comes from within. Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
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Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
Asian girl
Asian girl is a ****** mystery in her **** ****** eyes in her sultry look with a burning passion, hypnotizing her beauty with very delicate strings like charming ****** melodic hints with flirting eyes. Asian drum rhythm gives the insight of love as if her eyes are beckoning to her, immersing her sweet moans into ****** romance like a flute melody, her silky snow white or dainty honey caramel or a golden body that radiates brilliance of indescribable beauty is like indescribably epic beautiful scenery. Her character is like a cloud as she is sweet and gentle, like sunshine illuminating your life. You gradually know it, it opens only with time like a striptease where they take off the details of the clothes, and then attacks you like a tigress protects her happiness she is able to give you a cosmic scale love and ****** in the rest of the time she is gentle, sensual, soft and very feminine. You love her in return, she will become obsessed with you. Like a wild cat, she guards her happiness, as if the pillow is tender with you, will cover the cover of love with her body and soul. With you she is like a little kitten, like a child eager for care and love. And you depend on her beauty and love and love for her goes to the depths of yours, I and you soak through it and understand that you will love only her gentle face and life without her is meaningless. Over time, love only increases and it seems to you that she knows no bounds like you in a fairy tale. She smiles at you and you see that your priceless happiness is sacred happiness of the universe, priceless gift of fate and you smile at her and so warmly at heart and you think that this is love is what I will look for in all lives. Life with an Asian girl is like a beautiful, unforgettable ****** dream filled with spiritual romance and the poetic lyrics of the harmony of soul, mind and body. The Asian girl is a secret that only the chosen ones will know her love is the key to heavenly life on earth. The beauty of each Asian girl is very clearly subtly delicately noted in graceful details. Each of them has its own imperial face of divine beauty as if the queen of the world. Her love is a kiss of true love is a kiss of the soul I want it to last forever and you understand that you love her to the very depths of your mind and soul that there is nothing more valuable than her love she gives you a child genuine sincere joy and your soul shines with romance and happiness you are like a flower stretching towards its light of beauty that comes from within. Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
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. *Musical brush strokes paint                the pink honey moon                full and bright ; the melody wafts lightly                with a sensual scent                of Jasmine fleur Lonely hearts sip the sky’s                lambent elixir’s gentle persuasion from separately dispersed novas the perennial blossom of the perpetual tide ..,                                       .                merely pined moonlight Immersing wholly in wistful reflection                alight on wellspring emerald pond Verily unspoken words cavort                like musical rivulets spiraling flow into the crystalline echo Luna’s haloed heavenly sighs ,                emanation bestrewn                shimmering through dark nebula like shooting stars shattered                by the weight                of their darkest radiance, echoes upon the tide-less mirror pond                the nimbus of moonlight                imbuing all the ways I want you* . . . wild is the wind ...© 6.17.2015
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Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
Echoes upon the tideless Mirror Pond
GO ! BELOVED MAN ~ go c r e a t e YOU are the CENTRE OF CREATION see these children in my embracing protection I will send them when you are ready we all float flying together confidently but now you must L E A V E, descend our forefingers are disengaging, a pattern paternal, forever humanity will remember this gesture, TWO IN ONE, a HOLDING and LETTING go, sign of GRACEFUL DIVINE INSTRUCTION I birth your progeny, birthing ALL WORLDS this teen your son says : “BE not afraid” he becomes angry as you lounge hesitant, question or plead he is impatient to elevate what you will manifest but wait he must ~ ONLY I control TIME I s t r e t c h Y O U, SON I O P E N S K Y in the eternal Now immersing myself in my creations then letting them GO this is NO FALL call it ART ~ MY COMMAND FOR YOU IS RISE then F ~ L~ Y You are my CHOSEN EYES to eyes THE TIME IS NOW recline no more in cloud beauty endurance is your hallmark ferocity tangos with LOVE I will not forsake you you will soar on my winds they will carry your shapely limbs ready groin will create at my bidding your elegant strong fingers will caress Question not MY IMAGE man of man, woman of woman curved ears hear, wide nostrils breathe life Heart pumping into infinity food will flow from hair to toe tip ACT and RELAX, written into ****** constitution Forever MICHELANGELO, Sculptor humble Genius I saLute you, My own Creation Son of Marbled Art Yours sincerely, GOD
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Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:42 AM UTC
Creation of Man : Section Sistine Chapel : Michelangelo: Ekphrasis Poem
