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Tammy Boehm Sep 2014
To my kids,
There is so much you do not understand in your skins. I could give you some kind of divine download, fill that thing between your ears with everything there is to know but then what choice would you have to live free as I intended you to live? I gave you the earth and everything in it. I created you in My image that you see with your eyes " male and female as partners " not slave and master, and that part of you inside that you don’t see, deep in you, its that part that knows Me, your soul and spirit. It’s that place we connect. I surrounded you with everything you needed. And before you freak out, all you vegans, I created the animals and I killed the first ones so you would be warm and covered when you chose to walk without Me covering you. Clothes were totally optional. You had Me, you picked heifer…still scratchin’ my imaginary beard over that one. You chose… Sure, I had angels in full body gear standing around " but I wanted you because I love you. I want your companionship. I want your intimacy. I don’t want your laundry list of “He’p me GAWT, but if it’s the only thing you can give, I won’t turn you away. If only I could get past your religion, your doctrine, your fears where you could believe Me, all the crap you put each other through would simply be unimportant. Some of you scurry around and scream about me and my Old Testament, bad ***, flood the planet judgment and you totally skip the part about how I sent someone to you, just like you, a real human with real blood and real tears to stand in for all the stupid stuff you’ll ever do or have done. It was so simple, one death, one sacrifice and we’re all clean but you have to work it and manipulated it and qualify it until denominations and gurus and Oprah and Chopra have your minds so twisted you couldn’t see Me for who I Am if I sat on a unicorn, clothed myself in grape leaves, and led the Macy’s Parade. Don’t you get it? I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. I am Love and I am incapable of hating you. EVER. All I ever wanted is for you to simply love Me back. You gotta trust Me. You can’t look at earthquakes and floods and famine and the rise and fall of the dollar bill as punishment from Me. All this stuff is temporary, except you, and Me. We are Forever. This planet isn’t your Paradise, kids. It’s just your training ground. I have amazing plans for you. And the sooner you grasp that, the sooner you stop swallowing the pills and the cheap thrills and stressing over the bills, and wringing your hands over “My will” the better off you’ll be. Oh, and as long as I’m monologuing, get off the backs of my worshippers. I’m perfect. You aren’t. I’d rather have you getting together in my name and singing and dancing, Kids your praise, when you just abandon your petty egos and party before me, it makes my heart swell with all the pride a Father could have. I’d rather see you do that " with the mistakes and the fussing " than each one of you alone under a tree somewhere barking about our “relationship” or watching the church channel 24/7 and calling it “comin’ ta Jeezus. I created you to work together in my name. Don’t freak out so much about the name of the building or the color of the wafers, or the drums and piercings. I will know if you love me. Quit running, quit hiding, quit comparing yourself to somebody else, quit blaming everyone else for your own mistakes when you never ask me to help you deal… Quit asking me to “fix somebody else” because if they like the thought of being critter fritters for eternity then that’s their choice to make, not yours. I do not impede on your free will. I won’t impede on anyone else’s free will. You can’t earn it. I don’t give out gold stars for good behavior. You either respond in love, or you don’t. The only thing I crave is that you get it, really get it. I love you. Always have, always will. You can’t do anything, you can’t **** enough, you can’t lie enough, you can’t destroy enough, you can go straight to Hell if you want, but I am everywhere…even in Hell…I’m with you. Of course, it will be your choice if you want to refrain, you know? See? Once you lock in your answer, you don’t get to phone a friend…You have a choice even I don’t have, me the almighty, the limitless with a limitation…you can choose to love…For me? It’s not an option…because I AM LOVE.

Your Abba....
God isn't mad at people. He just gets mad at what we do.
Xaha Mar 2018
I’m tired of monologuing
Need another perspective.
I’m open to anyone’s
Swear I’ll be receptive.
Andrew Rymill Jul 2018
...It always seems...
            that we come to
               beginning at the end…


I disagree
              we are at a table.

Technically at a table
      but more al fresco
                              than inside...

I do not  agree  
                      with your
                                   misuse  of metaphor.

