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Carter Ginter Aug 2018
Dear Sam,

I love you,
But I really hate you sometimes.

I've been cycling through emotions lately
Because our breakup led to me completely shutting down
I felt nothing
Until I felt sadness
And then I felt anger
Now it's all mixing together
In an overwhelming mess
Especially with your recent breakups
With your other partners
The one who I mourned our relationship over
Who you suddenly realized you weren't into
And the one I'm best friends with
Who you told that you were never poly
Because **** me right?

Because if you were never poly
Then you never really loved me
Then again,
Have you ever really loved anyone?
I try to correct the realization
Of you not loving me
With the fact that I love myself
It's probably a lie, but
Fake it til you make it
Right?
It's hard to accept that
Someone I loved more than anyone
Could give zero ***** about me
It hurts
That I was this disposable to you
And I did nothing but love you
And respect you
And hear you
And care for you with every ounce of my existence
And you just left

Remember when you promised that
We could get through anything?
And had me promise you the same?
Whenever we were unsteady
You would ask me that
The same thing you asked your last partner
Right before they left you
"Babe, we can get through anything, right?"
And it sounded so sweet and so
******* real
But you were just scared
You were only ever sweet
When you thought we were leaving you

And ******* it
I wish I had left you
I wish I would've told you all of the things
That led to MY decision to leave
Because when we talked
We agreed it was mutual
And I never told you my story
You never asked
All you asked was what I would tell people
Which to some might sound like you cared
But all you cared about
Was other people's opinions of you
Not me
Not my opinion
Because I was no longer of use to you
And during that break up
You did ask me why I was crying
Though looking back now
You probably just wanted to hear me say
"I love you"
One last time
Because why else would I be crying?

I don't know if I ever told you
But when you got your third partner
I wished I could stop loving you
Ironically, I pretty much did
In an illusory sort of way since
All my emotions shut down from the pain
And if I were religious I would've prayed for it
Begged for salvation
For freedom from
The shackles laced around my limbs
From loving someone who doesn't care
Who didn't respect me enough
To really remind me that I mattered
In the throes of a new relationship
But none of it helped
Because I still loved you
I still do

What's more than you leaving
Is the amount of damage you did first
Convincing me how radical and inclusive you are
When you shame anyone else
For the things that make them happy
Oh, and what about transparency
And how you avoid passivity in conflict?
Where did that person go?
You started being passive-aggressive
Or even silent sometimes
You'd exit the conversation
In the middle of an argument
And yell at me if I tried to do the same
I should've known things weren't ok
When I started to thank you
For not getting mad and yelling at me
Which only made you mad
Because I was demonizing you
Actually,
I was just afraid of you

I was never enough for you
You'd spend a lot of your time
Complaining about your other partners
And, as obvious as it is now,
I didn't know you were doing the same about me
Because when we were together
I thought we were good
I respected your boundaries
Even when they conflicted with my needs
You didn't like physical contact
Something I needed in order to feel safe
And the few times you did let me hold your hand
You complained about it to your other partner
As though I were a burden
But I am NOT
A burden
I am NOT
Disposable
And I may not be perfect
But I sure as hell matter

I deserve love
I deserve openness and honesty
And trust
Not like that one time
You "forgot" you made a promise to me
Then broke it in secrecy
And got mad at me later
When I was upset with you
Because you knew I had trust issues
You knew it would upset me
But you didn't care
Because you "don't need permission"
To do anything
Which is true
Except, when you truly respect someone
You keep your word
Or you don't get upset about it
When they feel pained by your betrayal
You said you didn't want to feel
Like you owed me something
And it's not that you owed me anything
But you sure didn't deserve my trust after that
And that made you angry

Though not angry like those few times
You called me yelling about
How I ****** up
Because 1)
I was hurt that you didn't want to see me
Even though we had plans to spend the weekend together
And 2)
Because I wasn't being a good partner
Aka I wasn't submitting to you
And following everything you wanted me to
You claimed I was hurting you
But when I called you out
For your blatant hypocrisy
You got even more mad

I was crying at work that day
I was crouched in the ally
Listening to you scream at me
Balling my eyes out in pain
Trying to maintain my ability to breathe
I didn't think to just hang up
Because I knew it was disrespectful
And I didn't want you to leave me

Later you told me that
You like when I cry when we fight
Because it proves to you that
I actually care
That is not ok
I can show you that I care
Without being in so much pain that
Tears stain my face and
I struggle to catch a breath

When we met
You taught me about autonomy
And that saved my life when it came to my depression
But then you used it against me
To avoid doing anything that didn't benefit you
As I bent over backwards to please you
And of course I didn't think it was an issue
When you would change your mind at the last minute
The plans I had looked forward to all day
Quickly fell apart
Autonomy freed me from my demons' grasp
So how could it not make sense?
You had the autonomy to choose what you wanted to do
But you were just being selfish
And didn't care about me
Or my feelings
And as soon as I stopped
Being the only one putting in any effort
You left me

You used to say that
Our love was stronger than anything
But that is an abusive tactic
Because if we were struggling, then
It must be my fault for not trying enough
For not loving you enough
And when I tried to put up boundaries
(Because sometimes I needed space too
Especially when you hurt me so deeply)
You decided to threaten that
Doing so would make you want to leave me
You often held me on that way
Threats
Manipulation
Fear

The way we chose to love polyamorously
Was pretty unhealthy
We didn't set boundaries
Until we did something that hurt us
And then we knew we needed to
But even then we really didn't
Because you didn't respect the ones I set
You told me that
I couldn't have any more partners
You didn't even want me to pursue
The new interest I had at the time
Thankfully, I didn't submit to you then
Because within a few days we broke up
And even though I was sad about it
I immediately felt relief
And regardless of all of this negativity
I truly hope you get help
And can find happiness in your life
And can stop hurting others
Just because you're in pain

You matter
So do I
But your opinion of me doesn't
Because I will love myself
Exactly for who I am
And no longer shame myself
For the things you didn't like
Because I am more
Than what you think of me
I am more
Than how you treated me
And even though I love you
I love myself more
And respect myself enough to let it go
And to let myself be happy
Without you in my life
This series is extremely important to me. It has drastically helped with closure over past unhealthy relationships. They were all unhealthy I'm largely different ways and I did not write these to take away my own fault in the breakups, but I wrote this to rid myself of the unnecessary guilt I have been carrying around because of things that these exes have said to me or the ways in which they treated me. This project is about self-love. Not about hatred or wishing ill will upon others, because I wish them nothing but happiness. This is for me.
Chelsea Sherlock Jan 2012
Over time
I built the box
wall by wall
day by day
composed of dreams
and desires
ideals, beliefs, and goals

Over time
it kept me safe
and where I wanted to be
within the boundaries
of what I wanted
pushing me to succeed
keeping me in line

Over time
it became a prison
trapping me in, not letting me out
leaving no room for growth
no room to move
to change, improve,
or to fail

Over time
I took it down
wall by wall
day by day
removed of dreams
and desires
ideals, beliefs, and goals

Over time
replaced by the openness
of being whatever I want to be
able to let things go
and to make mistakes
for to err is to be human
and with that I was set free
Onoma Aug 2015
As stars uncuffed from

their silver circuit...speeding

off into a legendary openness,

to long live a single look

of no return...

man o man, woman o woman.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
†           †           †    

A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.

