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"normalities" poems
In society, Women are always told they are too much. Too angry, too calm Too quiet, too loud Too big, too small And we are all of these things We are angry. Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be. And we are too calm. Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm. We are too quiet. We are silenced. Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet. And we are loud. We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be. We are small. Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger. Because we are big. We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."
0
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
We Are
In society, Women are always told they are too much. Too angry, too calm Too quiet, too loud Too big, too small And we are all of these things We are angry. Angry about the internalized oppression that still flows on a day to day basis. We are angry about our predefined roles of what girl is, what girl should be. And we are too calm. Calm about the man that called you a name in the street and all you wanted to do was cry Or the teacher that told you you couldn't do what you wanted because it was a mans place, not a woman's You should have yelled, but you didn't. Because we are too calm. We are too quiet. We are silenced. Our opinions are ranked of worthiness by our physical features, our body types. Our intelligence is last to our ****** appeal. We can not be heard through the babble of social media judging and critiquing and pointing out our flaws. So we are quiet. And we are loud. We have the ability to speak for the world. To weave the revolution out of the words of women. We have the voice to speak to our sisters globally, teach women that we are loud. We can drown out prejudice with the power of voice and bring down the barrier of how a girl should be. We are small. Told that our personalities are preset by the gender normalities that the patriarchy has placed, we are shrunk to fit our predefined roles. They cut us into shapes so we can not realize that we are so much bigger. Because we are big. We are huge. We have global impact. While we are cut down, I would like to see us glue each other back together. I want to see women take back our voices. I want to hear women all over the world speak how they feel, bust through the barriers of what the patriarchy has told them. Fight back against their rapists, abusers, silencers. When someone tells you that you are being too much, say "I am. And I am becoming so much more."
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21
Did I win or lose? Perhaps-maybe nature won. One less spin cycle, Gallons of life water saved. In my intellectual hemitage I find a difference can be made, Oh underwear, Spirit of nature, First I wear you proper, And the day is good. I walk forward into the morrow And turn the world backwards. Yes the tag now goes to front, And wedgies aside, all is well. In the instantaneous moment Ina departure of normalities, Confronted with a bundle of reflections, I move into day three, Inside out. The days have dispersed, I wreak of the third day, Still a difference has been made. I take off the underwear, Crispy and tainted, With a lump in my throat And a little hope I made a difference, The underwear is sacrificed to the hamper.
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Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Ode To The Three Day Underwear
Swiftly like the night or some **** like that he ran into the dark, like a proverbial Kenyan he jumped over trees and swam in the dirt like a beautiful sea creature in murky depths drank in the worms all wriggling and fleshy lunch to a man by any other name who wouldn't smell as sweet he was hideous like a jack o lantern thrown off of a roof of a 50 story ugly-person hotel: vaccancy if your face has broken a camera lens- he likes eating roots and shoots and tell him otherwise and he'll chop your limbs off and his name I don't know he's too perfectly abstract for such normalities we'll just call him morality
0
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
Frog Legs