OH NIGHT OH MONSTROUS NIGHT ~•~•~•~•~•~• *Upon a darkened night Flames of love burning in mystic depths Fleeing as*  INFERNO RISES *And by the darkest Shroud She fled her house Immersing in the night In a rainy*  MYSTERY NIGHT while all sleep beneath a strange moonlight *Upon a darkened soul Flames of love burning in glowing sight As secrets hidden unveil into the night And with the moonlight beam She waited still While counting all the stars The Glow consumed her soul While all in quiet rest* *Upon a darkened heart Flames of love burning into sea waves As flames consumes her mind And by the*  **STARS GUIDING NEAR She fled herself Flying into the* NIGHT The flames consumed her heart And left it darkened still **Oh Night Oh Monstrous night Oh NIGHT UNVEIL THYSELF Oh shadows of the night Tiptoe into my presence slowly Oh night watch my quivering heart Oh Night appease my shivering Soul Oh Night caress my weary mind OH NIGHT OH MONSTROUS NIGHT Oh Night Reveal thine masked face** **Oh Night Arise, Unveil the hidden STARS Unmask the MOONLESS NIGHT Oh Night Oh Monstrous Night!!! Oh Calm Oh Calm of night Rock me as I fly searching for thine face Sing for me lullabies of THE WITCHING HOUR Oh Night Oh Shadows of night deep Elude the bane and miseries untold** OH NIGHT OH MONSTROUS NIGHT OH MONSTROUS NIGHT OVI ODIETE©
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Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
"THE DARK SOUL OF THE NIGHT"
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal. Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies. I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events. These beings possess no artificiality. Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria. Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal. There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust. Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control. Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency. Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline. Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision. My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation. Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate. Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign. Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time. I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew. The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought. Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation. I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence. The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
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Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Piece XXXI
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal. Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies. I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events. These beings possess no artificiality. Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria. Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal. There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust. Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control. Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency. Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline. Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision. My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation. Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate. Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign. Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time. I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew. The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought. Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation. I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence. The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
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she carried me to the sink. she acquired me so long ago. she has cried into me. she has wiped tears off her face with me. we have grown accustomed to each other. i know her every supple detail. she knows my soft, warm touch. we know each other too well it seems. today, she carried me to the sink. the water started. the wrath of liquid poured out and filled to the brim. i did not expect her to do this. i know we loved each other. she told me so much about her life even though i couldnt talk back. i was stuck inside myself so even my own thoughts couldnt escape. i was a washcloth i submerged into the liquid and it surrounded me and soaked into me and burned every part of me and i didnt want to think about it how she put me here and if i was just a ******** washcloth i’d still be on the shelf but i was still her washcloth. the liquid became a part of me it absorbed so deep and it was just liquid but it was also what it meant it was the joy it was the hate it was the beginning and the end it was the concept of life and it was swirling around me and immersing itself into thoughts i didnt even know i had she plunged me deeper and made it perhaps lethal because i didnt know i was just a washcloth but then the worst part came the part where she just left the part where i was left out to dry except i was still engulfed in misery the part where she could have rerisen me and wrung me out like i was a washcloth was i meant to drown like this by this girl that picked me up off the shelf was i better than the other washcloths or was it just because i was there so i sat there drowning in the water and i wanted to scream and i wanted to cry the liquid out of myself but i was a washcloth soaking in water i wanted to look up out of the sink and see shining fluorescence but i couldnt see because i'm just a washcloth instead i made my own light i got closer and i saw it all go by the shelf the girl the sink and one last time the light
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Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
depression