A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.

A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance – yes sir.

A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth –
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)

A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.

A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.

A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.

A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy – but docile.
What's wrong? Too hard to LIKE me ?
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  

         †           †           †
I thought it right to assess some antidepressants, which philosophers should be more inclined to call mood enhancers.
(This was during my foray into human enhancement, substances intended to enhance physicality, cognition or mood. Nootropic compounds concern the latter two categories.)

The most commonly prescribed mood enhancers are serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SRIs), but it takes over a week for these compounds reach their peak effect. I therefore approached them with the notion that a limited dosage might point to their character which would further manifest in the long-term. (Side-effect were this unlikely to be fully manifest.) These considerations in mind, I set about acquiring a few miscellaneous anti-D's.

Fluoxetine was the first successful selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI), better known by its original brand-name Prozac. Fluoxetine has an acute biological half-life of between 1-3 days. Presence of a trifluoromethyl group on the compound deserves note, I wonder what the presence of electronegative fluorine atoms add to the psychoactive flavour of a compound (subjective effects).
I administered a single dose by mouth, there was some indication of subjective character. Light serotonergic sensations and seemingly benign mood-dampening, there is a ****** towards the positive. Waking headspace relatively uninteresting. Observed hints of oneirogenesis, did not manifest in enough character to be detailed - a sort of vivid, 'pulsive wandering, more pronounced in contrast to its waking character.
Good experiment, intresting results.
Ligand     Ki (nM)   Ki (nM)
Target      Flx            Nflx
SERT        1               19
NET         660           2700
DAT         4180         420
5-HT2A   200           300
5-HT2B    5000         5100
5-HT2C    72.6          91.2
α1             3000         3900
M1            870           1200
M2            2700         4600
M3            1000         760
M4            2900         2600
M5            2700         2200
H1            3250         10000

Escitalopram is an SSRI commonly prescribed for major depression and generalised anxiety. It is the (S)-stereoisomer of citalopram. The biological half-life is of escitalopram is between 27-32 hours.
I administered a dose and thought the phenomenal serotonergicity less apparent than fluoxetine but then gastro-intestinal disturbance was noted, I correctly surmised it has a high affinity for 5-HT2C but was also surprised to find it is is quite adrenergic.
Any oneiric qualities were not readily apparent after a single dose, relatively little visual imagery which is understandable given its lack of affinity for 5-HT2A. I found this to be philosophically intresting. Mood elevation observed in bursts of conversation and as odd sensations, possible mental discomfort.
Ligand,
Recptr     Ki (nM)
SERT       2.5
NET        6,514
5-HT2C   2,531
α1            3,870
M1           1,242
H1           1,973

Venlafaxine is a selective serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI). Venlafaxine and its metabolites are active for about 11 hours.
Initial subjective effects similar to a very light empathogenic stimulant. Perception of altered attention-span/increased reflexive response; energising yet paradoxically much yawning.
Ligand,  Vnfx      Dvnfx
Recptr    Ki(nM)  Ki(nM)
SERT  ­    82           40.2
NET       2480        558.4

Tianeptine is a tricyclic antidepressant (TCA) with an unusual mechanism of action. It is an atypical agonist of the μ-opioid receptor and has been described as a (selective) serotonin reuptake enhancer (SRE). It has a short duration as sodium salts [prescribed form] of between 2-4 hours but as sulfate this can be notably extended, some of its metabolites are active for longer than tianeptine itself.
Definitely anxiolytic, quite artificial; possible aphrodisiac. I find its opioid activity dissuading, requires utmost caution.

Moclobemide is a reversible inhibitor of monoamine oxidase A (RIMA), its monoamine oxidase inhibition lasts about 8–10 hours and wears off completely by 24 hours. Inhibiting the decomposition of monoamines (e.g. serotonin, norepinephrine and dopamine) increases their accumulation at an extracellular level. It tends to suppress REM sleep and so it lacks oneirogenic properties.
Feeling of well-being, less constrained by the usual anxieties; openness. Relatively unnoticeable side-effects when diet is carefully managed. Made the mistake of eating a cheese and turkey sandwich (i.e. foodstuff rich in tryptophan), indications of a mild serotonin syndrome later became apparent. Symptoms included feelings of overheating and flushing, slight sweating, racing thoughts and anxious discomfort. A stark reminder of Shulgin's old adage: "there is no casual experiment".
Combination with a select few tryptamines (not 5-MeO-xxT) should be safe, and synergistic (perfect for pharmahuasca); reputed to potentiate GHB. However, generally it is extremely dangerous to combine with serotonergic drugs.
L Seagull Aug 2016
Openness from within
Is bigger than commitment
It is a string
That connects you to all
To the energy of life
And the darkness of death
Like a wire that transmits energy
Openly
Created and delivered
Not to hurt
Not to punish
But to confirm the truth
Behind ones existence
Openness to trust the feeling
Inspired
And knowledge that it was there for a reason
brandon nagley Jun 2015
An openness not hidden
A grail to over floweth
A love out in the open
An amour for all to knoweth!
When people write
When people talk of all the bad things
They lived through
They saw
They talk about rain
“It was like a rain cloud over our heads”
“It felt like there was a constant rain cloud above
And it's accepted
Like it's common knowledge that rain is bad
It's your depression
It's your loss
And it's your God awful mood
Who decided this?
When did the rain become the worst thing there could be
“It was a dark and stormy night”
When she went on a walk
And it was bright and sunny when her life forever changed
I want to be the rain
I envy the rain
When the sky opens and you are drenched by the falls
You stop and stare
When the thunder screams it gets your attention
And you listen
I want that power
I want to make people listen to my words
I want my ideas to pour from me like water from the sky
And I want my words to hit you like thunder
Screaming into openness
And I want you to scream back
Because then do I get to watch realization flash across your face like lightening through the sky
when you figure out that I'm talking to you
The rain was never bad
It is not your depression
and it will never be your bad mood
But it will forever be taunting you with the power you wish you had
Damaré M Oct 2016
When she left she couldn't help but to leave that soft and sweet fragrant scent behind. You right, love is blind. There are other senses which make me miss her. Don't get me wrong, she is a enthralling flower. However I'm only reminiscing on the way she lingers, I'm drawn in by every 'come here' gesture of her finger. The openness of my nostrils, the little chill hills which coexist with my follicles. Jasmine... she is so honorable.
You could've been my body scent forever.
Emma Lee Jun 2016
There are nights just like tonight were i can't  read, or draw, or sleep, or even breath. I cant do anything and i feel like I'm going to die. I try to do  anything to go to sleep but it's no use because  i physically cant do it. But then on those nights without fault there well be bright stars, cool air, and this amazing feeling of openness.
Once when i couldn't take that feeling anymore i looked out the window and saw the front yard.; the street lights were reflecting  the wet lawn. I walked out and you asked me why, i told you because  its beautiful, and you didn't understand  so you followed me out and as i layed down in the street you asked me what was so beautiful because  again you didn't understand and i told you that it was the dizzy feeling you get when you stare at endlessnes. But you didn't hear me because  you were telling me to get to bed. When i got up i saw you looking at the ground while walking back. Kicking a rock.
Maybe in a world with so much saddness it it better not to ask questions,
Maybe it is better not to look up.
-a lesson only your mother can teach you
Emily Jones Sep 2012
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason,
Logical, radical movement
Trying for less invasive measures of medication
To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses
A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good
Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence,
Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change.