Don't sleep Don't sleep I begin to Like you A little bit more I shift and sigh Say your name Fatigue rolls Somewhere by But, alert I Imagine So many paintings To make for you You mumble Childishly Your laughter Is glittery I wish For so little I wish too Intensely Dont wipe me With a stiffened cloth Soaked In turpentine And a hundred hues Dont stir me I might be disturbed Out of skill Out of thought Onto a burlap scene Grotesque Picturesque And so, so true Don't move Or I might too I might too Become a facet Among the facets Of your horrors I might Become art Might become Beautiful In that strange Black way Of art Dont sleep Talk to me Speak to me Let us be Normalities Let us Hold Technicalities Forget Sentimentality In the silly blue painting Of an eyeless pretty Smooth and porcelain Perfectly closed No night To mourn into Dissolve into To stumble, To tremble into Don't sleep I become too much alone Shrivel, burnt sienna I cannot move alone I become the paintings That I fear to paint I become the sombre Debris of your laughter Cold, blue Featureless A moonlit night Nothing but red You don't know That I like you In my head Come back Come back
0
Apr 30, 2023
Apr 30, 2023 at 6:10 PM UTC
Don't sleep
We are the savages, normalities stand from a distance and secretly admire the domesticated eyeing in envy to our resilience of society's taming shackles so they reject us with pointed accusing fingers forever deemed an unworthy animal. We belong to nature and they're all hunters fully equipped with nonfictional weapons to destroy the wilderness with in poaching our furs and horns only to hold the satisfying idea we are becoming extinct. We believe in something greater its a diamond ring proposal of freedom sparkling in the sunlight of judgment unfazed by starless nights we still shine bright in total darkness becoming a beacon of light to the helpless moths. We are born as nomads of law and principles they want to break us, bind us in rules and regulations take our souls and throw them to the masses of cold blooded creatures they all swim mindlessly in a wonderland of controlled morality but to the hot blooded, these cool waters are foreign forever belonging on land letting our predator instincts be the guide knowing what is right and where to flee when its wrong but they expect us to drown with the rest in the materialistic greed infested river of the world. We will never be broken we are the wild we are self thinkers we are the untouchable spirited winds of the world rebel eyed with our backs against those who have become the thoughtless corps filled with animosity and jealousy we are free and we roam the jungles of prosperity still shining bright, a true savage.
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Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
We remain
We are the savages, normalities stand from a distance and secretly admire the domesticated eyeing in envy to our resilience of society's taming shackles so they reject us with pointed accusing fingers forever deemed an unworthy animal. We belong to nature and they're all hunters fully equipped with nonfictional weapons to destroy the wilderness with in poaching our furs and horns only to hold the satisfying idea we are becoming extinct. We believe in something greater its a diamond ring proposal of freedom sparkling in the sunlight of judgment unfazed by starless nights we still shine bright in total darkness becoming a beacon of light to the helpless moths. We are born as nomads of law and principles they want to break us, bind us in rules and regulations take our souls and throw them to the masses of cold blooded creatures they all swim mindlessly in a wonderland of controlled morality but to the hot blooded, these cool waters are foreign forever belonging on land letting our predator instincts be the guide knowing what is right and where to flee when its wrong but they expect us to drown with the rest in the materialistic greed infested river of the world. We will never be broken we are the wild we are self thinkers we are the untouchable spirited winds of the world rebel eyed with our backs against those who have become the thoughtless corps filled with animosity and jealousy we are free and we roam the jungles of prosperity still shining bright, a true savage.
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33
Life is pretty drunk With all the madness suppressed under the veil of formalities With all the wildness hidden behind rocks of normalities My life would have flew if you had taught me Gravity wasn't the only reason My life would have been LIFE if you had said the heaven exist in life not after life... I have been drunk with dreams of desires and ambitions I have been so destroyed with convolutions and conjugations And I still act sober with life such drunk If only I had been informed Life is not for drunkards I would have refused my birth
0
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
With Life so Drunk
