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certifiednutcase Oct 2013
I'm an escapist
Who indulge in escapism
But no matter how far I run
My demons, they take chase.

Into the waters I hid
Drowned by the sound of water pouring
Yet they came to me
In forms of crimson red
Dripping as I slipped.

So I went up high
Onto the mountain top
But they followed me up
And made me want to fall.

I couldn't bear it longer
I dived deep into books
Hoping words would bore them
As they so oftenly do to plenty.
It worked for a brief moment
But they found the tiniest hole in my head
During rests
They race into me.

It seems like no matter where I go
Or what I do
I can never shed them off.
All I ever wanted
Was to **** them all.
But they seem to replenish twice the number
Of the minute I've removed.

I don't know what to do anymore
Escaping no longer work.
I am an escapist
Trying to escape escapism.


(c.c)
Who was the person in  Colonel Muammar Gaddafi
Was he a deadly Libyan tyrant as the west put
and dictator as the Western media and press
oftenly portrayed him  , here and there
as power voracios bent on assuming the leadership
of the Arab world and super sahara socialite
in the stamapede  of Gamal Abdul Nasser?
That Gaddafi was a driven and desperate man,
what a cruxificative tribe  of  question,

he gloriusly deposed King Idris
from the then rotting  Libyan throne,
President Habib Bourguiba of Tunisia
omenously  warned him that he had to stretch
  miles and whatever to go before he could claim,
to be un fettered  successor to Nasser's sceptre,


Gaddafi was a wildly and spotlessly  popular
among the Libyan masses,the earth's wretched,  
and even those in the rest of the revolutionary  world,
till the eyesore of his brutal ******,
  the tragics and haunting episodes,
of his life points clearly to the   truth of  truth:
  Gaddafi was a reasonless  hunted man
they way bin Laden was labbelled to be hunted,
for so he was a hunted man.

Gaddafi never had the time or the leisure
to do anything but run, but run and run
as an escape to hell, a clear testament
in his classical poetic, quilled properly
behind the dunes of the sahara desert,
His parting shots were true essence
of his compassion and generosity  to humanity,
a humongous  gift of a soccer stadium to Pakistan,
a plan to gift thousands of computers and laptops
to schoolchildren in  idyllic poor African countries,
and dollops of oil aid to poor Arab countries.

were these not totally dispassionate acts
For the Colonel was trying to build a support ,
and network throughout the  revolutionary world
because he was actively tracked and pursued
by the English and French dogs of ******,
tacitly supported by the United States.

The Western powers were committed to teeth,
to removing Gaddafi from his genuine power
lest he prove troublesome to currents of avarice
in furthering their interests in the oil imperialism,
for his daring rhetoric and outlandish capers
were sharp pedagogies to the oppressed.

western powers moaned and yelled doggishily,
for cheap Libyan oil well and item markets,
for  construction and drilling projects,
English and French origin companies
as well as American multinationals,
moaned daily  like female hyenas
when they  stood to lose  monetary gain,
if  Gaddafi remained entrenched in holy life
and  in power as the arbiter of Libya's destiny.

but that indeed was the holy  mandate
he had from the Libyan masses of peasants
even though it was imperially  questioned
by those of his cowardly enemies
moving in tandem  with cosmetics
of capitalism and burgeosie  development.

Gaddafi ****** the French presence in Chad,
as he did roundly criticize the United States
over its foreign policy of Bullish syndrome,
as he gloriously  shielded  the two Libyans
who were  accused without forgiveness
of plotting  and carrying out vietnam like bombing
of an American passenger jet over Lockerbie
in Scotland that led to Kissinger like  killings,
of hundreds of innocent civilians like in Vietnam.

History is yet to absolve Gaddaffi,
to glorify the dreamer with poetry in his eyes
who composed escape to hell in a desertly week,
exculpating him off false accussations,
of committing a crime of such magnitude,
good consicence must question the role of Jews.

It was only the status and stature
of Nelson Mandela as  a fellow comrade,
that managed to implore  the Colonel
to hand over the two accused Libyans
to the International Court of Justice
to face trial or even forgiveness,
The whole sordid drama of the Lockerbie bombing
is an enigma wrapped in mystery, jewish tricks center stage,
Sooner or later, posterity will  absolve out
with the truth and  save Gaddafi's name
and honor as leader of  the voiceless.

President Ronald Reagan did not even wait a little
before he launched those deadly missile strikes
against Libya,  against Gaddafi's private quarters,
to **** Gaddaffi's beggotten  daughter.

Was this not a base and cowardly
act unworthy of America and its great traditions,
Gaddafi, like Saddam, was a victim of labbelling
by  Western media who had painted his character
with satanic evil and malice , as if evil is alien to them,
even when there was no genuine evidence
to justify such a heinous depiction
  Gaddafi was seen to act irrationally,
was supposed to have mental delusions
why not  being mentally unstable!