The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all
Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound
Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive
Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol
On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats.

Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud
Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils
Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience
Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery
The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product
Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate.
Whip lash.

Flick, flame, fumigating
Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ******* grace
Twitching with the need to take action
To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives
So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief
Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
In response to the Arkansas movement to get legalization of marijuana on the ballot, met with conservative group protest.
Ian Cairns Jul 2013
This is for the outspoken racists
The short-sighted chauvinists
The one-sided misogynists
And every avid supporter of any form of intolerance

I think it's time I give you a piece of my mind
Allow me to crack through my cranium and you can
Extract whichever lobe of my brain you find suitable to fix your mental feebleness

Take my frontal lobe, I beg you because
Your so called conscientious thoughts
Permanently belong in the dumpster
Your brain flies confederate flags at half mast
As a constant reminder that even if
The South doesn't rise again you can still rest
Knowing you wave ignorance blissfully in the air

Or maybe you should have my parietal lobe
Since your manipulation of information is highly suspect
I suspect you've placed bigotry and hostility under solid ground
Equipped with enough racial slurs and misogynistic remarks
To blow up this whole town
Homegrown nouns and verbs conducting your own personal weapon of mass destruction
Corrupting the ears that welcome your mushroom clouds

Then again, your occipital lobe is out of whack too
Considering whether gray clouds paint the sky or
Royal waves reflect golden rays
All you ever see is black or white, gay or straight
Wrong or right, hate and hate
And I hate to break it to you
But you are blind to the beauty before us all
Your eyes fail to focus in on how we all
Lose scarlet plasma to paper cuts
Gain white hair and hardened scars
And share copper casket homes six feet deep

I almost forgot about your temporal lobe
That needs an entirely new design
Because it seems as though through all of this outrage
You can't process the filth in your mind
Like the smell of your own rotten attitude
Escapes your nostrils and pollutes the openness around you
Preventing any genuine intention the air it needs to breathe

Your entire brain is a train wreck
You need professional intellectual injections
Red pen corrections that can transform your neural network
Into a well-oiled machine fueled by tolerance
Overflowing with premium petroleum enhanced with high grade sensitivity to diversity

I want your synapses to fire positive discussions
Rather than recreate cerebric tyranny
I want your gray matter to mind its manners
To render exceptional positions
So your point of view refuses to point fingers
I want your prejudices pressure washed so far down
Your head's highway that they resort to becoming full-time pedestrians
I want your ability to communicate eliminated unless
You annihilate the venom from your vocabulary

But the choice is yours
You're voice is yours
And I won't take it from you
This is not a debate nor a dispute over your vernacular
Hate speech is undeniably your native language
And unfortunately you own the right to be as wrong as your words allow you to be
Instead this is merely a message that I hear your hostility
A not so subtle reminder that your narrow-mindedness is nauseating
And this society has enough deadly diseases to deal with
To drill your acceptance defect straight through your skull
But please feel free to take any part of my mind
And find the time to perform your own lobotomy
So maybe then you'll understand
That intolerance has no place in anyone's anatomy
Onoma Aug 2016
If Love is openness...
that which gives
Love, receives it in the
same breath.
In that same breath
Love can claim what
gave and received, to
confer openness upon
that which remains...
and that which does not.
SG Holter Dec 2014
Western coast of Norway.
Relentless fists of salt and sea
Pound against the windows
Facing the openness.

All edible remains after every
Meal, they surrender unto her here.
She feeds them back.
Her moods change daily,

Taking only one life
With every ten thousand she
Nourishes. *We love her. We fear her.
We love her.
Nathan Pival May 2016
Next time
I'm gonna take my time
Spread it out so it lasts
Answering desire with your gasp
Your hair I pull with a gentle grasp
You've opened your body and soul to me
Being bound makes you feel free

I would never take advantage
Of the openness you've offered to me
I am your protector and your rock
Your pleasure is what brings my pleasure

The trust you give I cherish with respect
I know just when to let go
When my hands are around your neck

You know that I would never go too far
Because I know exactly what you can handle
Half of the pleasure is finding out what your limits are
The other half is finding the limits then raising the bar

Although I may be in charge and I may be in command
Your pleasure is what I seek
Your pleasure is what makes me feel free
D Conors Jun 2010
...that The Goddess
has hands of ivory white
or black as ebony night,
fingers that glisten
with the intensity of immensity,
of stars,
over-flowing with the seeds of trees,
scattering them in splendorous openness,
across the moist, brown earth,
where they'll grow like grass
and cause the quenching rains to
fall,
from the sky made azure
'neath the endless streams and strands
of Her hair
which is the wind itself.
D. Conors
c. 08 December 1996
vircapio gale Aug 2012
ok, so this is the upswell
of wheeling free without wheels--
you taste the unknown on the wind
and endless vigor vibrates in your bones.

sidewalks, dumpsters, fields for beds,
star-gaze drowsy thinkings, underfed

but overzealous of an openness we'd never seen, we'd never see again! the planet turning magical in unexpected
ways of wanderjest--
consummate rest of freedom undenied, joyful celebrants of every day!

the strangers sudden friends stop
to gather in the journey up 'til then--
tales of kindness or of danger
sharing in some facet part

integral, shining, random and forgot--
we each diverge in thanks
or so it's been with me
despite mass fear of ****** sprees
we help each other's spirit's free

some begin and end with sore feet soothed,
the destination moved;
others with a steath-pipe harshly clean:
ember throat-smack numbs the breath
and giddy paranoia settles in
as 'the white house' sailing by perverse
-ly urban planning plotted bums who smile missing ob
-ligatory chili dogs in crowded bl
-are full to frighten morning parking lot we pitched
our tent and woke to soaking feet and sleeping bags submerged in runoff corner-lake

another time we simply waited at a truck stop,
piles of the rigs just running ready there
and one for us, he said he'd bring us north,
and more, he told us of his brothels,
his debt-collecting days, the cokehead legs he shot
for honesty, he said, and sang us poems (he wrote)
of foreign women loved, some with pictures,
pickled eggs and cooler-hotdogs stale,
my first menthol cigarette: inhale and fall
into an understanding outlaws have
of skipping all the weigh-stations, of
friendship gleaned by chance, ephemerality
in strength of truth to last:
he took our picture on the exit ramp,
gave us hugs and left us waiting there,
more than just an ex-**** trucker,
hired gun for pushing coke, but a human
sentimental in a context undefined
like justice in the sense of kindness to rewind

the rain... a joyful merciless accord
of being in the storm of open-ended
waywards torn in being home and on the road
life untenable in farther reaches worn of ages never understood

but standing in a trailer whipped with highway gusts of water-gratitude
though slipping in the bouncing hay and horse manure fertileness
we joke eternal swinging backpacks soaked and knocking spin on balance play

meeting lovers simply known as such
for nights or only one, talking into dawn
at random campus dormroom sheltering
when sober, high, tempted into impulse act
afraid or pleasant easy unknown facts
just passing by she offered for the night
his first intoxicant beyond the ***
surrounded puffing passing groaning
in the rooms above below i'm listening
smirking at the undeserving joy i swallow in her eager kiss
to throb the floating line of destiny in endless acts of freedom's light

though a ride can be a head-ache too...
piled beer cans on the floor,
clanking with each swerving,
the driver even stopping for a ****,
thankful? to be riding, not walking,
but observing when we're there, the ground, this time, i bend to kiss