Six thousand miles of difference Determined by mans’ hand, Of greed and power sought by him Against his fellow man. Six thousand miles of difference Exacted by a thought, That life should be a harmony Or life should be as nought. A still and utter peacefulness Pervading in the air Normalities great splendour here, In order everywhere. A dog barks in the evening light As neighbours mow the lawn And the distant hum of traffic From yon motorway, forlorn. Shattered buildings teeter To the concrete debris strewn, Through war torn streets of battle Where hot shrapnel sears the noon. Where blood pools in the broken glass And fear is in the air, And the shriek of rockets plummeting Cause a heartbeat to despair. Leafy streets of sanctity Where people mix at will, Chimney smoke which spirals In atmosphere tranquil. Couples saunter, arm in arm Children laugh and play The normal, here, is everywhere Upon this peaceful day. Decapitated corpses wash In blood, red surge of sea, An encounter in the wrong place Means a sudden death for me. The skies are filled with torment, The people quake with fear As they cringe and flee, directionless, To frantically keep clear. Six thousand miles of distance Determines where we stand, In battles hell and maelstrom Or walk free in this fair land? In Syria’s catastrophe Where men do **** at will, Or walk in serene safety On this lands’ grassy hill Six thousand miles of difference Determined by your hand With greed and power sought by man Against his Makers’ plan. Six thousand miles of difference Exacted by a thought… -That life shall be a harmony Or life shall be a nought. Marshalg Ascot Hospital Auckland 19 November 2012 © 2012 Marshal Gebbie
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Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
Six Thousand Miles of Difference
Six thousand miles of difference Determined by mans’ hand, Of greed and power sought by him Against his fellow man. Six thousand miles of difference Exacted by a thought, That life should be a harmony Or life should be as nought. A still and utter peacefulness Pervading in the air Normalities great splendour here, In order everywhere. A dog barks in the evening light As neighbours mow the lawn And the distant hum of traffic From yon motorway, forlorn. Shattered buildings teeter To the concrete debris strewn, Through war torn streets of battle Where hot shrapnel sears the noon. Where blood pools in the broken glass And fear is in the air, And the shriek of rockets plummeting Cause a heartbeat to despair. Leafy streets of sanctity Where people mix at will, Chimney smoke which spirals In atmosphere tranquil. Couples saunter, arm in arm Children laugh and play The normal, here, is everywhere Upon this peaceful day. Decapitated corpses wash In blood, red surge of sea, An encounter in the wrong place Means a sudden death for me. The skies are filled with torment, The people quake with fear As they cringe and flee, directionless, To frantically keep clear. Six thousand miles of distance Determines where we stand, In battles hell and maelstrom Or walk free in this fair land? In Syria’s catastrophe Where men do **** at will, Or walk in serene safety On this lands’ grassy hill Six thousand miles of difference Determined by your hand With greed and power sought by man Against his Makers’ plan. Six thousand miles of difference Exacted by a thought… -That life shall be a harmony Or life shall be a nought. Marshalg Ascot Hospital Auckland 19 November 2012 © 2012 Marshal Gebbie
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61
Did style happen because I copied you or you copied the magazine? Did I like that activity in special because everyone else did? Did I change into someone whom I'm not because being myself weren't good enough? Or because I didn't resemble the rest of you? Is it really so wrong to try and break free from the normalities so I won't become a part of the large crowd. I want to break free and be me. But to be free and outside of the crowd is lonely. They don't drag you back in, because in reality, where everybody is one and the same; they won't notice when you're gone. If you're gone? Didn't a part of you stay back? Didn't a part of you still want to be in the crowd? Didn't you in reality never leave? Weren't this not just a part of wish thinking? Imagination?
0
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
Resemblance
Life goes by in a flash, In an instant plans are memories, Photographs the only residue Of past normalities, And then the realization You’ve been going on along the whole time, Without ever seeing it.