Gaddafi's antics inspired acts of conscience
and a genuine and fitting response to a life
lived under mortal fear and terror  of terror
the fear of being tracked and hunted down
by Western agents who were out to eliminate him
with full backing from their governments.

Gaddafi, like Saddam  was not a criminal
although all sorts of demonic tendencies
were attributed to both leaders by the Western press,
All sorts of media scoops were ceaslessly  hatched
and all kinds of media blitzes  were  mercilesly launched
to create Muslim helots who overthrew Gaddafi,
and pursued him in armored cars and trucks
to his hometown Sirte deep in the Libyan Desert,
That he was killed with such horrible cruelty
with bayonets and gunshots,
pumped into his royal  head
such  is evidence that his assailants,
were  not  true Muslims whatsoever !

These enemies were petty paid murderers
and butchers who after the dastardly act,
proudly displayed Gaddafi's body
in a meat shop kept open for public viewing,
By committing these very desecrations
Gaddafi's foes had unwittingly revealed
their true un-Islamic and butcherous natures .

And what were Gaddafi's last pearlish words
to his assailants when he lay writhing in pain of death
on the ground unable to move because of the mayhems
of his injuries and wounds: WHAT DID I DO TO YOU?
Gaddafi had died like a Muslim Christ
on the American  cross with no words of abuse
or blame for his enemies, as they knew not
whatever the folly the were executing.

History will have to wait for generations
before another soldier and such a  leader
of Qaddafi's ilk and human  mettle surfaces
again  in the poor man's  world
to bravely  taunt the West
for its imperial perfidy and cowardice.
peter oram Dec 2011
Doggety-dog
lived attety-at
the top of our block
in  a flattety-flat.
He hadn’t a name
as far as we knew
except Doggety-dog
of floor seventy two.
He was blackety-black
with a belly of white,
he would oftenly bark
but neverly bite.
He didn’t go out much,
he mostly stayed in
(and I’ll tell you just why
in a minitty-min).
But once in a while
he’d goggedy-go
To visit Miss Whizzit
one storey below
to borrow an egg
or a spud for a stew
and carry them back
to floor seventy-two
for Mr MacWhister -
he  also lived there
but he spent all his
time in his armity-chair.
and he never went out,
no, alas and alack
cos of terrible pains
in his backety-back.
Now for Doggety-dog
there was nothing such fun
as the days he went down
to floor seventy-one.
Was it cos of Miss Whizzit?
No, it wasn’t that –
It was cos of Miss Whizzit’s
cat-cattety-cat,
for as soon as Dog-doggy
caught sight of its face
he would chase it and chase it
all over the place -
up the walls and the curtains
and out through the door
and all down the stairs
to the bottomest floor
and then, when he’d made
that poor catty-cat shift
he would quietly go back
to the top in the lift,
while Cattety-cat
(and the egg or the spud)
remained somewhere below
in the rain and the mud.
Now eveything might have
gone on in that way
for ever and ever.
It didn’t. One day
(I remember it well,
for there was an eclipse)
while Miss Whizzit was frying
bananas and chips
she heard on the landing
a terrible din
and the door it burst open
and Catty burst in
with Doggety-dog
hotty-hot on her trail -
oh how Doggy did bark!
Oh how Catty did wail!
Catty leapt on the stove,
Doggy-dog did the same
and both of them ‘mediately
burst into flame.
“Fire! Fire!” cried Miss Whizzit
“What creature is that,
that  is chasing my highly
inflammable cat?”
- but then she remembered
what mother had taught her
and over them emptied
a bucket of water
Catty leapt off the stove,
simultaneously so did
the dog, and the stove,
being ‘lectric, exploded
Now Mr MacWhister
one tall-storey higher
was sleeping and dreaming
when someone yelled “fire!”
so often, so loud that it
made his poor brain sore
he leapt from his chair
and grabbed hold of his chainsaw
his blanket and telescope,
blue-and-red braces
(you never know what
you may need in such cases)
and threw them all into
a velvety sack and,
forgetting those pains
in his backety-back,
cried, “Oh, how many years
have I waited! Oh is it
not time now to visit
exquisite Miss Whizzit?”
- and he ran down the stairs
with a rattety-tat
and burst with a yell
into Whizzety’s flat.
Now when poor Miss Whizzit
observed him appear, oh,
she blushed like a beetroot
and whispered, “My hero!”
MacWhister meanwhile,
overcome by her charms,
had lifted her up
in his spindelly arms
and  sighing “my love,
oh my lovetty-love!”
he carried her up
to his rooms up above
Now Doggety-dog
and Cattety-cat
Were left all alone
In Miss Whizzety’s flat
where normal conditions
were slowly returning
and both now had almost
completely stopped burning
(though if I am honest
I have to admit
that they smelled pretty bad
And still sizzled a bit).
“Come, Catty,” said Doggy,
“let’s get this place tidy.”
They did so, and when
by the following Friday
they’d heard not a peepety-
peep from upstairs,
they decided Miss Whizzety’s
flat was now theirs.
And now life for the two of them’s
twice as much fun –
it’s a permanent chase
round floor seventy-one,
while MacWhister and Whizzit
gaze out at the view
from their flattety-flat
on floor sevently-two.
Stefan Sagala Jun 2017
coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics.  

coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse.

coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting  the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way.

coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time.

coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here.

in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools.

in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives.

coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat.

Stefan Sagala,
February 4th 2017.
for you, whom i found in a coffee house.
md Jan 2018
In a four wall room
She feel so small
She feel out of place
Cant walk alone inside and roam

Everytime she's alone
Sitting and prentending is all she can do
She sits like no one's there
Pretending that she is okay

Her mind overthinks oftenly
slowly being eaten by all her insecurities
Insecurities that she is so small
And compare to others that she is too low
壱原侑子 Jul 2013
‘myopia,’

the doctor
says as he hands
me my new glasses with
the brown plastic
frames and the lens
thick as the thick
bottom of a glass
I’ve been having more
headaches lately and more oftenly
dizzy in the same way I get
after my first morning
cigarette.

‘myopia,’

(noun), nearsightedness
close objects look
clear but distant
objects not as much.
close objects seen clearly
but objects farther
away appear blurred
he explains further
as i hand him the
money and I get on my way
home and I look at everything
around me and these new
glasses already feel like a scam.
They’re sliding down my
nose and I look at everything
around me and they do look clearer
but feel the same as before — a haze,
a blur; indistinct shapes that I know well
enough by their nature but not by
meaning and I realize how
you’re so far away, you’re so
distant but of all the things I could
claim to know you’re the clearest
thing I’ve ever
set sight on.

I do not know if it’s just that
image of you or my imagination
that’s to blame for how vivid
you have imprinted into
the cloud that is my
memory; burned
into my mind.

(I feel you burn
like a fire in
there, it hurts.)

I push them
up against my
brow, these new
glasses, doctors
don’t really know
anything at all.
Kimmy-Nichole Apr 2011
im scared.
But  "I know I will be okay... "

(The quote that seems to make it all okay in the mind of Kimmy)

the seconds till sun sets feels like a lifetime.
I hear the whistle, but dont have that kick.
I feel the pressure; but there's no release

my break time, has turned into lunchtime and my style has changed from super so cal cute to what the **** am i doing out here?

i seriously contimplate playing with death. i think to myself how id do it and what the aftermouth could be.

its as if my skin is crawling with uncomfortableness.

this city isnt for me. im not for me.
i know who i am.
what i enjoy.
what is wrong and what is right.

but oftenly enough, my behavior has trashed all previous  teachings once learned. I cant take myself seriously i cant take life seriously. I am in a relationship that is remaining consistant because its one less thing to add to my table platter of life.

sometimes i wish i could just walk away after being served, but it just doesnt work that w ay. I get that.
It was at that time then when I began.

the Sun did a moody and it was the Moonlight that
knew me in the shadows left hanging by the day.

and now?
yes
and now we're all offended by remarks chalked on park benches
or by eyes that look unguardedly at anything to do with me

and I'm offended oftenly that oftenly is not in the Oxford dictionary.

I'm
happy that it's Saturday,
that'll offend a few.
Jeffrey Pua Feb 2015
Here's to folly, to the great valley called love
Which reminded me of forever through imperfections,
Hardships and disappointments, of falling deeply
Into discovery from self-doubt, of reaching freedom,
The bore of a goal like contentment.

Here's to pain, the antithesis of the stars,
Of pretensions and incompletion, the middleground
Between the starts and the endings, the covert catalyst,
The grand surrealist, as we dread to know
The fullness of our sanity, of our souls,
Our fragility, of our very being.

Here's to the machinery, the agitation
Called dreams, the sweet fog of distant memories,
Or the dark smoke of passion sometimes,
Cunning as ever, like a freight train,
Like wind, like havoc, like thypoon,
Oftenly deprived of conclusive destinations.

Here's to art, drama and poetry, the mystics,
The sons and daughters of the grand mystics,
Of philosophy, science and religion, not to mention
History, the grand infidel, and mythology, the fibber.

Answers overwhelm us, test us, and divide us,
They appear when we're most not ready,
Yet the questions keep us sane, ever growing,
Ever sun, ever moon and ever cloud.

Only time will tell and would not,
The old grey, the clear dark, the pale light,
It never learned a language,
It only learned to live, noticed
But never quite understood.
How diaphanous. How vague.