Sam was the most generous:
he brought me to his home, his father took me sailing, swimming with the family
serving food on lakehouse dock and later
reading with the kids, dinner bonding
then such sleeping    deep    peace
and in the morning, after breakfast
on my way with lunchbag tastes of kindness never lost

there are many more
tucked away in word-gifts, also
blueberries to pick along the roadside, more
than i'd ever seen or thought to see
cows to sleep by, horses randy for an audience to claim the pasture for

the offer is a type of gift you question to refuse,
not to lose your wits
some are quiet, kind,
most are liberal in ways they couldn't ever elsewhere be:
snapshot saints in momentary boons of spontaneity and love.
some cross lines.
so, grateful i'm ok, but never worried otherwise. i run the 'risk' it's called,
and run it still: i ask the random for assistance,
in upturned eyes discern the weather
as in ancient times the host and guest stood cultural across
in making kin of unnamed walking in,
gifting company for company along the way
trusting always in the limned choices traveled, with a existential grin
Dot Apr 2015
My little helium filled heart
floats off into the clouds,
free from the weight of itself.
It makes miniatures of buildings
losing sight of material things.
From its' skewed perspective,
high in the stratosphere,
It has grown bigger than
the earth itself.

There is poetic sadness
in finally reaching happy;
a lust for inspiration
in the openness of the
universe it creates.
Happy Friday
Diamond Dahl Nov 2012
You claim a fortress you've built of yourself
To guard you from feeling anything
Why the need?
We've all been hurt, even us two, and yet we still let people in
Let you in
You say the ache creeps in anyway
Until you focus on anything else and it fades
You don't need to salve the ache yourself
Admittedly the tendrils of feeling are seductive indeed
You said yourself, hold on love
Let us sit in the stars with you, and disperse the chill in your bones
Take us to your cabin all alone, together
We are not the malicious, mocking, twisting agony from you
We will never extract from your veins
The poison of your pain
For us to drink later, and make ourselves feel powerful
We only lift, and cradle, and cocoon
We never step aside, laughing at your failure,
Yourself shattered into a thousand pieces on the pavement
Why the fortress?
Be an openness
Reveal to us, your fears, your questions, and dreams and we will give you calm
Fight your demons
Rejoice your triumphs
Not for you, but with you
Are you truly better alone?
Written Oct. 18
Tyler A Sullivan Feb 2018
TURN OF THE SEASON

For Friends and Family


Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
                                          -Robert Herrick

Intoxicated nights of orange halogen lights-
Illuminating through misty blown water.
As the April breeze ruffles the newly sprung leaves upon the trees,
Men pour malted liquor inside clandestine cellars of tuxedo staff and obsequious waitresses

Echoes of an engine shuffles on down the alley,
Startled it hides in the cornered places.
Men enclosed in smoke talk of days of old-
And better times,
And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces.

Woman go about chatting of useless things and waste the night away.
Men sit about playing games of little meaning and waste the night away.
Both will head to familiar places at mornings first rays
And April effortlessly falls into May

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
Slowly trudging through the paces
Slowly they tighten their laces

And set out for another monotony dipped day

Planting their ears to the ground listening
And many things they'll hear and say
With many hindsight memories in their mind glistening
And their lovers will whisper are you listening
And they'll say "yes yes my dear have no fear I am here"

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
And they'll make many a plan and in cases
And step over cracks in fear of dark places


The clink of a glass carries on down the hall
The bartender while wiping the counter yells
"Last call"
And they'll retort "for what reason"
And he "none at all"
Then the bar goes the way of the shopping mall
And summer slips effortlessly into fall

What reasons can they make when the night is through
When it's time to wake what will they do

As the days retreat with their hairline
And each mirror more distortive than the last
They'll retreat further, further into their mind
And what will they find
With their sanity fleeting fast
A desperate thought floating in the breeze
A candle to thaw the freeze


Intoxicated nights of solemn solitude
Tucked in the back thoughts of a lonely suburb
Trying arduously to abandon actuality
But failing and jumping the curb

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
"Sorry love they're not home I'm afraid"
"They've gone to the races"
Each two lovers in two different places

Rest assured rest assured they'll return
They'll unconsciously sell their freedom
Rest assured rest assured they'll return
At this moment they are Carpe Diem

Rest assured rest assured
They'll be plenty of time
To fumble with furniture
Plenty of time
To spend with her
Plenty of time to waste
Plenty of love to give
Now's to go slow not make haste
Now's to go slow and live


And they'll remember childhood
As a warm August kiss
And where their feet stood
And what they missed
And when the leaves
Upon the trees
Fall down down down
To rise to their knees
They'll remember who they are
And who they use to be


So, before you grow old
And wilt away
And the December cold
Melts the summer’s day
Enjoy what you have
For what you have is to enjoy
For what you haven't
Are merely foolish toys

This summer began as the last one did
And will end when Autumn bids
With the sun and stars above for you to see
Run around like children in the heat of lunacy
...


Though I've fasted and wept,
Wept and prayed
And stayed stoic long
Through passing day
And bards’ men song
I can never,
Never truly say
I have achieved arête

No, I'm not the son of Xanthippus
Who instigated the apogee of Athens
The past beacons of Atticus
Dims my own ember passions

Though I've loved and lost
Loved and lusted
Won a few
Others busted
Though I've seen the world at the needle point,
With all the sordid souls suffering
I've lived like Cummings
The farthest extent of emotions
I've kept a drug induced devotion
But never could I stop from wondering
Never could cease sundering

I've seen the valleys of my life
Where the flowers are disseminated like t.v. static
And the only sound a high tinnitus pitch
They've said go, Go I don't love you anymore
Not pretty enough to be a poem
Not intelligent enough to be of any use

Though I've smiled and agreed
Agreed and died
Through all this hell
I have tried
...



They're troubled tonight
Their restless gaze fails to penetrate the maw of a darkened window-

To have
To have not

To operate in the probity of normality
To practice trembling sobriety
To lose an arm for the ones you love
To have in heart the morning dove,

Assures that come evening tide
Through shroud and delusion
Secrets the world shall confide
And lift your illusion
...