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Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Going on
They say this place isn't colorful, that this part of town doesn't shine No inspiration, no life When I open my eyes to it, I see something a little more beautiful I feel it too, in every sunny day I hear it when the wind rustles carelessly through the trees, shaking their leaves and making music for my soul They see an alley, dark and dusty A place that doesn't exist Someone's slept there, stepped through it, even gazed at it Oh the untold human condition I love this place this town with all of its flaws and normalities every park, every street I know them by heart, I know the people who have stepped foot there and all of the memories that have been made But I'm bigger than this place, I've out grown it I'm just a sun flower surrounded by daisies
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Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
Sunflower
Beyond the sight of normalities plight there is a realm so deep The animals know it but they don't show For they are humble peeps They strive back and forth to sustain their life force To **** and eat and repeat until there bodies lay down in defeat They return as wind and mould mountains on their adventure Home Rejoice from the sauce until they live again and again And again and again and ..... Back to the never ending dance of eternal creation Fulfilling itself by getting to know its self Knowing All by knowing One
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Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
The Merry Go Round
Self-effacement With time names and dates engraved on headstones weather beneath pelting sleet and rain to soften carefully chiseled letters Little by little etchings become blurred at the edges indistinct and unreadable Personality features fade daily hidden with words structured into facades readily available as a cover from those who wish to unearth the treasures within What a struggle to hide to mute or soften eccentricities into normalities What an effort continual concealment behind frights and fears as though a child playing hide-and-go seek with others Self-effacement becomes a life-style of constantly playing a game without a prize
0
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
Effacement
I scream at the top of my lungs out and across vast, honey-wheat plains. A cool morning breeze hugs my barren body- and its chills seem to ask the wind, "Is this indecision? If I need be tentative, do I in turn hideaway my courage?" An unsure finish leads me to hesitation. Yet, ecstatic excitement and the thrill of possibility lay a soft kiss upon the supple lips of opportunity. And I know now that it is my time to run- with arms wide open as the sun shines upon my face and the wind whispers into my ear, feelings of a quintescent energy so fluid and real beg to rip apart my rib cage and pour the soul of my heart onto the begging and thirsty soil beneath my bare feet. Sensational unknowing, how can my soul catapult into such a terrific nothingness! And to have this terrific nothingness accept my soul! I do not know whether I should be screaming with laughter or tearing down my cheeks in streams. I need not halt at failure! Or do I? A projection of delusions lead me to a certain insanity. Do i dare decide for myself the precise moment in time in which it is a must for me to fall victim to the ordinary? For the white-walled normalities of life seem to be enclosing around my very thoughts. Corruption belittles me as well as others, and I know that I now must settle down- and serve for the greater good. But time can lead the mind to wander- and every once in awhile I find myself pondering beautiful rebellion. But I must not think that way, for age and society have conspired in clipping my wings, and to think freedom is to play along to a forgotten game that was played during a forgotten age. Oh hollowed life, long corrupted and conformed world, how dare you toil with the understanding of space and time? I fall to my knees with my face buried in my hands. Genuine madness and excitement, is your absence permanent? Must this last forever? The sun is setting now and I realize that my hope should have remained never. And I scream at the top of my lungs out and across spacious honey-wheat plains.
0
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 8:36 AM UTC
Perspective in the Age of Reason
I scream at the top of my lungs out and across vast, honey-wheat plains. A cool morning breeze hugs my barren body- and its chills seem to ask the wind, "Is this indecision? If I need be tentative, do I in turn hideaway my courage?" An unsure finish leads me to hesitation. Yet, ecstatic excitement and the thrill of possibility lay a soft kiss upon the supple lips of opportunity. And I know now that it is my time to run- with arms wide open as the sun shines upon my face and the wind whispers into my ear, feelings of a quintescent energy so fluid and real beg to rip apart my rib cage and pour the soul of my heart onto the begging and thirsty soil beneath my bare feet. Sensational unknowing, how can my soul catapult into such a terrific nothingness! And to have this terrific nothingness accept my soul! I do not know whether I should be screaming with laughter or tearing down my cheeks in streams. I need not halt at failure! Or do I? A projection of delusions lead me to a certain insanity. Do i dare decide for myself the precise moment in time in which it is a must for me to fall victim to the ordinary? For the white-walled normalities of life seem to be enclosing around my very thoughts. Corruption belittles me as well as others, and I know that I now must settle down- and serve for the greater good. But time can lead the mind to wander- and every once in awhile I find myself pondering beautiful rebellion. But I must not think that way, for age and society have conspired in clipping my wings, and to think freedom is to play along to a forgotten game that was played during a forgotten age. Oh hollowed life, long corrupted and conformed world, how dare you toil with the understanding of space and time? I fall to my knees with my face buried in my hands. Genuine madness and excitement, is your absence permanent? Must this last forever? The sun is setting now and I realize that my hope should have remained never. And I scream at the top of my lungs out and across spacious honey-wheat plains.