So here's to the confusion, to the uncertainty
Like love always has been.
Here's to us, to our ambitions,
Our possessions, the treasures which speak
Permanence in our hearts.
Here's to the violent, the meek and the indifferent.
Here's to the society and the humanity
That's left in it. Here's to those who hate me.
Here's to our faith and our fate.
Here's to the poems that will never be written again.

Here's to you, my love, my true.
May we stay kind, mad, and human,
Or something more, whatever that means,
Despite the opposition, and deception and progression.
So here's to the Universe.
Here's to the grand riddler called existence.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Longer than the usual.
Venusoul7 May 2014
I was reflecting on a moment, as I reflect oftenly..True.
So in this vision I looked deeply at the picture of the figure standing there.

There she was, I use this tense because a stranger is a she, a he, a they...not You.
But really it was a picture of the little girl, that once upon a time was me.

Maybe some of you saw it, the little girl...standing in a costume, just as was accustomed thing to do...every...single....day.

She was her Parent's Molded Clay...in which they made their plans with their hands, their work of Art, prospect for blood, they craved to feed from poured out Praise one day.

You see...I was a malleable creation, a desired exploration
To design & mold her, Zoom in to Zero, the next multilateral SuperSoldier.

Every moment of everyday, they tended to their artistry, to my dismay.
Their Scientific Approach was so cold and calculating, so as to miss the spirit in my eyes slowly dissipating.

The tears that wept precisely calibrated for the flow,
To keep the Clay moist for the work they must do.

Twas Painful, albeit, of gutting in the Unnatural Power.
My head be last, lest they loose Pressure from up top the Water Tower.

I'm glad they left my Eyes for last, cause I watched and waited behind the Glazed Over Glass
I saw it All,
the sinister craftwork,
my reason to exist,
in such a wicked Plan
to be unleashed across the land.

The Rage against this mistreatment, the injustice, the lies, the secrets:
Their Plans

I Swore an Oath to the One Power to Be , so Young, I assumed it Was Me
I would use the Power they delicately labored, albeknowenced,
to them,
with
Blade of Truth as my Sabor
I would act in the milliseconds between transfer
from the Furnace to Surgical Chair

And Rage the Rage of a Billion Suns,
Bring Reign,
such a schorching electrictricity,
Fry the Circuitry,
the Programmes, each Implant, **** each Signal before it could reach me, redirect and reflect every laser pointed at me, back at it's Source  

The Panic Spread, backup squads called in quickly to attend
to a Power
they knew Not what
Orders for Kinetic Delivery
in Defence

My self generated OverRide Made immediately operational, I just knew what to do

I Spun so Swift, drilled beneath the Earth,
Close to Oceans
of the South Pacific,
I emerged, shapeshifted
into a Magnificent Dolfin

Swam far away, across the Globe
to find somewhere safe

In the midst of a deep red sunset, I emerged a Young Woman with nothing Other than to complete:
                  
   My OWN Mission
 ~«\~|§|~/»~

With Blade of Truth & Justice Vision
§  
Resurrect Truth, Protect the Mistreated Nature
ω  
Expose Corruption, and dismantle for
Reconstruction
|⊙|
°
Reign a hellfire on the Offenders who refused to Submit
      
V||§||V

© All Rights Reserved
Feb. 24th, 2014
Venusoul7
any Syfy Buffs that would like to collaborate on a more in depth screenplay version of this supernatural concept
please message me
it is by far not even close to presenting detailed ideas I would love to explore on the movie screen l
Let me know
Colm Apr 2018
When they curse you
And they blame you
When they passively
BOLDLY
Begrudgingly
Or in all other ways
Attempt to shame you
Into fleeing as if
You have nothing to be
And no reason to exist
Or to write such things
As these and this
When they try
And try
And YOU find yourself
Your world
Suddenly spinning
Upsidedown
On brand a new axis
It is then
In that moment
Of parry and precaution
That you must decide
How it is best to be
How you currently see
And can share such things
Beneficial to those
Who WILL always stray
When you hoped they'd stay
But as for me and my house
We will ardently seek
And oftenly pray
To show kindness to those
Who cannot
For the truth of them
Or the life of them
Or for the anger they store inside of them
BEGIN to see
The ways in which
That the sacrificial lamb
Has blessed us all
With this
A BRAND NEW LIFE
Within EACH DAY
This my friends
Is why I say
Be strong in this
And we'll walk that way
Because of him. I'm always encourage to pray in place of hate. To love in place of disgust and distrust. To protect myself and my family, yes. But to also be an ambassador for goodness and truth in this world. As I will ever be as long as I'm here. *nod*

BOLDLY YOU WILL BEGIN A BRAND NEW LIFE EACH DAY!
Bianca Fontejon Jan 2015
Once goodbye has been said,
Leaving is often mistaken --
mistaken for being the hardest part.