The very next morning
Or so it would seem
Awoke the old men
Rendering a dream

Patiently focusing
For a clearer account
The words from the past
They seemed to mount
And as they pressed closer
Not to be deterred
It crested their mind
And then they heard

"Soured metal, rotted walls
Darkness hangs from hall to hall
Broken bonds burning ambitions
A feeling half held until fruition

Life a moment
A last choking breath
Happiness a second
Before eternal death

We exist only
In the time between
A hint of joy
Goes often unseen

Until again
The crest breaks
And life slips by
But leaves no wake

Such was the tale
Of the great eluder
A hidden knife
A dark intruder

A ****** thorn
Upon the rose
A heap of sand
At the toes

Left undone
The last request
Above the head
The water crest"

Intolerable mornings of required communion
Accompanied with formulated phrases
Men limp from church
Their mind wondering
Far from there
To their childhood breakfast table
Breathing the memory becomes stable
They hold on to it as long as they are able
Plates of porcelain
Decorate the wall
Floral patterns swirling to the center
Across the room mother enters
The image wavers and ripples like water disturbed by a pebble
"Honey set the table
Get the biscuits, gravy, ladle."
Set the trays down equal from the middle, a cup to the left, forks and knifes to the right-
Get those filthy boon dockers off my floor and out of sight
Go get your brother without causing a fight
BREAKFAST TIME
Rise and shine on the biscuit line
BREAKFAST TIME
The sun is up and shining
The coffee is on and the bacon frying"

The memory dissipated into a fleecy cloud.
It hangs heavy on their heads.
Remnants of yesterday remembered in indignation
When slipping off to bed.

I'm in the December of my days
And stuck fast in my stubborn ways
If only I could grasp youth for longer
If only my frail body were stronger

If only I were confronted again with every last myriad encounter where I chose reticence
Opposed to openness
My martial mind refuses any peacefulness
Perhaps the reason of my restlessness
...

Shaking off the foreboding dream
A distant luminary seemed to gleam
An old man frail but proud
He spoke a poetic oration aloud

"My head is swollen, my mind it wanders
My tongue is twisted stumbling it stutters
My thoughts are lost in the colliding clutter
My meaning is lost under soft mutters

My smile shields my solemnness
My eyes reveal my weariness
I am a man of little happiness
But refuse to possess helplessness

I am as I decree
An old man wrapped in misery
But not one broken to submission
Just one in a transition

I have tasted the bitters of love
Witnessed the horrors of death
I have choked my linen dove
To its final breath

No, I am not a careless senior
Full of content
Shriveled in demeanor
Mind absent

I'm dying not dead
No resolving to expiration
Living instead
No meeting expectation
No bowing my head

In credence I say
I'm living for today

No consideration for tomorrow
No more drowning in sorrow"

...


The day was overcast
Fitting the mood
Black suits stood in formation
While the lucky ones heaved their load.

"He was not an exceptional man

Not one of great worth
No wife, no kids, no friends.

To an outside eye it would seem as a waste
And maybe it was
But that's the nature of things to end abruptly
On a minor note"
Written by
Tyler A. Sullivan
Allan Pangilinan May 2015
#Y
We have never been so connected.
Humanity has never been this accepting.
Indeed, we are moving forward.
But isn't it ironic?
That in this age of openness,
It is considered wiser not to show care.
That caring is something miraculous.
Almost.
We almost did it.
We almost showed passion.
We almost cared.
We almost loved.
We.
Almost.
Made it.
Almost. But never enough.
Yes, now, we value honesty but we always forget that not saying what we really want to say is the opposite of what we uphold.
This is not honesty.
This is far from the truth.
We are lying.
We've been lying to ourselves.
Hypocrites.
Casualties.
We end up faking our deaths,
Eternally uncertain what could've happened if veered away from life's
What if's.
Cassie Aug 2018
Why do I get jealous?
Jealousy is just an emotion
Emotionally draining that is

I’m not supposed to be jealous
We’re in a poly relationship
So why do I fear you’ll leave

Leave me for her
She doesn’t give you the problems
She gives you happiness

I’m mixed up
I like our relationship
The openness
The communication

I just need to let this go
Let it leave my body
I shouldn’t be jealous
Kewayne Wadley Sep 2018
Asking a question does more than fill open space.
It expresses curiosity.
Devolving into things not easily expressed.
Given our availability.
It expresses a deeper need for connection.
Whether we are open to what we desire most.
Closed off to preference.
 The right time of day or night we can de-clutter.
Taking in what we give out.
Asking a question isn't something done out of boredom.
Or merely because your there.
It expresses a thought that requires action.
That I've thought of you.
That there is a desire laid bare.
An anticipation that builds until the next time
I am able to hear your voice.
For the more serious moments require a deeper tone.
An ear that senses deeper need.
Responding to this deep need of connection.
A need of care.
A need of longing.
To respond to this vulnerability not out of responsibility.
But in the openness of being
looking into her eyes
I can see my heart
gently closing
openness
for the night
For One to be Open,
all One must do
is not be Closed.

Aye; indeed t'is the rub
that such is so much easier said
than t'is done.

Yea, tho that be true;
t'is but the knowledge thereof, itself,
that arms the worthy Ones with the potential
to be Aware,
and thus
to overcome.

T'is not a matter of innate ability:
t'is rather a matter of choice;
of practice;
of attention:
of Openness.

Seek that you may become Open
(not that you aren't,
but I know I  so often forget
and thus I assume
that others must as well!)

by attempting to train yourself
not to be Closed;
try to remember
to not be Closed.

It only shrinks your world.
Trust me: I've been there.

I sometimes forget to leave.


Moral of the story:
Seek to be an Open Person
rather than a Closed one.
I don't mean extroverted or introverted,
I don't mean monogamous or polyamorous,
I don't mean liberal or conservative,
I don't mean religious of atheist,
I don't mean anything like that;
It's much deeper:
more fundamental to your Self:

*Do not close yourself off.
That is damnation.