she carried me to the sink. she acquired me so long ago. she has cried into me. she has wiped tears off her face with me. we have grown accustomed to each other. i know her every supple detail. she knows my soft, warm touch. we know each other too well it seems. today, she carried me to the sink. the water started. the wrath of liquid poured out and filled to the brim. i did not expect her to do this. i know we loved each other. she told me so much about her life even though i couldnt talk back. i was stuck inside myself so even my own thoughts couldnt escape. i was a washcloth i submerged into the liquid and it surrounded me and soaked into me and burned every part of me and i didnt want to think about it how she put me here and if i was just a ******** washcloth i’d still be on the shelf but i was still her washcloth. the liquid became a part of me it absorbed so deep and it was just liquid but it was also what it meant it was the joy it was the hate it was the beginning and the end it was the concept of life and it was swirling around me and immersing itself into thoughts i didnt even know i had she plunged me deeper and made it perhaps lethal because i didnt know i was just a washcloth but then the worst part came the part where she just left the part where i was left out to dry except i was still engulfed in misery the part where she could have rerisen me and wrung me out like i was a washcloth was i meant to drown like this by this girl that picked me up off the shelf was i better than the other washcloths or was it just because i was there so i sat there drowning in the water and i wanted to scream and i wanted to cry the liquid out of myself but i was a washcloth soaking in water i wanted to look up out of the sink and see shining fluorescence but i couldnt see because i'm just a washcloth instead i made my own light i got closer and i saw it all go by the shelf the girl the sink and one last time the light
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68
It's a cruel world we treat ourselves like an advertisement. So caught up in an obsession that leads to death painfully, sadly. Looking in the mirror watching her body  waste away, Yet still to her it's getting more, and more beautiful every day. Yet every day she get sicker, covering up the hate for herself by Immersing  herself in liquor. Is this the right thing that we've been teaching the world? To consume our self-hate? To tremble every time we see a title having anything to do with cake? Cringing everytime we think we might be gaining alittle weight? But alittle weight in reality is nothing to everyone else but an idea you created in your head. Constantly you continue to dread the next time you have to face a meal. Caring to much about the way you appeal. She says she's 100 pounds too heavy.... Being 110 already. Girl do you hear yourself? You see a masked and disguised version of the body your confused minds blinded you to always see. scratching at anything everything trying to find a hint of self-worth yet leaving empty-handed. it's a painful addiction promising you a body that's beauriful so pretty, too skinny. Skipping breakfast like it's nothing. Then sitting before lunch and dinner don't want to feel the pain that so real, So you push the plate away and leave can't stand the thought of gaining another pound. Running with your fears, numbers dictate nearly everything you do. So you restrict and starve. Losing your hair as fast as your weight. This is the painful cycle you choose that we all hate. Your burning. You consistently battle thoughts, temptations, it takes up all of your time. They have no idea but they judge anyway. you wish you were braver but the idea of throwing it all away is too much, to heavy. These excuses you use on this body that you consistently abuse it's crazy this pain is weighing piece by piece. you tear  yourself apart. your ribs getting more and more visible, your meat turning into nothing, it's clinical. As hard as it is, they don't know what you feel and they never will... Anorexia.
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Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Anorexia
It's a cruel world we treat ourselves like an advertisement. So caught up in an obsession that leads to death painfully, sadly. Looking in the mirror watching her body  waste away, Yet still to her it's getting more, and more beautiful every day. Yet every day she get sicker, covering up the hate for herself by Immersing  herself in liquor. Is this the right thing that we've been teaching the world? To consume our self-hate? To tremble every time we see a title having anything to do with cake? Cringing everytime we think we might be gaining alittle weight? But alittle weight in reality is nothing to everyone else but an idea you created in your head. Constantly you continue to dread the next time you have to face a meal. Caring to much about the way you appeal. She says she's 100 pounds too heavy.... Being 110 already. Girl do you hear yourself? You see a masked and disguised version of the body your confused minds blinded you to always see. scratching at anything everything trying to find a hint of self-worth yet leaving empty-handed. it's a painful addiction promising you a body that's beauriful so pretty, too skinny. Skipping breakfast like it's nothing. Then sitting before lunch and dinner don't want to feel the pain that so real, So you push the plate away and leave can't stand the thought of gaining another pound. Running with your fears, numbers dictate nearly everything you do. So you restrict and starve. Losing your hair as fast as your weight. This is the painful cycle you choose that we all hate. Your burning. You consistently battle thoughts, temptations, it takes up all of your time. They have no idea but they judge anyway. you wish you were braver but the idea of throwing it all away is too much, to heavy. These excuses you use on this body that you consistently abuse it's crazy this pain is weighing piece by piece. you tear  yourself apart. your ribs getting more and more visible, your meat turning into nothing, it's clinical. As hard as it is, they don't know what you feel and they never will... Anorexia.
