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Claire Waters May 2013
walk into a bookstore where a poetry open mic is going on. the man previously nursing a lager in the back now has all eyes in the room on, flowin to the beat like drums to a song, this is all he has left that doesn't feel wrong.
"these words are all that matters," he says. " ’cept poetry, liquor, and the duality of man, i confess, these pages store my sanity and reveal my real friends, so i'll keep writing until these calluses have bled."

Lately I’ve been talking to Michael Larson in my head
And yeah, I know it’s a little weird to have a real imaginary friend
But we all need someone to turn to when feelin like we’re burning at the stake
To remind we’re still human and there’s no end; ending’s a mindset you create
There’s not really walls to hit unless you tell yourself there is,
just the narrow hallways in your mind where you lose yourself to negatives
See, you can always bend to be more
but you conceive a break, cause breaking is what you do
when you think you can’t create

and if you spend too much time wondering if you’re a particle or a wave
your thoughts manifest into the mental circles you repave
self fulfilling prophecies are subconscious misbehaviors
ignoring synchronicity in the universe’s behavior,
always waiting there for someone else to come along and save ya
caving in you dig a shallow grave, crawl in, and lay there,
blaming everyone else and yet expecting a savior?
from the wayward pain of exacerbating these anticipated cracks,
you still can’t seem to break, just blister and bounce back.
from this controversy in the name of your unsure authenticity
each flaw you extract from your skin is your own vulnerability
the world is not black and white, flat, or statistical see
just rife with impenetrable culpability
so everyone grows up and grows out with restless mentalities
time and age are isolated perceptions of our static reality,
cause we’re changing and flowing together, and we always will be
the only differences between us all are the ones we want to see
to comfort our dogmas and convictions as we atomize our selves obsessively
what matters are the paths we pursue and the wisdom we seek,
not our genetic abnormalities or the ways that we feel we are weak
when everything has innate duality, there’s no good without the bad
good’s an infallible syllable completely unpaletable til you realize bad
can only be in your heart if you perceive that’s what you have

there’s just your belief that you are either trapped or free
and realizing you want what you always had, eternally
if I’m gonna live this life, I will not sit and wait,
I will skin my knees and bleed and then get back up and create
In public Michael Larson’s hanging in my headphones loving the attention that I pay
Telling me earnestly not to worry, cause everyone is a critiqued critic these days
In burn fetish he tells me, “empathy is the poor man’s *******”
And now Krishnamurti is on my other shoulder repeating once again,
That “being well adjusted to a sick society is completely insane, the end.”
everyone gets nervous on the first dinner date, and everyone craves the safety of a friend who has their back
everyone feels like a literary hack the first time they take a paper to their thoughts and attempt to translate them into rap
we all feel a bit misdirected, and a little bit hated, but collective requires an equalibrium of giving and taking
while these days everyone treats each other as if life’s just about getting your own slice of the cake
and blatantly crazed by the toxic disarray
of our modern society transgressing and yet we just stand by and wait

Michael looked shy on camera as he expressed to me that, “what makes us human
Is how we’re a collection of our mistakes and the reactions that we have”
And what makes us individuals isn’t our lifestyle or to whom we pray
The stratosphere here that stops us from cooking to convection
is just a collection of perfections formed from love within the human condition
the gravity that keeps us from falling, is the art that we make
self actualized individuals, not feeling so lonely or crazed,
because paradoxically, art is also how we all relate.
Quentin Briscoe Jul 2012
I have seen the future, and in the end You all die...
or maybe it was just a dream cuz some how I still surived...
alone...
or maybe that was just a metaphor for how I feel...
Cuz its like I miss May so bad that I tend to hate June...
Support systems became low since May Left me In June...
telephone use to ring praises and misbehaviors...
so I always tried my hardest to stay away form bad behaviors...
But...
Now I float along...
cuz that proud feeling is gone...
Cuz May brought me those flowers that the winter could never take...
The spring could never make..
and the wind could never break..
But now those things are no more...
on hall ways and cold floors...
Of places she once kept warm...
smiling faces that once held form...
but now just drag the ground...
an I just hang around...
by myself..
cuz time said it wont help...
He wont go back for me...
Or Move forwad to the end...
Cuz You all die in the End...
The Law wont save the sons...
The sons cant up hold the Law...
And MAy will Always Pass in June...
Be cause she said In His WILLIAM...
And Into Dust You turn...
And I stil stand around ...
the same way I walk now...
alone...
Hoping that my sun will Shine in that clear blue sky....
Cuz tears Ran Strong In June, But Now it is JULY...
June has been a rough month for me these past 5 years ever since my Grandma died whos name happened to be May...But that God its July
Clarissa Wright Oct 2014
As a child I had no time
At least, not for trivial things
Such as toys and games
I was busy learning

Spells and runes
Incantations
Illusions and charms
I thought I could trick myself
Into thinking I was happy

As a teenager I had no time
Not for school nor for love
My instructor declared these were trivial
And like the words of a spell change an object
He changed my perceptions

All that was important was my training
My future

Many are pushed into careers
Pressured by a parent

But I am truly a cog in the machine
I wish I was pressured
That would mean I was given a chance to say no
But magic binds
Your master leaves you no choice

As an adult I met you
And the high you gave me beat any spell
It beat any thing I had ever learned
But I didn’t love you

I still don’t love you

I love the idea of you
I love the way you’re there
How you try to help me resist
How you gently correct all my misbehaviors
But I could never love you

All I know now are enchantments
And my heart grows cold as stone
If I could change myself
I would

If there was a spell to fix myself
To force myself to love you
I would use it

Because theres a sadness in your eyes
You know that I’m unable to love
And this breaks me

I’m sorry to you
And I’m sorry to my master
For failing him
But mostly, I’m sorry for myself
Because failing him
Means my undoing

So now as an elder
I’ve remained with you only
To pass my magic along to someone
Our son

I pray your influence
Makes him a better man than I
I dont even know anymore
Chelsea Gonzo Dec 2022
A break before a fall before the landing on two feet.
Where life and the real world meet.
Collision course corrected.
You're electric with momentum.
A crashed constellation of stardust.
Misbehaviors your savior.
This time it's not a bust.
This time it's in you you should trust.

— The End —