Remain in pursuit of Openness.
It is the best path to Awakening.
See my soul
Look through
My eyes, see
Depth and love
Being my arms
Wrapped around
Warm yourself
By the fires
Beating my breast
Playing music
A soundtrack
To our every
Moment, falling
Into each other
Again, in love
Tangled, twine
A knot, tied
Never to be
Unfound
Look to me
As I
Look to you
And our
Hands touch
Lips kiss
Eyes meet
And are
Never
Alone
John Mar 2013
Hi, I'm Jackie. I am 18 years old and I'm a senior at Brennan Burton High School in Frederickson, New York. Frederickson is the suburban wasteland that you've doubtlessly seen and read about in countless movies, TV shows and books concerned with life in these mind-numbingly dull pockets of land. If you can even call it "life", that is. However, I find that the aforementioned depictions of the people and happenings in towns like mine are, more often than not, completely wrong. It makes me wonder if the people writing these shows and films have ever taken the initiative to actually venture out of their modest little apartments in SoHo to see for themselves what an actual suburbia feels like. But, I digress... Sort of. The purpose of my story is to try to prove to you that what you think about suburbia is probably all wrong, or mostly wrong.
     Now, where to begin?
     OK. I live in a two-story house that was built in the wake of World War II. It was one of those houses that government built for the soldiers who were returning from the war to live happy and prosperous lives in with their smiling families. That was a long time ago though, and now it seems like most of the houses in my town are occupied by single mothers, single fathers or familial units that include a step-mother or step-father. And my family is no different, being made up of my father, Henry (everyone calls him Hank) and my little brother Huxley. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer only a few months after Huxley was born. They did everyting they could for her, but the cancer was advanced and she passed away only a few months after her initial diganosis. I loved my mother. She was a strong woman, she went to college, got a well paying job and gave birth to two kids. Sounds like a busy life, especially when you take into account that she was only 38 when she died.
     Thinking about her too much kind of shifts me into slow-mo, so I'm moving on. I love my dad, too. He's had a hard life. He grew up in a hard part of the city and had to drop out of school to start working at around 14 or 15. Not too long after he started working to help his family out, his father disappeared. Supposedly, my grandfather was involved with some sketchy people and, without a doubt, probably was involved in some sketchy dealings. Anyway, after he disappeared, my father was forced to work 18 hour days, 7 days a week. My grandmother was an alcoholic and a pill popper before my grandfather disappeared, and afterward it only got worse. One day when my father got home from work, he found his mother drowning in her own ***** on the kitchen floor. He rushed her to hospital, but it was too late. And to top it all off, when he got home, floating in the inch deep puke, he found her suicide note. That's when my father decided to pack his bags and move out of the city. Soon, he found work in an autobody shop and started saving money. Not long after that, his boss introduced him to his daughter who was around the same age. His boss's daughter turned out to be my mom.
     Sorry if all this background is annoying, but I figure if you want to read my story, you might as well know my parents' stories too. After all, if there were no them, then there would be no me. But yeah, my father. He's a good guy. Always quick to make light of any situation. You'll never catch him bringing the emotional air of a situation down. That;s just not how he operates, and now that I think about it, I can see why. If he had made a habit of that, he no doubt would've ended up like his mother. I'm very appreciative of him and everything that he does, I just wish I got around to tell him that more often.
     Then there's my brother Huxley. He's 9 years old, in the 4th grade and was named after Aldous Huxley, the author of Brave New World, my mother's favorite book. The name is eerily fitting too, almost as if his being named after a famous author was a foreshadowing of sorts. While his best friends are playing the latest PlayStation game, Huxley is devouring a novel. Basically, if you put it in front of him, he'll ****** it up and be quoting it the next time you see him. He's a smart kid, a really smart kid and I couldn't be prouder as an older sister, especially these days, when the only ting kids read are text messages and Facebook statuses. Whenever I go to the library to finish schoolwork, I always try to pick something up for him. The last one I got him was Carrie by Stephen King, one of my favorite authors. After he finished it though, he told me he'd much rather me bring him home another Nicholas Sparks book. I can't say you would ever hear those words coming out of my mouth, but I admire the kid's openness. I picked him up The Choice a few days ago, and when I checked in on him that night his smile was never brighter. He quickly kissed my cheek and told me he only had a few chapters left so I had to leave him be. All in all, he's quiet, shy and sensitive and I love him for that.
The unfinished first chapter to a short I'm writing that very well could turn out to be my first real attempt at a television pilot. Be gentle, it is unfinished and I've yet to even read through it yet, so yeah. Raw, unedited and unfinished. Let me know what you think. Thanks.
Hussein Dekmak Apr 2017
Break down the barriers, break down the wall
So I can see your smiling face and your white teeth and all

Break down the barriers, break down the wall
Let your inner beauty shine through, so with your kindness you can stand up tall!

Break down the barriers, break down the wall
So you can give me an helping hand and answer the helpless' call!  

Break down the barriers, break down the wall
So, you can share with the world the magic of your beautiful brain ball!

Break down the barriers, break down the wall
So that together we can enjoy the songs of the melody birds, so we can experience the great outdoors,
Admire nature for its openness, with no barriers, no walls.
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
little girl
I want you to keep everything that makes you strong
I want you to treasure
the reason you can still stand tall
I want you to be wild
and free with desire
Ignore their calls, feed your fire

and little girl
how can you be hurt so many times?
your soul is young
you tongue is gold
I've never seen you yet turn cold
and I want you to stay
though you shan't be long
so hold your head high little girl
don't conform to the brokenness
let your creaking be a different kind
than the the overwhelming, the openness
that wickedness has dared to spread
little girl don't creep back with the rest
Keep trying your best
I don't want you left for dead

little girl
you are only 65
I'm telling you
you still have time
so hold on to your wits
and shine
and then
your glow might last my lifetime
I've been given a lot of advise recently from older people I will never meet again. I guess this would be my spiel to them.
tigerdan Sep 2012
College: the four year roller coaster ride,
Ridden by purchasing a one-way ticket to adulthood.
Blink, and it will pass before the very eyes
That take in media-based images,
Depicting college as no work and all play.

Click,   Click,    Click,    Click,

Leaving proud and teary-eyed parents behind,
We enter *******-box bedrooms
Filling them with unbridled enthusiasm, unadulterated optimism, and a hint of unidentified angst.
Even menial tasks like eating at the cafeteria or watching television
Are made enjoyable with new friends and a sense of independence.

Click,   Click,    Click,    Click,

We are filled with energy like hot-air in balloons,
Rising in the coaster as we ascend upward.
However, we ignore an important lesson
We have learned from any ride we been on or story we've read:
Nothing stays positive forever.

Click,   Click,    Click,    Click,

They say that ACT scores are designed
To determine your success in the first year of college.
But few of us take these tests while coping with things like:
Depression, suicide, bad grades, fear of independence,
Loss of identity, or unprecedented amounts of drinking.

Click,   Click.

These factors inevitably come into play
And collapse the kickstand of optimism holding our chins up.
We find ourselves hurling toward the ground;
And as if gravity has pulled them harder,
We reach to the seat in front of us,
To retrieve our hope, our control, our breath.
As we fall, we feel hopeless, helpless, speechless,
And wonder if we will make impact.

It is perhaps at this time more than any other,
We realize the importance of friends and family.
They reach their branches out
And root us in the soil of understanding and openness.
Like the front car of the coaster,
They pull us out of the plummet.
After experiencing the highs and lows of the ride,
The rest seems a manageable imbalance of work and play.

We spend time in libraries, cataloging our actions and emotions
Into a book, self-titled but preceded by "face."
Such internet activity is the placebo
We self-prescribe for procrastination, an epidemic among our people.

Drinking from Solo cups half-full with liquids as impure as our intentions,
We end our weeks hungover from mental exertion and social immersion.
But the optimist in me sees that these cups are half empty,
Ready to be filled with future plans and dreams.
Dreams of being teachers, doctors, nurses, lawyers;
Having houses with three-car garages, guest rooms, and foyers.