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Times behold when twisted men are captured by their spleen When souls will writhe in torment though their thoughts are seldom seen, When agitation rides aloft with blunt spur on its' **** And the hounds of hell are baying as though purgatory will pass. Torment in its' basest form is shaded beastly red Immersing flocks of faithful in the mind set till they’re dead, For shredded nails and worry lines, so deeply now ingrained, Are signatured paralysis of the breed that has abstained. Abstained in all things beautiful, such as dreams which flow in mirth, Abstained from eyes of merriment and joyful leaps from earth, Divorced to all that conjures up the gracious well of love Divorced from thoughts of holiness in faith, both hand in glove. Baptised to despondency, inured to sights and sounds Which lift the mind's creation well beyond all earthly bounds, Committed to the trench of the dark abyss of gloom Assigned to unenlightenment...The soul has left the room. © 2012 Marshal Gebbie
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May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 4:26 AM UTC
A Signatured Paralysis
I remember the last time I went surfing. I loved every second of it. I loved running out into the icy water, the chill taking a second to hit the vulnerable skin under my wetsuit. Those fleeting seconds of running ankle deep in the water before realizing how cold it is, and the moments following where I just kept running anyway, my body and board becoming dispersed in sea froth. I loved feeling my feet sink into the grainy sand as I gradually reach a depth that touches above my waist, then, bracing myself for the numbing cold, diving onto my board, immersing my top half in the crisp temperature the water holds. After the piercing cold is absorbed by my skin, and I am lying flat on smooth fiberglass, I see a wave forming in the distance. In a hurry, paddling madly, grazing my hands on the fiberglass sides of the board, desperate to get deep enough to catch the wave. I turn the board around and feel the wave coming behind me. This is the moment. The moment that feels like waiting for your plane to take off, or waiting for a raffle to be drawn, hoping desperately to hear your name called out. I feel the swell behind me, and continue paddling, facing the shore this time. I can feel it as a powerful but consistent surge brings the nose of my board up, and I hurry to lift myself up. I am crouching. My hands nervously let go of the sides. I am bent over. I am straightening. I am standing. My palms are flailing madly, but feel free in the warmer air. Within seconds, I lose my balance and the rush pulls me under. I fall off the board and take a mouthful of seawater. I emerge, laughing, trying to stabilize my focus and figure out whereabouts on the beach I am. As I drag the board back to shore, the salty sea water is already drying in my hair, fingernails and skin. I feel the familiar crunch of dry sand, and collapse, laughing, into the soft grains. I could do this again. I was so excited to finally have my own surfboard. Brand new, I just hadn't had the chance to take it out yet. My brother asked to borrow it one day, and I couldn't see why not. He helped me attach the fins and leg rope, and I watched him walk away with my latest investment. I was going into the garage to find something when I saw it there, in half, the fiberglass peeled towards the nose, the insides stuffed with sand, lying in a pile. The next day, my brother came home to find me waiting for him outside his room. "I have good and bad news! The bad news is, I broke your surfboard, the good news is, you now have two boogie boards!". I am sitting.
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Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
I am standing.
I remember the last time I went surfing. I loved every second of it. I loved running out into the icy water, the chill taking a second to hit the vulnerable skin under my wetsuit. Those fleeting seconds of running ankle deep in the water before realizing how cold it is, and the moments following where I just kept running anyway, my body and board becoming dispersed in sea froth. I loved feeling my feet sink into the grainy sand as I gradually reach a depth that touches above my waist, then, bracing myself for the numbing cold, diving onto my board, immersing my top half in the crisp temperature the water holds. After the piercing cold is absorbed by my skin, and I am lying flat on smooth fiberglass, I see a wave forming in the distance. In a hurry, paddling madly, grazing my hands on the fiberglass sides of the board, desperate to get deep enough to catch the wave. I turn the board around and feel the wave coming behind me. This is the moment. The moment that feels like waiting for your plane to take off, or waiting for a raffle to be drawn, hoping desperately to hear your name called out. I feel the swell behind me, and continue paddling, facing the shore this time. I can feel it as a powerful but consistent surge brings the nose of my board up, and I hurry to lift myself up. I am crouching. My hands nervously let go of the sides. I am bent over. I am straightening. I am standing. My palms are flailing madly, but feel free in the warmer air. Within seconds, I lose my balance and the rush pulls me under. I fall off the board and take a mouthful of seawater. I emerge, laughing, trying to stabilize my focus and figure out whereabouts on the beach I am. As I drag the board back to shore, the salty sea water is already drying in my hair, fingernails and skin. I feel the familiar crunch of dry sand, and collapse, laughing, into the soft grains. I could do this again. I was so excited to finally have my own surfboard. Brand new, I just hadn't had the chance to take it out yet. My brother asked to borrow it one day, and I couldn't see why not. He helped me attach the fins and leg rope, and I watched him walk away with my latest investment. I was going into the garage to find something when I saw it there, in half, the fiberglass peeled towards the nose, the insides stuffed with sand, lying in a pile. The next day, my brother came home to find me waiting for him outside his room. "I have good and bad news! The bad news is, I broke your surfboard, the good news is, you now have two boogie boards!". I am sitting.