It's always been thought of that way,
because it's oftenly associated with pain --
one that causes heartaches.

But really,
It's the easy part.
The empty feeling is what gets to you.

The space in your heart that's just empty --
Emptiness that wouldn't be fulfilled,
Emptiness that will soon turn hollow.
#hollow #empty #sad
Gourab Banerjee Jul 2016
Oftenly a thought
Strikes my mind
Its better to be
A Pornstar
than a Poet
really by name or fame!
will excel a lot
What would I get?
Except criticisms & insults!
A l'll shamelessness
Can bring more prestige-Written on 13.07.2012,Friday
Thou art not only more beauteous
Than effulgent night stars in a cluster
But thou art more pulchritudinous
Than the beauty of queen Sirius's luster

Every night whilst thou art sleeping
Like a thief in the dead of night
To thy slumber shade I come creeping
As to feast about thee glowing so bright

Sorry I am like lonely stars to the night
I can't help it spying oftenly upon thee
Just as an enemy keeps an eye to a knight
Or like an apiarist to the honey of a bee

Thus just like the morning dew to grass
My heart doth crave thy magical touch
Though to thee, I'm but not thy class
A heart of mine you torch!


©Kikodinho Alexandros
27th August 2016
#Pulchritude #Her #Sirius #Craving
Ace Jhan de Vera Mar 2016
Can I tell you a secret?
I'm a liar.
Why am I telling you this?

It's just easier to tell strangers the truth,
Than people close to you because,
They don't ask questions,
They just nod their head and keep to themselves their suggestions.

Why am I telling you this?
I just openly admitted to all of you that I'm a liar,
So it's hard for you to think about these things if I'm telling the truth or not,
So what's the point of all this if I'm just lying to your faces.

Well ladies and gentlemen I'm just pouring the brandy to your glasses,
As I intoxicate you more with the lies that my sugarcoated lips can say,

An average person is lied to 200 times a day,
The most oftenly used lie are the words, "I'm okay."
Like when my mom asked me when my eyes all rubbed out from crying too much,
Or that time when I looked myself in the mirror and had to tell myself that lie over and over again just to get myself through the day.

With that being said I need to tell you one more thing,
My backyard is filled with skeletons of people that I have buried and skinned,
I keep their skins in my closet so I have one for every occassion.
I keep so many of them that who I really am just got lost within the confines of my closet.

I have worn so many that I have already been so comfortable in each and everyone of them,
I wear them so often that I have gotten so good at pretending to be someone else,
I have gotten so atuned to it that no one can tell that I'm lying,
That's why no one's chasing me around with matches threatening to set my pants on fire.

If I gave you a tour of my closet you'd see all the skins I wear as suits and it wouldn't surprise you,
That who's infront of you right now is just another one I wore for this occassion to fool you,
Then you'd see all the things I've been trying to hide,
I have gotten so good at it that I'm starting to believe in it myself,

I am starting to believe that I am those people,
That I am okay, that I am fine, that I didn't mean to lie but,
I just had to for the greater good,
I convince myself that I'm doing what's right when the truth is I don't know what it is I'm doing,

So yes, I am a liar, I admit to it.
But what I'm asking you is please,
Help me. Help me find out the truth,
Because I have gotten so good at lying that, I ask myself "who am I?"
an0nym0us Feb 2018
Can be good, can be bad
But oftenly sad.
A past we once had,
A time I can't bring back.

Your voice keep ringing in my head,
When will this ever end?
Is this what I get?
For loving you till the end...

I trusted you,
I thaught you were true...
Why didn't I saw through,
Your love that is too few.

Oh how silly
For you I still worry
Burden I no longer carry
But my chest is still heavy.

Everything I see
Reminds me of what we used to be
Still hoping for you to be with me
Even knowing it could never be.

I've been so depressed
This must be the greatest
Putting my sanity into test
I hope it will be less.
PK Wakefield Jan 2015
sheet crumpled not
deeply thrashing
with life as a last night did
dead now dreaming
as dreaming sheets oftenly
boy with toy like
fantasies of apart joints
socketed into unsleeping
hips in the darkest of
night's dreamless deepening
It greatly tickles my instincts to know that
good people still exit. Not the Samaritans that
give money, but those who understand the
meaning of words and live beyond conjectures
that oftenly befall their ears.
Is that why you keep seeing someone young in
your eyesight!. Its because your focus is
blurred, as you strip your spoonful ignorance
for knowledge while the giants in
contemplation blow in covers of selling
brilliant ideas at no penny. If you what to
know how important you're, considerably give
other people's existence importance; thus your
thoughts to the people wont seem impotent.
# no eviction for failure by mouth rather
action
Bang! !!Bang "Bang

Oh awake
Though not in shock
No body is hurt.