You see, this is a ride where no one judges you
If your hands or feet are outside the ride,
If you scream when you're excited, cry when you're scared,
Or puke at the end.
So remove your blinders and beer goggles,
And enjoy this while it lasts,
Because it is the final ride in the amusement park of youth.
Dear Dec 2013
Listen to this @ https://soundcloud.com/spiritbarehear/the-living-instrument

PRESSURE - like animal skin stretched over the head of a drum,
my heart,
BEATING, like ancient hands, BEATING
an even more ancient rhythm, BEATING. BEATING.
tribal eyes wide, pupils bare, BEATING
with ayahausca or psilocybin, ibogain or some sort of villlage speed
BEATEN. BEATEN.
with dirt and herbs, a lion's adrenal gland to make the Super Amphetamine,
royal in it's derivatives
and it makes the heart BEAT BEAT BEAT
like a prisoner in the straight jacket of lungs it BEATS and screams blood into bursting vessels
it BEATS like the misunderstood youth of the 20th Century, the frenetic spirit HOT and LOUD
and lost...
POUNDING HEART BEAT NO MORE FOR THE NON-**** GIVERS!
leave it to the liver to filter out those toxic connections that evoke those dire emotions
arresting both the heart and the breath
IF I AM TO FEEL CLOSE TO DEATH
let it be because if I were to live any longer in a happiness, it would just be unfair to the rest
that if I were to live any longer in a happiness
the whole of my being would fold into the openness of my chest
IF I AM TO FEEL CLOSE TO DEATH
it will not be caused by a PANIC, a PANIC caused by a PUSH, a PUSH caused by discontentment, discontentment caused by impatience, and impatience caused
by the resounding WUBwubWUBwubWUBwub of a beating heart.
THE LIVING INSTRUMENT.
living instrument, sing to me what is meant
living instrument, can you forget
what once made  your strings as heavy as led?
what once made you wrench?
living instrument, twice as large as the machine in the skull, why do we bother with loving?
living instrument, are you solid enough to take this fall?
SassyJ Feb 2016
Juxtapositional Refinement Redefined  (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)**
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
== JRR ==
by
SassyJ
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Credits to: Angelina Lopez (HP Poetess)

(Copy the link below to your browser)



Juxtapositional refinement redefined:
When you meet beautiful souls we have been taught by the society to confine them. Like "I love you" but what does that word really mean. Does it mean "sharing in openness" or does it mean " been confined in expectations and obligations".
The paradigm that we live in as society is delusional. We have learnt to analyse the "in between" based on our analytical and logical systems. But how about going to the individuals involved and creating an open dialogue to talk about what the situation may be. This is a thorough and more accurate way of attaining acuity.
To flow in openness is like listening to 'harmonious jazz music' ...... it is like inhaling the beauty of the ginger scent in the breeze.
Life itself speaks to us and we don't have to make it complicated. If we only were able to have an open platform..... hearts that are blissful and not tainted by fear then we can redefine the contrasting views of dichotomy that we have as mankind.
In essence, If you haven't communicated to someone openly about something ...... we should never draw out conclusions. They will only be pre-judgemental notions oozing with constraining predefined and predetermined assumptions. Give everyone a chance and the world will smile!
Follow the spoken word linking sound cloud https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/sounds-from-thursday-afternoon
Elizz Oct 2018
(1). Loving you was like taking a rusted knife down the skin of my hope
And slowly flaying it approximately moving only two inches within every three minutes.

(2). If I could've I would have slapped you as hard as I possibly could the moment you wouldn't take your hands off of me only allowing it
Under the guise of "this is the way he shows he loves you."

(3). Trying to get you to let me love you to love me to love you
Was like trying to squeeze into a dress that was just one size too small

(3). The lines blurred halfway through the relationship and my tongue always felt too heavy when saying "I love you too"

(3). Trying to get your attention when it was something that I liked or it was something important to me
Was like going to the beach vacuuming up SAND and then putting it in my car and trying to get it out over the following few months. I never could just get it all at one time I'd find bits and pieces waiting for me.

(3). But there will forever be a small part of me that is just too naïve to not love you. Not the ******* that you turned into over those few years. No the person that I would always walk into gym with laughing the person I would continue to laugh with even after I got home. Who would notice my absence and when I wasn't in a room that I should've been in.

(4). You may have changed and that's granted just like the tides changing. But I think maybe if they could actually have a conscious they'd always remember where they came from.

(4). Just like how I remember where you came from still holding onto a little corner of hope. That maybe you'll wake up and realize that what you've become isn't good.

(4). But a crystal castle can shatter and I know you won't

(5). I knew that when I looked into your eyes and saw that candle flame wasn't there I should've left,

(6). Remember when I asked you how it would feel if I did this and you said not good. And then you turned around and did the same thing I didn't do. And then YOU had the nerve in hell to get mad at me. And because I'm easily intimidated you used that to your advantage. And soon enough you had me crying and crumpled apologizing to you. Because I remember that.

(7). When you said you loved me your lips were lined with sugar and ants were cascading off of your tongue. Every word you said was alive and stinging even when it was supposed to be accusingly soothing.

(8). When someone tells you that dating your birthday twin is "goals" it's not. And it will never be when their pH number starts to erode because of how acidic and toxic they've become. Don't listen it's a literal trap and I urge you to get out of that crumbling castle. Because you may think that stained glass is pretty when it catches the light but it'll never be pretty when it's coated in your blood.

(9). I don't hate you

(9). I don't hate you
I don't hate you
It's been a broken record repeating in my head because there are two sides that realize maybe I should maybe I even deserve to do so.

(10). I don't hate you and I don't love you anymore not like I used to I love a dead person and they'll always be close to me. But they won't keep me from moving on because I know that they'd want me to be happy. Now who you are is just someone who graces my keys. My nightmares and my pen. I told you once on a day that wasn't good for you. That if I had to write until my hand fell off all of the things I loved about you I would.
Every Christmas
Every thanksgiving
Every Easter
Every birthday that WE shared
  
(10). And even when I just wanted to see you smile. That was when I had a thirteen year old's unmarred un-abused bruised taken not  for advantage of heart. I loved you with a complete and innocent openness.
But now when I write about you there isn't a glimmer of warmth on a frost bitten day. And there's not a single cascaded bit of happiness.

(11). Thank you for reinforcing my appreciation of the little things that people do for me. And thank you for showing me how I should really be treated. Even though there were easier ways to do so. But sometimes if you're especially hard headed you gotta get hurt a little to know you should let someone go. Or even give up on the person they've become.
Accidentally posted this without knowing. Thought I had changed it to draft. Updated.
Nina O'Donovan Apr 2016
Fig
There is a place
in you
that needs a name
but you're an absolute beginner
at naming things.
Centred in this pathos, I've never known

whether to create stillness or bitter passion.
In this, there is a sacrifice,
something to see through to the end.

The openness I sometimes extract
can break me down.
Is it better
to find a way to say it?
Would it be better to hang for it

or to forget
how the fig is fertilised?
In its sweetness,
to forget
the distaste of undermining friendship.
I have stretched myself into the past.

I have stretched my body
to see the places it could end.
Vein bubbles
from where it started,
wet bloodgasps;
sorry smear of a poem

they write your name next to.
History repeats, all that's left;
neutrality at the cost of
a better passion,
and the count of
how many ribs you have and how many you've lost.

I abuse my fingers
and still expect them to carry me through.
There's always a way
to see trauma as something to crawl into.
Toby Sebastian Jul 2015
At the lakeside
thoughts and water
merge in tranquility.

A gentle breeze
and some chattering birds,
separate now only in words.
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

(Pradip Chattopadhyay)
A man of many stories, letting out thy soul, love, and worries;
As thou giveth us tale's of faraway Land's.

ii.

(Angelina lopez)
Thou hast had it rough since thou hath joined, we art here to helpeth thee be happy and support thy voice, continue in love.

iii.