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I need to speak my mind more often. I need to speak it truthfully, Pent up it fumes and poisons me. Turns my tongue to ash. Today I've noticed I didn't recognize myself. Fires have warped my features, Though unchanged my reflection yields new connotation. Poets once unheard now rip tears from my eyes. Music plays on repeat for hours, Immersing me in a blanket of deceit. I hide myself behind my mask of notes, Submerging myself in an unbreakable bubble, But its protective husk suppresses the peril within. The truth is I'm suffocating. My open wounds pus hate, Scabbing over in deceit that only cracks with more hate, Unexplainable angst inflames a desire to break out, To speak my mind truthfully.
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Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
Fumes and Poison.
There once was a tune which did but play A melody of heavenly descent Able to mend the broken heart of man Washing desolation of the soul All doubt drowned out and gone And sewing the pieces back again But this song when final notes sound Would take the life of those who heard So no man listened or attempted to endure In fear of the consequences of its curse Until there stepped a broken boy Torn by shame and shattered dreams With nothing to his name he grit his teeth Immersing his mind in the deep waters of this elegant sound Journeying through the crescendos and diminuendos of life itself When final verse of notes did play Opening his eyes, the old man which took the boys place Realized, that he was reborn again And his desolate life was good again Thanks to his decision To endure that song As he died with a smile upon his face
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
Swift Song of Endurance
It seems these antihistamines Are causing reoccurring dreams For every time I go to bed The same old scene is in my head Like the one where all my teeth fall out As I sit and pluck them out of my mouth This one causes a lot of strife For I've had this dream my entire life So I searched for answers everywhere And this is what they had to share The native said it signifies Remorse I feel from telling lies Which I guess would be appropriate I tend to say things I regret So I went to see a medium To trace back where this all begun We tried to get mister Jung But as the Latin rolled off her tongue To our surprise Before our eyes Stood the spirit of Sigmund Freud Claiming I need *** to fill the void A conversation I'd rather avoid Needless to say we ended the spell I gave her my paycheck and bid farewell And as I exited out to the street I almost hung my head in defeat But the natives words came back to me Bringing a sudden epiphany It occurred to me as I was walking I really need to just stop talking. Perhaps I'll be a silent monk To help me get out of this funk But that just sounds absurd I can figure out how this problem incurred I don't need to see a therapist Or invoke a psychoanalyst   I will just continue on my quest Until I obtain some dreamless rest I'm sure I can find the connection By immersing in more self-reflection So when I go to bed tonight I'll study my dreams with all my might!!
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Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
Dream Schemes
These waves are like the locks of your hair how they seem to spiral endlessly. The aroma engulfing me is your honey-scented perfume how I’ve longed to breathe you in for hours at a time. And this current is your eyes alluring yet dangerously unpredictable. Odd, how drifting on this pool is not calming me. Instead, it is constraining. Has this current suddenly come to a tragic halt? Do your eyes have nothing more to say? Is this all that is left, for me, to stay at the surface? There is a sudden instinct, An impulse that makes me want to take this dive of faith. But first, inhale. Count to three. I’m sinking, but this doesn’t hurt. I open my eyes and how divine to traverse to this new world, immersing in your depths. I submerge further to the unexplored, Soak in your joys and sorrows, Glide by your insecurities, Yet I don’t quite notice, I’m suddenly at the mercy of your emotions. Suffocating in your secrets. Drowning in your tears.
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Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Immersion
I have felt the ripples of predestined change Some crashing like tidal waves upon my desolate plane Others a delicate trickle through this narrowing gorge; complex and understated in its methodical purge Both deliberate in the upheaval and churning of the soil change that brings inner balance to mind, body and soul I’ve swum against their current dragged to murky waters below tumbling in the turmoil of my urgent need for control Now cast upon this rocky shore panicked and alone I must surrender to the journey to find my way back home I welcome the soaking of soles as I intend to surf each wave Immersing myself into its flow I become the ripples of change
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Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
Becoming the ripples