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Mahdiya Patel Jul 2015
Sometimes poverty unites not nations
but merely two people//
Intoxicants when overused break families as waves break on the shore//
Their drug now becomes their love//
And you are equivalent to nothing in their perceived reality//
It either makes the users surrounding guests mature profound strong souls
As strong as the Pedi army stood against the British and Boer to protect their land//
Or it causes them to transfer to their own twisted but illusionistic universe where all they see is darkness and despondency//

And then one day//
The money begins to run out
and so do the people//
But rarely, oh so rarely some humans make the decision to stay and continue the journey//
Where the road may potentially split into two//
recovery or relapse//

Sometimes poverty unites not nations
but merely two people//

The money has begun to exhale into the earths atmosphere
just as a stoner exhales his poisonous vapour into our airspace//
Some stay behind to help the corrupt mortal//

No money equals no substances//
No ******* or cat or cannabis or crack or codeine//
No drugs//

Then//

Two beings begin to ignite each other's fires
they learn the things they didn't know for the what felt like a million and seventy years//
They begin to discover how the one mispronounces words
and how certain songs cause ones soul to sway as the bass drops
or how ones hair whirls as the wind rushes through it
or how he can see the depths of the her soul through the eyes
and when she stares at the moon
her beauty is illuminated by the magical glow//

And then one day//
The money starts returning//
Creepily and discretely
the evil money
the tragedious money//
Like an evil monster emerging from hell
Where its dark and *****//

The money blows out the fire they have ignited
and slowly lures the user back//
The bond is now broken//

Sometimes poverty unites not nations
but merely two people//
* my proudest piece
Ryan May 2020
From the East Coast of Ireland to the Lowlands of Scotland,
a well-trodden path,
Grandma going to Whiteinch Baths,
to do the family laundry,
And to take my Auntie for a swim,
the black and white photos look a bit grim.

She mispronounces certain words.
When you put your dinner in between some bread,
she'd look at you, dead, and say,
"If yis waanted sangwhiches, I'd have made yis sangwhiches!"

And, "you're very pass-remarkable,"
I think it means you're quick to comment on others,
my Mother's also from Glasgow,
and doesn't know why Grandma speaks like that,
so this isn't just me being a Sassenach,
or a daft English ****.

25th of January is Burns Night,
serve the neeps, tatties, a glass of fizz,
and of course, some Haggis.
Some say offal's awful,
but I just can't get enough of the stuff.

A firm favourite of our clan is a creamy dessert named Cranachan.
Topped with berries and a splash of whiskey,
you can guarantee a thumbs up from me.

The ancient family tartan is red and blue,
then there's the family crest too,
a knight with a shield under a tree,
I think it represents gallantry.

I sometimes wish I had a proper Scottish name,
like Hamilton, Douglas, or McCain,
don't suppose it matters,
at least I can understand the patter,
(that means joke or language.)

A saying about saving your coins,
"Mony a mickle macks a muckle,"
always makes me chuckle.

"Does it, aye?"
is a very dry reply,
used to take the **** and can be easy to miss.

When my Mum was younger, the family liked to roam,
but when she visits Glasgow,
she says it feels like home,
her voice even changes when she's on the phone.

Sounds English most of the day,
then my Auntie calls, and she's on her way,
"Haud ye weesht!" when she picks up the phone,
that means be quiet,
but you wouldn't have known,
that isn't her normal speaking tone.

Scottish family,
some are distant to me,
but through my parentage,
it's nice to have the heritage.
A beginner who is looking for some constructive feedback.
Thirty one lines
Is all I need
To satisfy the poet in me
The creative, but repetitive side
That no one needs to see
**** satisfying it
It hasn't helped me cope
With love, loss, and sanity
Or even anger, sadness, and hope
It's only helped itself
My voice doesn't even want to be involved
It just mumbles and mispronounces words
Like a ****
And my heart rate increases
Around any girl it finds viable
For love, loss, and sanity
For what my poet side should have been doing
My overthinking hinders wit
And compliments
Instead to people I barely know
By me just being polite
**** that definition
**** everything about love now
I never knew what it meant
And I've destroyed the word
Burnt it to the ground
By rambling on about the same girl
That I ruined
And who ruined me
Actually, probably only the second part
Although I'm sure I helped her
Iris Mar 2021
mum
The love and hate that comes with abuse is hard to understand

there will be such happy moments shared with such passion and care
the moments I wish I could never leave

that time I laughed so hard seltzer shot out of my nose
burning what felt like my brains
how grateful I feel for her care in my education
the looks across the dinner table when my dad mispronounces a word


then there's the dark
the times my mother thought the best way to discipline me was with pain

the times she apologized with and embrace so warm but so fake because she was always just trying to make herself feel better for the bruises on my skin

then just like a record
hitting me again for struggling with an addiction that I've been fighting since I was six

She ignores my very clear and out loud depression
going as far as to blame it on the few things keeping me from swallowing those extra pills

keeping me closer to her lies
and further away from the happiness that came with ignorance

The same denial I know my father and sister are living
They don't experience my mother like I do

They've seen her rage fits but only intervene after it's too late
letting my head hit the wall
letting her rip off my socks and locking me outside during a snowstorm knowing **** well what she was doing was wrong

They themselves are too afraid of losing the good in my mother but forget that everytime she slips into the anger she takes away a piece of me

a piece of my trust
a piece of my individuality
my ability to speak up
a piece of my innocents


I wish I could leave
but I also understand that when I need her the most my mother will be right there by my side

She will pay for my first car
She will help with college tuition
She will listen when others hurt me
She will always give me a hug right as I'm about to break

She is always going to be here
her good and bad side will always be right here next to me
I bet when I'm 20 im gonna need a lot of therapy

— The End —