But run ...run
we ought to meet HIM
yes I know he won't leave us.
Let's go quick and meet the rest

This is the best I have to wear
clothes be not of trouble
only the depth of your heart
The door is always open
Non be left out.
seek him while you can.

The great attention here.....
All for the above
pardon me not only above
oftenly everywhere.
The Alpha stands one and so
to the Omega
teacath Dec 2016
"I love him."
as I remind myself
that to love is to trust.
but why is it the word love
so oftenly used yet I still doubt you.
Amtul Hajra Mar 2019
Baby stay,
Tell me what you need.
It worked with you
Why didn't you pay heed?
To us,
To love,
To silence and screams.
To madness,
To sadness,
Where is the peace?
My peace lies with you
Yours?
I don't have a clue.
I've been yours;
You mightn't be mine.
Do you cherish the moments,
Of how oftenly we dined?
Your place or mine
Everything so fine.
Our eyes that met,
My heart that fell
In love, for you.
Your character that fell,
In lust, for me.
Let me be convinced by,
Is this really true?
And here
My heart still asks you to,
Take me back to
From where we began
Let me kiss you
One last time.
Vaishnavi Jain Mar 2017
Its' not the people for whom i worry about,
It's who they are I actually worry about!
The ones who show to be the strongest,
From outside are oftenly those whose
Heart suffered from a deadly accident.
All we look is love in this life,
What we forget is that everything has it's dark side.
Don't you see! The beautiful moon?
Can you see it completely?
Or just the side it wants you to see!
And the same is love,
I'll always show you the bright side,
Not the dark side!
Never interested in my mistakes  but at all costs engaged
To see me survive.
Though a times I feel a giant over
A few achievements, never jealousy
But tasking to see more and better.
“Your bigger than this” is my reward in time
This has taught me to progress.
You’re great when am great
And great even when am greater
Through all that I encounter
Soon I stand out victorious
And paid a penny of respect.

Then I grow Eagle wings,
In many attempts to fly
I hopelessly return to the ground.
Get up and walk, further inspired
Even at the helm of my success
I oftenly bolt back for remedies
Standing prominent and brave
Known to many as the greatest
Though the porter stands great in all.
Generally Speaking .. It's a concern ..
BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE ALMOST TOTALLY CONTROLLED

Filipino's are the most beautiful people but in life
Filipino's assume a lot as it is a lot of the time..
They don't seem to always deeply consider things
As sadly religion fills so very much of their mind..
With most of their growing years doing as told
Never it seems they question but have faith always..
Thus not ever seeming to be all in full control of all
But leaving so much of life to the one they praise..
Their IQ often becomes daunted generally speaking
Thinking God will save all in life upon any given day..
Not one on this earth has ever had any proof at all
Of the very one they spend so much of life to pray..
They very often assume what is the case in any case
Seeming not being mostly all that they could in fact be..
As they have ever so been taught since day one to obey
With this harness on they feel that still they are free..
Much like riding down hill on a bike without any pads
They are all told sorry no contraception allowed for you..
And yet so many lives are over before they've begun
Children carrying children and having babies sadly true..
Beautiful people under a weight they could live without
Remaining faithful to the cause of life's woe since day one..
Reality naturally cries out to them for love in the making
And it's the girls that end up with wrecked lives done..
Boys just making sure their bits and pieces all work fine
While the young girls so oftenly young singing a baby song..
Filipino's always blame anything but the religion followed
Being brainwashed that God would not could not be wrong..
And yet they all live in a country full of death and crime
How all the time they could be singing more of life's song..
While every single piece of their anatomy and mind and soul
Being the gift of their very birth and being born all along..
And still religion holds this and them with emotional blackmail
With them obeying all religion endlessly in life right through..
Without them being allowed contraception even schoolgirls up
With them if they don't know they simply assume that they do..
Religion it's been a sham since it seems forever and a crime
Professing to assume that God in the name of God by man..
And here not we have a country full of brilliance woefully bound
And all doing their best under this lie this weight best they can..
This being now generations of same closed minds is slavery
Easyie to controle and donate to the wealthies business tax free
I always followed the one they call Jesus who died at eighty five
In Kashmir studying buddism never had a religion that be
He knew where we go to but it's above human I Q to know
Instead of the simplicity of lovin one another religious say so
I'm not here to teach instruct advise nor save a single soul
But after this class it's the same for all the same way we all go

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2016
Zion Ferrell Jul 2018
“Who am I?”

A question asked by others
To get to know each other more.

Instead, I ask this to myself
Every night.

“Who am I?”

Oftenly asked by many.

