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A Mar 2016
I  am facing yet another war, and I know you are too.
So please know,
This battle is worth fighting for you.
I rather be loved by the outcasted,
Then to be hated by the royalty.
But I will always be a princess suited in metal armor.

I promise to hold your hand and clense you of your wounds,
I promise to always listen,  validate, and accept you no matter what weight, age, color, size, sexuality or diagnosis.
I promise to always fight for your safe haven to become the world you live in.

Even if you do not think you are worth it,

I always will.


Equality for all,
Or equality for none.
III
English Jam Sep 2018
The beach smells of tranquillity and salty sea air
The rhythm of the waves gently caresses my skin
The horizon seems elusive, a dream always chased
Yet night foreshadows traumas waiting to be let in

Oh where do I begin?

I love you
I don't wanna be scared of you
I'm waiting in the shoreline
Please don't run away this time


I'm scared of silent reflections, solemn and reclusive
I float futher from myself with each passing day
I have a note addressed to myself taped to a mirror
I'm scared of reading it aloud and being lead astray

And I have to accept that it's okay

"I love you
I don't wanna be scared of you
I'm waiting in the shoreline
Please don't run away this time"


Seashells coated in sand tickle the edge of my ear
The fog carried on the wind sends chills that rattle deep inside
The sun will always be there to break the duskiness
Daunting across the sky and waking up the tide

And the breeze slowly sighed

Please don't run away,
       don't run away from me
Please don't run away,
         don't run away from help
Please don't run away,
             don't run away from the sea
Please don't run away,
                don't run away from yourself


Angel wings take me further than I've ever gone before
this is my last and final goodbye
as I write this I think of the times you made me cry.
with your hurtful words
and your loving smile to others
the leather belt that struck my back and left the open wounds
the hot iron on my arm when I talked back
and the fist against my skull if I did something wrong.
love me, to mom
abuse is not to be taken lightly
William Keckler Oct 2014
Must go. Cannot explain.
The sadness is on the table.
I left you as much as half
of everything I own.
Maybe more.
Spend it how you like.
I know you will anyway.
This is no joke.
The marriage painting is fixed.
The key is under
your lover's pillow.
Tell the cat
Vive La France for me.
Zumee Feb 2
Dear reader,
if you're reading this
it means I'm dead
as a paper
free
to be etched with the poem
I tried to write
so many times
when I was me-
D Sep 2018
I wrote a note today, how I felt. I was finally honest, even if only with a piece of paper. I loved that note, the comfort it gave me. It didn't cry or shame when it heard my pain. But like scars, it was visible. It could be seen. So I had to shred my honesty, piece by piece to make sure no eyes would see my insides. My words were not for anyone but myself. The graphite on my fingers is easier hidden than the blood on my skin. So tonight I wash my hands, so I can write again tomorrow.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2014
the irises have passed,
their existence, entirety,
a three week, 21 day, gun salute,
to which I was witness to but four

the Kabbalist among us says Kaddish,
and a-Buddhist so-be-it,
celebrating the brevity cycle
of natural things,
and that death makes room for more

**** yelloe'd and black now,
these irises are now
misfits on a breezy, dancing summer lawn

today, shriveled and misshapen,
they compare and contrast
on a normative, glorious,
June Sunday that
picturesque presents
the living and the deceased,
side by side

all comrades,
all summer sundries
on a dancing grass blanket
half-graveyard battlefield, half-heaven

oft I have writ of the beach detritus,
the shells, the sun burnt *****,
a recycled funeral rectory where
no one utters prayers for the
no longer alive historical artifacts

what has this to do
with that human construct,
artifice of memory,
a string on the finger
of the mind,
a pausation, a man-made creation
to momentarily recall another of nature's cycle -
yours

Have children
Am a father
Had a father in my youthful days

this is a boy scout qualification medal,
marker of me as Expert,
permitting me  to commentary
with gravitas
having becoming a grandfather,
I enjoy superstar freedom
to opine inanely on such matters

of my father have I writ,
of my sons, those remain unseen,

likely neither will mark these day
with a telephone call
or an all-I-got-was-this-lousy-t shirt
gift of gall

I say that's ok for what else is there,
certainly not an unthinking, dismissive
whatever

it saddens me some for sure,
but it makes judge myself as human being
on a gradation of one to none

but more than this internal reflection,
I ponder this hallmark'd day,
as life cycle point notarized,
in verse and rhyme,
for that is what I do best

for before,
many father's day in the priory passed,
most unrecallable,
just another ceremonial checkmark,
habitually acquitted,
but somewhere in a drawer of shirts,
in a home I store stuff in,
I do believe, there are some cards
from decades past, that prove nothing,
other than life goes on,
and we best capture
what we can, as best we can...
with small, objet d'art of sorts

Perhaps one will call after all...
in any event,
to honor the dead,
to mark the existing,
the bannered ship's bell rung,
its sonorous sound,
notable and onerous,
fades as well

but man and animal,
plant and tree,
a living fraternal sorority,
who all look over my shoulder
as I compose on
that chair you see

they know,
for whom the bell tolls this day,
and why as well,
as we all pause and contemplate
where we are on this day,
on our own overlapping cycles
ren Dec 2015
You and I are piles of skin and bones
Wrapped in linens to protect us
From getting holes
I'll follow you through your ever venture
Blue eyes pierce me like the icicles we strolled past
As I fell marvelously in love with you
Golden tips to the nuts and bolts
Of a crying, perfect, hopeless disease
I'm calling this sensation what it is
(Remind me to tell you in the morning.)
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
I'll be alright
And so will you

Because this time
It was real.

