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Ito Apr 2014
I'm part of the unemployed youth,
it's the truth,
a generation of dreamers with endless ambition,
all with one mission:
to strive for attention under constant tension.

Overprotected and neglected,
yet somehow connected,
attacked by the constant barrage of words,
we fly like birds,
we are truly free in our imagination.

No hope for a better tomorrow,
in love with sorrow,
nothing left to borrow.
Money comes at a high cost,
your youth...lost after slavery to the economy.
Stanza 1:  Mentions the workforce who are qualified for jobs but lack experience.
Stanza 2:  Alludes to the workforce who do not need a job and remain content.
Stanza 3:  Speaks of the workforce that need any job and are willing to trade their youth for money.
allan harold rex May 2012
Muggy murky dawn clogged with gloom the abbey

Where his grampy sleeps ,

Through

the drizzles fizzle

As native orchids embosoms and blossoms in his lost vault.

like a curfew drawn in the church

The pew lost its crowd

With the paws of time.

Lone man sleep

In deep latin chants they petrify you

Before sheol purifies you

And litany literature lecture limbs you

When in overprotected embankments of battlements

They dry their garbs

Where your lore forayed growth

And sweat smeared smelt breathed wealth

Chagrin dreams washed ashore

lay as upon a cold mornings recollection on a tabloids sold column

which drew your freckles bolder

In a savour of remembrance

For your zealous zealots

Who on an another 'all souls day' reoccur revisiting

the truth of their establishment


in prayers
The good Lord adorn you
Let Lekker dreams cradle you
Your consorts concert never consume you
And earth never haunt you
Claire Ellen Dec 2013
music enters my mind
words come out
spill on this paper
bleed onto my hands
work on your body,
work in the shop
drop
       drop
              drop
that gotdame weight,
sorry i don't use Gods name
in vein,
in my viens, you'll see my blue blood side.
Come deeper into my lungs,
you'll see my deep breathing sacs.
Dont go deeper, you'll see my brain
my thoughts
                      my words
                                        my-my-my-
mine. Those words are mine,
and they will stay that way
until I decide when is best to tell you.
Tell you, feel you, I wont use you.
Don't fear the love given upon you.
Music repeating
to keep the beating,
MIA. What? you've never seen me in action?
or is it missing in action?
Do those mean the same thing?
What about Heaven and Hell,
Do those mean the same thing?
One can't exist without the other, so
I guess so.
I stand on my on guesses,
you can persuade me easily,
if you have hard evidence that means something.
Don't waste my time,
I'm on a schedule.
Interrupt and you'll be sorry.
But I invited you, remember?
I said to come swim in my veins,
that doesn't mean I'll let you out though.
Be careful, once your in there,
It's hard to come unattached to some
one big eyed, big sass, big assed
as me.
Opps, dont like my language?
To bad for you, I'm not sorry,
You must have just been overprotected
and under responded too.
Honey, I do what I want with your permission or not.
Don't do that, it makes me too hot.
Dance
          dance
                      dance
like the world is ending.
Jump on my shoulders lets go for a ride.
AK-47, you know what that means?
It means, I got one and you don't,
It means don't **** around.
Love me or don't.
Don't string me like some puppet.
I'll rip through your mastery,
and show the world the fake you are.
Be you,
and see that really,
your not as bad as me.
Jill Miller Nov 2016
Over.
That word.
Over. What does that mean? Over?
"Its over."
Reading it a million and one times, and still not comprehending.
Can't make sense of it.
"We're over."
Meaning, you and I are over? Over what?
I'm not over you. Are you over me?
****! I was over you last week, and you sure as hell didn't seem to mind!
You were into me then!
Really into me.... Into me and out of me.
You were over me too then. Still into me and out of me.
What is over? What in the **** is over?!
Remember when it was come over?! Then come closer. Then closer to coming all over.
Now I'm only coming undone.
Done.
Over.
I say the word out loud. Over.
Over and Over and Over.
"Its over," I say.
I feel the vibrations in my throat as the two tiny words pluck my vocal chords and swim their way up to make my tongue and lips form them and make them real.
"Its over." I say it again.
This time the words catch in my throat. Probably blocked by the lump holding back the stupid tears.
Overwhelmed. Overpowered. Overthinking.
Heart overprotected because WE'RE OVER!
ITS OVER!
Over hurts. Such a stupid word.
Over isn't so much a word, as a feeling.
A variation of feelings.
I liked to feel you over me.
You liked to feel me over you.
Now, we're over.
It's over.
And over hurts until I get over you; get over it.
I have to get over it, because its over.
Over.
That feeling.
How do you get over over?

— The End —