Anyone would want to know.
It’s a quick to ask question.
But it’s a lot more serious than it seems

I lay there in the corner of my room
Where my bed has been placed
And I ponder…

“Who am I?”

Well,
There are different
Ways to answer this questions.

You are what others
see you as.

Or is it
Maybe what you want
Them you to see you as.
I’ve asked other people that seem to
Know me.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Who do you see see me as?”

“Who am I?”

I get multiple answers. All
Of them sounding quite…

Simular.

“You’re my friend”

“You’re cool.”

“You're smart”

“Talented”

“Beautiful”

“More than average”

Of course I take the compliments,
But why do I feel as
if they’re not telling me the true?
Why don’t I except what the speak into existence?

At the end of the day, I
Go back home to take a shower
And cry, just so I can
Sleep through the night.

Getting my body prepared for the
Mental battle of tomorrow, I lay in my
Bed without any clothing. Only a blanket
Is covering me from exposure.

“Who am I?”

“Is it me or someone else? Who else could
It be? Nobody else can control me
Nor the way I feel. Who am I trying to be?
Nobody I hope.

I am my own role model
And only I know the truth!
Nobody knows me!

Hell!

Nobody ever did know who the
**** I was because…

I don’t even know.”

The question looks more
And more threatening and
Vigilant than ever. The pain
No longer stays in bed,

Nor in the shower,

Not at home even.

It stalks me everywhere I go and
Turns up any **** time it pleases.
It hurts my head the more it bonds me.

“Who am I?”

Another throbbing headache so strong
It makes my heart skip a beat.
So strong it makes me puke.

Or is that just my finger in the
back of my throat looking for results.

I’m trying to solve the equation.
What? Another solution?
Maybe.

It’ll work for the time being, but
What if somebody finds out?

Love?

If only someone can prove my value.
If somebody really did admire me, they’d
Be with me forever.
They’d **** me and say…

“I love you.”

Nothing ever stays hidden for too long.
But at least he still loved me
For three years and counting.
Hopefully.

Longer and longer
More and more
The question is pounding at
The door with a couple of friends.

“Who am I?”
“What am I useful for?”
“Why am I even here?”
“Do you even need to be alive?”

“What is my purpose?”

Eventually, they welcome themselves in.

Great. Now more question
I need a dumb answer for.
I eventually asked for some help.

Therapy.
A professional. Finally
The help in need. Maybe I’ll
Get a reasonable answer.

It didn’t last too long anyways.

I got something out of it tho.
“Anytime you feel frustrated.
Write it down. Nobody has to read it.
Nobody needs to know. It’s yours to keep.”

It’s mine to keep.
It was mines to keep all this time!
This pen and this paper isn’t
Doing anything at all!

All it is is just extra room
For my brain to fill in more

****

QUESTIONS!

So here I am. Haven’t asked for
Physical human help in months
Because “God will answer you prayers.”
When he feels like it.

Well guess what?! You’re running
Out of time and I’m losing more
Than just patients!

I’M LOSING MY MIND!

The writing then turns vague dark drawings.
The drawing then turn to a knife.


It’s working. Something else is
Overpowering that **** question.
I’m piercing my skin deeper and
Harder than the pain piercing my brain.

I see brown,
Then red,
Then black.
Cutting so deep till I fell asleep.

It’s the only that’s really sustaining me.
Well it is just a substitute since…

They left me.
No.
Since he took them.
Away from me.

First my grandpa of cancer
Then my uncle Big Red from a stroke
The my great grandmother of “natural causes”
And another uncle, Paul of…

You guessed it! CANCER!

He’s taken them from me
the most painful way possible when
They were my rock.
My main support.

Grandpa was my humor
Grandma was my teacher
Big red was my therapist
And Uncle Paul my very first LGBT partner

I knew who I was then.
Stable.
Sensable.
Reasonable.
“Who am I?”

“I don’t know.”
Someone once told me…

“People die because God just saw
A flower in his beautiful garden and
Decided to bring it inside his home.”

They would have been fine here.
****! I would have been fine if they were here!
All because you thought that these flowers
Were SO pretty!

How selfish.
You didn’t even need the decor anyways.
I don’t know who I am now because of you!

No wait.
I know who I am. I’m a
African American Bisexual Girl
Nobody takes seriously anymore!

I’m anxious,
Tired,
Hurting,
Hiding…

Scared.

I’m scared of my next move.
I’m scared of my next question.
“Who am I?” turns to
“What next?”

The sesx didn’t help.
Starving myself failed.
The help I had is out of reach.
Big Daddy in the sky is unavailable.

And the knife feels duller the
More I began to use.

I’m scared I will look
At so rope.

I’m scared I will look
At some bleach.

I’m scared i will look
At an 100 yard drop.
Turning into 6 feet underground.
But I won’t be there to see that.