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39
Do you want restitution for my crimes past committed? Is your code of silence a loud cry for justice? Fine, be free from my life and all of its many normalities. You've pushed me away for all of your false realities. There were no threads of life to unwind from the next. Soon you were simply gone. No loud cries, those were really only my quiet sighs. No justice needed, the jury filed out barely heeded. I'm left alone with no condemner. There's nothing to atone for, you were the ***** ***** I'll make a mess, I won't be quiet. Is this just making it worse? Reveling in memories like a second skin. No not yet, don't absolve this sin.
0
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 11:27 AM UTC
No Resolution.
help I've fallen and I can't get up I put blind trust in you the fibres of your shirt the slight smirk on your clever face help I'm shaking and I can't see straight But these things are normalities they happen too often no caution and I'll just be another fatality help I'm in love and I can't get out I'm shrinking into a pit of a peach like heart torn apart by the hungry lips of my suitor
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Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
help
He lived within my normal Without catechisms One leg at a time Pants and glory He loved within my normal Without judgment A freedom to live The freedom of happy He lays within my Normal With complete peace a freedom to laugh A kindness to smile He loved my normal And put me to sleep He slept,  we sleep. Then dreamt My normalities became his freedom to be His laughter Her Cadence A rave of emotional dialect Nothing to conquer Nor ranks to achieve He lived and loved within Within my normal Within the normalities.
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
normalities
Couldn't tell if she was more in love with the surreality Or the freedom from normalities The ability to fall in love with a tangible inanimate thing If it is only a drawing His heart once beat like one of us but his passion consumed him turning him into the things he drew and grown to love What should she do? Escape from reality and join in the fantasy? Or live a life asking herself what could it be? Stay tuned for these Spilled Stories
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Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
Crazy, **** Cool World (Prelude)
His hands were calloused, they were home and a remedy for the mixture of my sickness that I never could pinpoint. Hands, such a feature that could be the instrument of a subordinate and domineering teacher. They are looked upon, not given thought nor inquisition, but that wasn't the case for me. Those hands were where I found my reprieve, an unhealthy and vindictive reprieve. Those hands were a paradox of all things combined. Those hands were a paradox for the cruelties and involuntary injustices in the world; A world that was filled with grizzly reprimands and slurs for those who spoke up. Indeed, a paradox those controlling and manipulative hands were. They were cruel. They were kind. They were abusive. They were reassuring. They were foreign. They were home. They were the origin for my shred of sanity. They were the origin for my absurdity. Oddly enough, they were home. A cruel world seals its fate and its pearls. It leaves the rarity of oddities abandoned among the normalities of abuse. Among those normalities and oddities were those hands.
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Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
; Paradoх
Losing myself by the day, by the night as it comes. Sinking and being ****** further in. And I know I shouldn't care so much Because it's all just trivial in the end. But these conflicting feelings repel like magnets. My loss of patience is tragic. These burdens eat at my heart and challenge my soul. As I try to be a rock and not to roll.. Transparency is me But only for the ones that see. If your pride separates us, I build my wall for you and walk away. For a connection without trust Cannot be genuine in any way. Mistake my silence for agreeance Because I won't be bothered with your ignorance. But I choose to turn from childishness And step into consciousness. Forgive me for not giving into the game the ego plays. For my higher self wants to stray From the path of insecurity and hurt And social normalities. And I say **** it to your fake formalities. Being pulled by the current of the world and torn to shreds By the animals that walk it, My body and mind have grown weary. As I realize eminent outcomes so dreary.. But of all the unfortunate ends, Would be my unfolding social suicide. Swayed and influenced into reaction Rather than reflection, I become part of the disease, the infection. Following the useless herd with no sense of direction. As I try to return to myself once again, I know within, its all meaningless and I should only love. But my mortal feelings challenge me. I attempt to ascend and look to stars above. All this emotion and wisdom I have, balancing. Not sure if my silence is growth or indifference, or maybe just pain. But my reactions, whether how I feel or not, are hard to cover and feign. So this is what it means to be human.