There was no idolising.
You were not the reason
Black made peace with white,
Your music taste was terrible
And you were the worst drunk
That ever lived.

But you were you.
That was enough.

I was skeptical at first
And my dusty head held no delusions

But whether it was that feeling
Of your cool feet against my back at night
The time you held your knees to your chest
Pretending to force conception
Without telling me you were on the pill
Or that you were just the best ****
In all of the seven kingdoms
My opened mind had no confusion.

I said I loved you
Because it was impossible to call it anything else.
I'd have called you my sun and stars
If only the sun and stars were hot enough.

But it didn't last
Like the movies said it would.
You had your dreams
And I had mine
At least until
Some other time.

And maybe one day
One more time.
You can make me laugh until my throat catches fire

One more time
We can argue like a pair of dictionaries vomiting on each other
As we eat each other's brains for dinner

One more time
We can watch Game of Thrones
And chant the theme tune together like we did
For every episode.
Oh, yes.
Every.
Episode.

Maybe
You can hold my hand
On the day I die.

But if not,
That's okay.
I'll be alright
And so will you.
arubybluebird Apr 2018
I wonder if the flowers can sense how sad I am? I prefer they didn't know. I hadn't realized how common your name is until I heard it called twice today. I was caught off guard and both times stung my heart. He was a little boy, with a head full of brown hair similar to yours. I wondered if he'll go on to taint women's hearts when he's older as you have. I hoped a small prayer he won't. That he'll be better, that there will be a lightness to his name that brings comfort to the heart of the woman who loves him.
Madison Aug 2018
You
She breathes her words like silk,
Her insults like knives,
Her song like honey,
Her compliments change lives,
I wish she was mine
I found this poem in my locker last year so I can't take credit for it but I also can't give credit because I don't know who wrote it yet. I guess it's about me. I guess im flattered though?.
Marlin Huang Aug 2017
My mom used to tell me when I was a kid
that thank you note is important.
To let people know that you're thankful,
and appreciate their efforts.
As I grow older,
I'm so used on writing thank you notes
with the same template on every note.
But I, or we, tend to forget to write one
for those who cope with our lives.
So I wrote this one is for you.

Thank you for letting me crash in your place
when I was far from sober,
almost on every Friday nights.
You literally picked me up when I'm down.
On the grown.

Thank you for staying up with me until 5
even when you got a big meeting
at 8 in the morning.
Because you know how much I hate sleeping,
but I'll be the bitchiest *****
if you try to wake me up.

Thank you for bringing me a bouquet
of fake flowers
instead of the real one.
You sure know me way too well
to know that I can't keep real flowers alive.
Or cactus, or fishes, or my phone's battery.
Yea, my phone's battery *****.
But you trust me to keep what we have, alive.
And lasts as long as it possibly could.

Thank you for making every queue line
less boring with all your dad jokes,
they made me think that
you're a qualified good father
to your future kids.
Or maybe ours.
But I hate children and you love them,
as much as I hate karaoke
and as much as you love it.
But gosh, you made me think of adopting.

We are nothing but night and day.
A thunderstorm and a rainbow.
A cactus and a peony.
A manageable chaos and
a managed you.
And yet we compliment each other like
peanut butter and pickle on a sandwich.
Sure, it's one of the weirdest combination
but somehow it goes surprisingly fine.

I swear I'm not going to make this cheesy
but if it was, well,
****.
I know this is not what you imagine
to be with me
in the first place
when you slipped into my life.
But I thank you,
for deciding to stay.
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Let me know
What was that
That made you
To choose him/her

She/He replied,
Leave it, or listen
He/She is the future
Nothing more

Being an observant and a traveller of examined life I come to this conclusion. Tragedy don't happens, from the very beginning  It is "Us" who pave the path within. With the unawareness we focus to travel to the destination where we don't belong. Through out the journey we keep on dreaming with a hope of a good day making us vulnerable to the threshold, when even a single undesired word, few seconds delay, lyrics of the background music could unexpectly break us.
Trust me we all are fragile.

Let it be simple, if we are watering the leaves of the plant and hope to grow, we get the result what we have to accept. Sometime mishaps happens, we are the culprit. How dare we expect to water the roots of the plant in neighbor's terrance and wish for the fruit to be ours.

We may smell the fragrance if the kind breeze blow in our side.
Even we may always get the fragrance if we follow the direction of the wind.
The choice is ours.
Does it worth?
Will we be happy?
Can we hide the pain?

Always
The choice is all ours.
Genre: Dark Diary
Theme: Examined Life || Words of wisdom
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