I’m scared of never getting my
Question answered.
I’m scared of not passing a test
Or even a resume online
That’s actually lying
Underneath my chest asking me…

“Who am I?”
I gained a little weight
Started being neat
More straight and sophisticated
I grew hair  on my legs
I drew beautiful words across my chest
Started being open
The dark thoughts in my mind transformed to songs
And those were melodies I couldn't stop

I started wearing make up
More facebeats
I wore white regularly
I tried to change, tried to be straight and plain
I abstained from mirrors hoping to see my reflection in your eyes or maybe you'd best define me and judge me as my mirror

Did you know that I dreamt of being in your arms
And that I tried searching for you amongst the starts but I guess you're more than just one of the galaxies

I grew fiercely loyal
Started sitting like I was royal
Captivated by your love
You activated my heart and decided to run
And in that way I felt disregarded

I was oftenly disturbed by my curious thoughts
So I constantly traveled to a world I call my own

When I saw you with her
I closed my eyes and cleared my thoughts
I held my breathe and bit my tongue
I died
I ressurected, saw the devel himself
Came back
Caged myself into the world of the unknown far from anyone else

At that time my heart was shattered and crumbled into pieces
Not to mention my mind that was scattered and troubled
But I tried to change
Went out of my comfort zone to satisfy you
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But am i that girlfriend who feels intimidated by hoes

I clear my mind
I rewind
I see you and I
And redefine love

So I realized that its from your eyes I learned to love
And I am nothing but a victim of your love
Arry Sep 2018
Bound by the occurrence of humans and situations,
Perspective is the name of these mind notifications.

It transitions by the actions of distrust and rumour,
It also changes rapidly if the thinker tends to get gloomer.

It sits straight and firm if the character seems defined,
Then....the call of any change is most oftenly declined.

Sometimes it takes a double ride,
With doubt and faith on either side,
And then takes place their fusion,
Creating nothing but a lot of confusion.

As far as I know.... perspective is a kid,
Losing each and every possible bid,
At times steps back, at times moves further,
Being some person at night...and in the morning becomes some other.

Incidents are the provokers and perspective gets provoked,
The one deserving love and care all of a sudden becomes rogue!
Hira malik Feb 2019
i never intend to be sarcastic or bitter--in this arena of self indulgence in thoughts i have always tried to put back my filthy(i call them oftenly) thoughts and just concenterate on piles of work that never make me to sleep peacfully, yet antagonist to this theory , i am relieved, for it prevent putting burden of stress on my super sensitive nerves...


still, without being sarcastic, i hate this suffocated speech i put as a  conversation inside my dwindling head and answer them so confidently, that i go speechless and comatose...


i hate being used as a woman,(although i am a woman , being not of a kind), being used is just the worst feeling ever.


not being able to put it into words, i have always loothed my cowardly act, so many voices smtyms i beseech inside me coz of fear of assault...


i hate to admit my heart goes into long pausatic chaos, in which i dwell even if storm passes away, so strongly it holds that crunches of broken pieces take time to gather back into altered shape.....


feminism and its harrassment at all level , abduction at gross or micro level is totally condemned by my my thought, wat i need is loud voice, an affirmative point of view to make myself believe that there exist a life in me!!!



i need to put back them in randomness, but i know its just anothr thought!!!
PEARL SMOKE Dec 2017
I’ve been contemplating
Wether to love or unlove
I’m not benefiting much
Iv been thinking on this for sometime now & you Havnt proved my feelings wrongs. You have changed . From hurting me every day to somedays to not so oftenly  but unexpectedly
I agree you are not the same but what you’ve done remains in my memory. I have so many unhealed cuts in my heart . I forgive but I don’t ever forget and constantly over think about the heartbreaks
I have cried more than I have smiled with you
You have betrayed me more than prove your love towards me
You helped me want sobriety
You helped me fight temptation and control myself from Relapsing.
You also helped me open a dangerous door in my life
You taught me a new way to avoid the tears you caused
Your negative actions sparked my brain
You made me cry one day
I called my connect
I collected my ****
I used to see if the tears went away
And they did.
My emotions went numb and I forgotten what you did
Only high have I forgiven you
Only high have I let go
In reality Nothings ever been ok
Thanks to **** I’ve made it this far
Thanks to crystal 41314 Turned into a special day
I’ve matured & Grown alittle Since I’ve been with you
I see more clear and I’m beginning to see what’s best for me
Maybe we weren’t meant to be forever but destined to change each other
I’m frightened to officially let go
I dedicated all my time and invested 6 Years Of my life on this boy
I allowed him into my temple and experienced first time intimacy
We created so much history to just turn it into ashes and believe it never existed
To act like we never met
And never loved each other till death did us part
To see what was once our everything Be forced to be seen as nothing.

— The End —