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Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
Outlier
Losing myself by the day, by the night as it comes. Sinking and being ****** further in. And I know I shouldn't care so much Because it's all just trivial in the end. But these conflicting feelings repel like magnets. My loss of patience is tragic. These burdens eat at my heart and challenge my soul. As I try to be a rock and not to roll.. Transparency is me But only for the ones that see. If your pride separates us, I build my wall for you and walk away. For a connection without trust Cannot be genuine in any way. Mistake my silence for agreeance Because I won't be bothered with your ignorance. But I choose to turn from childishness And step into consciousness. Forgive me for not giving into the game the ego plays. For my higher self wants to stray From the path of insecurity and hurt And social normalities. And I say **** it to your fake formalities. Being pulled by the current of the world and torn to shreds By the animals that walk it, My body and mind have grown weary. As I realize eminent outcomes so dreary.. But of all the unfortunate ends, Would be my unfolding social suicide. Swayed and influenced into reaction Rather than reflection, I become part of the disease, the infection. Following the useless herd with no sense of direction. As I try to return to myself once again, I know within, its all meaningless and I should only love. But my mortal feelings challenge me. I attempt to ascend and look to stars above. All this emotion and wisdom I have, balancing. Not sure if my silence is growth or indifference, or maybe just pain. But my reactions, whether how I feel or not, are hard to cover and feign. So this is what it means to be human.
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41
You’re so **** pretty and I don’t just mean your long eyelashes or your majestic flowy hair or the way your eyes go all crinkle and your face goes all squish when you smile, nope. You’re just you’re so **** pretty just as a human being just in who you are and how you try and I just can’t think of any solid reason why you have to deal with so much **** Bad things happen to good people, sure, and I’ve always known that the world doesn’t always operate based on common sense but I guess I never fully understood the full scope of that concept until I saw you cry. Because when you walked up (it’s no exaggeration to say) you were glowing. You literally blinded everyone but you kept insisting that you could only absorb light, not emit and I just don’t get it. My parents are doctors so believe me I know very well that the heart is an ***** the size of your fist, no more and no less. I know it, I do but you’re just going to have to believe me when I say that there are times when I’m talking to you when my own personal fist-sized ***** just swells right up and expands to push against the sides of its ribcage, because if it’s true it it’s really true that the brightest star in all the universe might look in the mirror and mistake itself for a black hole, then surely surely no natural laws no physical properties no rules or biological normalities apply to the human heart? Surely. There aren’t many things I can say with full confidence. The future frightens me the past confuses me and I frankly am not sure why I’m still here in the present (???) but like it or not here I’ve been for eighteen (better or worse) years and in that time there haven’t been many people that it often bothers me to be in a room without (which would be totally irrelevant if it weren’t for the fact that I walked into Westminster Abbey today and just wished the mega-posh British security guard was you)
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Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
this is not a love poem but I kind of love you tho okay yes good
You’re so **** pretty and I don’t just mean your long eyelashes or your majestic flowy hair or the way your eyes go all crinkle and your face goes all squish when you smile, nope. You’re just you’re so **** pretty just as a human being just in who you are and how you try and I just can’t think of any solid reason why you have to deal with so much **** Bad things happen to good people, sure, and I’ve always known that the world doesn’t always operate based on common sense but I guess I never fully understood the full scope of that concept until I saw you cry. Because when you walked up (it’s no exaggeration to say) you were glowing. You literally blinded everyone but you kept insisting that you could only absorb light, not emit and I just don’t get it. My parents are doctors so believe me I know very well that the heart is an ***** the size of your fist, no more and no less. I know it, I do but you’re just going to have to believe me when I say that there are times when I’m talking to you when my own personal fist-sized ***** just swells right up and expands to push against the sides of its ribcage, because if