What a surprise...
                       To  understand inside
                                                       on must understand outside...


No you miss-understand!
          Please stop drinking
          you are a waterfall in reverse
pouring liqueur down
          the pettiness of your throat.
Oh! you spilled again…..

… Gin...i think its more
           likely libation
than your crocodile tears
           splashing like thorns on our salty dinner table...

You treat our wedlock
like pinata
and keep on swinging  

<lifting a glass of sherry>
...the mermaids are singing
the crickets are  chirping
can i  join in the luminous tunes
under moonscape & street lamps...
  i  am not sure if the
narrator or the voice
  of our disconnect,
is just a  ***** or an effaced  harpy ...

Monologuing  are we?

    That was always your problem….

No i was hoping for a liqueur
& well-lit soliloquy
unfortunately
you hearing is
too good & your plates is
too clean.
Never trust a skinny noun
for a lover...

                                              Your using the wrong fork….

No fears,
           as my empty
            overturned glasses
                               tremble around us
                               like our nonexistent children.
          Impossibilities
                 that  haunt the spaces of our words
                 like overcooked spaghetti  
...here too our invisible similes
at our
        evening repast...

                                        No worries
                                                        I was written that way
                                                                                         and you are a miserable lush.

indeed….
not on the menu
but our relationship
is a taco
with not enough lettuce…



I would say there are
                              losts of green words
                              missing  between us
                                                 and echo of your ego
                                                  swims in the whiskey.

the beauty of a glass  
             is its final emptiness;
the difference between          
lust and lush is just  one letter.
              you my dear  
             never lets the letters
            of your alphabets
free to flap

to the porch lights
                  
              except for a price...


It   might  just be the
                             spaces between
                                                   stars and ignorance of moths.
Your ignorance
                        always steals the narrative
                                                                  in my fortune cookie.


  no desert tonight i guess.
i hate this  mistaken table …..

Misspoken...you mean
miserable table!!!

your reflection my dear
will always reflect
            in waxy wood rings….
           returning to where
we first met
making one
            want to drink
            deeply the forgetful draught
                                          from the Styx
                                          my cold little-sphinx.
Michael Marchese Jul 2018
Only human after all
I just want to be heard
By more than inner-monologuing
With existences absurd
I’m just desire courting madness
Pleasure-seeking silly monkey
Easy-speaking vow of silence
Honor-bound to keep it funky
Just a diplomat pragmatic
In conventional futility
The all-consuming ego
In the shadow of humility
Your typical contrarian
Ideal egalitarian
Developing a taste for
Arts and state crafting agrarian
Utopian dimensions building
Bridges into space
Enslaving stars to do my bidding
As the angels fall from grace
I am the single, greatest mystery
Nature herself can not explain
Instinctively returning to
The origins we tame
We are sophisticated, liberated
Envoys of the unifier
Common all denominations
Gifted with the wild fire
Meant to be intentional
Deliberate in simplicity
Complexity compels us to
Explore beyond infinity
To seize the energy within
Without the answers dying for
Remembrance, what we leave behind
Unruly gods of peace and war
Sometimes Starr May 2023
Wax on our fingertips,
Glitter on your cheeks.

What's it like to be you?

We were in a cardboard box in the backyard,
In between the autumn leaves

The smell of construction paper
And sticks of glue.

I wondered alone,
What's it like to be you?

It's pink and it's blue.

Your bones are so slight,
And mine are just plain.

At first an aversion
Now the spike of my brain.

I don't know why I want to kiss you,
I just do.

But what's it like to be you?

Passions thrummed inside my veins
One of trillions wondering things
Then suddenly you culminate
And like a feather you float within my fate
Lost in my pupils, they dilate.

And suddenly, I know what it's like to be you.

I put on the cat ears and do my thing.

I cut my skin,
I show up late.

I killed myself for Babs and Kate.

The stuttered monologuing State.

The emo kid without a shape
My personality, obliviate
The 29 year old I macerate

That's okay, I hate this poem,
That's okay
I hate this poem
That's okay
I hate this poem
That's okay
That's okay

That'******>

— The End —