(Gary L)
Man like me of cell's, man of freedom's Bell's, a dear friend;
A brother to the end, and a speaker of truth in all fashion's.

iv.

(Mysterious ♈ Aries)
Nothing to compare to thee, thou art different than most;
To thee I raiseth a toast dear poetic, to thine openness and pen.

v.

(amiee)
Writing deeply of thine life, of all thing's wrong and right;
As a scholar of inspiration, a poetess of this nation, striking rich.

vi.

(Rainey Birthwright)
Rhymester of old fashioned polite, stylish bold and bright;
As the star's thou writeth upon,,dusk til' dawn.

vii.

(Pax)
From the land of the Philippine's, a tropical place so green;
Thy writing like coconut water clean, as mango juice supreme.

viii.

(Bill murray)
Comic to this site, speaking strange thought's from thine mind;
Though finely crafted is thine character and stance, Old shine.

ix.

(Packin' Heat)
Writing of kisses, reality, wishes, heartfelt aura's;
Untamed, flaming writing of amour' and flora.

x.

(Katie)
A wonder of oldened growth, gold Glow's from thy throat;
Word's relic, ancient, keep them like seen ghost's.

xi.

(Poetic T)
Poetic darkness, poetic scream's, I heareth and feeleth thy pain's;
Like rain thine jotting is intense, no money shalt buy thy sense.

xii.

(SPT)
Compassionate caring being, writing of displeasure, and pleasurable thing's; as thou art a Free willed spirit living beyond.

xiii.

(Cecil Miller)
A man who hateth plagiarism, with narrative's of truth;
A poet on the loose, not tied in some noose, unchained spirit.

xiv.

(Tommy Jackson)
From the land down south, writing for thine amour', and thy guitar, keepeth on with the rock and roll and love in thy house.

xv.

(beth stclair)
I've written for thee before, but thou art one of mine top inspirational being's, a novelist of heavenly thing's, dear friend.

xvi.

(Vicki)
I've written for thee to, thy tongue canst sure speaketh and groove; making melodies of thy living's, and daily giving's.

xvii.

(Impeccable Space Poetess)
A poetess indeed, spreading delightful poetry seed's;
As I prayeth thine hard time's shalt get better, this is thy letter.

xviii.

(Sourodeep)
Romantic of midnight deep, awaketh us from ourn sleep;
As thy word's we keep tucked under our cotton Pillow's.

xix.

(Arfah Afaqi Zia)
Writing word's of love of past and new, a supporter, one so true, I thanketh thee for all thou doth do, continue in light poet.

**.

(David Ehrgott)
Writing master of thy own argot, thou art honest to the government's scheme's and plot's, awaking all who hast forgot.

xxi.

(His Bad Girl ***)
Telling verse's of amour', opening to all thine yearning door;
Telling of amare on thine own shore's, continue to seeketh love.

xxii.

(Randolph L Wilson)
Speaking of sweet glory of Georgia and the south, of the peaches succulent to one's mouth, new thou art to h.p. welcome friend.

xxiii.

(Earl Jane Nagley)
Mine lover, mine queen, mine reality, mine dream, forever we shalt be, as thou art more than worthy, I thanketh thee for thy support, wonderful writer of Yahweh, to me thou art mine muse, mine angel of the celestial church, giver to mine birth, empress to mine search, ruby of mine shine, chalice to mine wine, hand of eternal time, O' how great thou art, O' how magnificent thou art!!!!!!



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©H.p poets dedication
xxiv.

(Natalia mushara)
Thou hath hadst hardship to, continue on, keep going through;
Overcometh the bad and the rude, be thou, be thou oh poetess.

xxv.

(its gonna make sense)
Woman of the unknown, bringing on the 6th sense;
As in suspense thou leaveth us to readeth more.

xxvi.

(Elizabeth Squires)
Old fashioned designer;
Of poetry in its original form.

xxvii.

(Paige Pots)
Woman of the cross, continueth to preach Christ's word;
Scream it, bleed it, to those whom haven't heard.
R Saba Jan 2014
honestly?
your happiness makes my throat drown
in some sort of almost-tearful
rise to the occasion
of your smile
and every sad word, or quick avoidance
dries me up, aching
with a strong want for the alleviation
of whatever it is that drags your footsteps
whatever it is that brings you down to my level
and closer to understanding me
and perhaps it's that fear of complete openness
that makes me rush to brighten your day
or maybe it's just the fact
that i care
either way, i do what i can and more
to paint the clouds away
for you
it's a wonderfully freaky feeling to care this much
ThoughT Jul 2013
Flying with words from a Buddhist,
Fully understanding why I do this.

Through the thick grasses of what used to be
Vibrations grew, leading me to the new, beautifully.
Pushed passed predators policing my passionate prison,
To find the transparent temple of tranquility was always within.
The phoenix has risen, and the flakes of ash laid out the now vibrant path
Sprouting plants, and cherished moments alike.

I had a groove movin' though me
and it was so surreal that I felt I had to give out that electric feel.
Crowds of countless surrounded a gate watching performers at play.
I was where I wanted to be, and wouldn't have it any other way
The tempo picked up and amplified vibes throughout,
It rains through our souls as if we've been enduring a drought
Intensity increased and we got lifted off the herbal medication.
Took everything in with my senses, total awareness meditation.
Spotted a brown-eyed beauty in my peripheral,
Locked into contact the connection was mystical

All worries and concerns in this space and time were less than minimal

Hands grazed sparking the flame of something physical
Made a space in my magnetic field, that she knew just how to fill
Our bodies locked together, in a sea of individuals
A love was shared right there with the pair, unequivocal.

Stars align for moments in time,
And this was one of those bliss-ridden moments
Where you just wanna delicately hold it
~Like I held her~
Direct hand and body implantations of warm vibrations
Brought further realizations on how to live

I continued on,
Following breaths knowing I had nothing but love to give,
and a smile to wear.
I don't know exactly where I'm going,
but I know I'll be there
With spare energy to emit unto you, and you to infinity

Our destinies are recipes,
That manifest when we realize we were already blessed with the ingredients.
Don't let fear or worry rule, when results are not immediate,
Because everything you are, and everything you do,
is significant.

Be the bearers of love you want to stumble upon
Which may be on someone's lawn,
Sharing smiles and laughter until the light indicates dawn.
Expose your universe through openness, and equanimity, letting your divinity shine through.
Then, friends, you attract waves of radiation from the pure that want to share their world with you.

Expectations can cause complications,
So look around and ~just be~.

Instinctively interested in the intricate,
Imagination captivating me, so I'll close my eyes and sit with it.
I leave pieces of me wherever I go,
But it took me a long time to realize I was always whole.
I openly give my heart out, some would call it a steal
But none can say I don't genuinely reach out without zeal
Growing forever, watering my roots
Ecstatically entangled in a web of mystery, nomadic in this book.
Changing history, but sometimes it's satisfying to reread,
~Let's have another look~

No pictures on the pages, but each word is so evocative to me

So I must continue writing, and experimenting with experiences
Loving from the inside out, reading body language.
*One step at a time, this is going to be a story for the ages

— The End —