it’s true it it’s really true that the brightest star in all the universe might look in the mirror and mistake itself for a black hole, then surely surely no natural laws no physical properties no rules or biological normalities apply to the human heart? Surely. There aren’t many things I can say with full confidence. The future frightens me the past confuses me and I frankly am not sure why I’m still here in the present (???) but like it or not here I’ve been for eighteen (better or worse) years and in that time there haven’t been many people that it often bothers me to be in a room without (which would be totally irrelevant if it weren’t for the fact that I walked into Westminster Abbey today and just wished the mega-posh British security guard was you)
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89
I’m just a wandering spirit on my way through the times of life loving the people I find . So when I look up in the sky I see the m walking me when I’m travelling through the dark that they don’t wanna be in so they stand in watch over me in the subconscious . It makes me wonder if I wasn’t alone would I live in a life filled of normalities. Would I still be the torch in my own darkness being a super nova for other. Nothing of what we really do does matter we make it matter because life is nothing but our own fantasies
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Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 5:28 PM UTC
Neon lights in the sky
She was perusing the linoleum trails when I walked into conoco gas at 6:49. I bought $20 of unleaded at pump three. "I miss my jeep, but I sure don't miss the gas mileage" she giggled from behind me with a filmy grocery bag bracleting her wrist. He name was Kiyomi, a Japanese citrus. "When my mom was pregnant with me, that's all she would eat. She joked that she'd give birth to a fruit instead of a baby." She told me she plucked her shirt from the hamper when I complimented her outfit, and about her **** neighbors" with whom she shared a complex. I made an excuse for the dirt sponging my shirt and tattooing down my legs. "It's from landscaping", I said as a way to somehow justify it. I felt like I'd known Kiyomi a long time when we said goodbye. With a half tank of gas, I started up Genevieve and we rolled off our opposite ways. It was as I walked up and down King Sooper's ribs of commercial aisles that I was so grateful to Kiyomi, the fruit girl. She showed her humanness to me. We hung up our social normalities like jackets, and spoke in the unfabricated way children do. Friday, June 3rd, roughly 6:53 pm, a girl of soil and a girl of fruit collided in connection. Like it was natures very own conversation.
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Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
The universe has a conversation
Caged like a bird As courageous as a lion Starved to death Yet still he lacks the normalities of humans The clean wrists The smooth skin He lacks a house Without bars covering all the exits He lacks normal afternoons Without the voice of psychologists Hoping he would listen to reality he lacks sanity lost as a child When his mother's fingers never brushed his face When a plate never came in contact with his fingers But with his jagged skin above his eyebrow When his fathers belt Couldn't seem to stay on his pants But suffocated him Striking until he was a slave Being transported from reality To the hell of insanity Rocking on the waves That wouldn't stop Surrounded by voices That weren't his own Fingers calloused from gripping the floor to keep from sliding off the side into the murky waters that held the siren of beauty of pain of horrors that never seemed to stop until he let go Then it was not a voice of another filling his ears but his own
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Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
Siren of Insanity
Though the perception is to live free, That whole picture perfect life is always embedded. Instilled in all of us from birth. Work, ******* work, and strive to do that family frenzy, nice house, nice car ******** **** the normalities of society. **** being. Sometimes just to breathe, to exist, to live, all of the above is a blessing. Sometimes it's a savior for yourself, but most times it's just a form of conformity for others. We are all ******* robots, one foot in front of the other, sir. March, march, march. Is it April yet? Have I made it yet? Another year of being the least successful person, the woah is me, the pitty party. Stop looking at me. Stop ******* looking at me with those eyes that tare up my insides. Stop feeling. Stop the noise. Just stop. Just stop. Oh yay! Another birthday soon to pass. Another year to conform to the systematic resemblance of what a family is supposed to be.
0
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
27 Club
And I was driven to insanity by the normalities of every day life.
0
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
(In)Sane?