"participated" poems
I stopped writing for awhile
For I had started to forget
Forget what it was like to
Be left alone again.
After you had left I was abandoned
With my own thoughts I had to write
A love as pure as you is something I cannot find over night.
And for some time I was there
Stuck in desperation for a little more
Left to try and repair my body
My life stuck in a repetitious bore.
But slowly I pulled myself out
Finding serenity through friends
Peace of mind came quickly, easier
I found that my thoughts of you came to an end.
I participated, I went out
I let others hold me as you once did
And slowly I found life less lonesome
To open up and be happy again.
But once more you came back knocking
With hopes to drag me in
And in my foolish glee, I accepted
And I went spiraling down again.
I got caught up in speaking with you
Then forgot that it would soon end
For when you got what you had wanted
I was left alone to fend.
I'm quick to jump to conclusions:
Maybe I could get you back again
Or I could always turn and find it easiest
To stay laughing with my friends.
But we both know that I won't choose the latter
I'm weak and foolish to try to crawl back
But that never matters
*For I'm addicted to your attention
And I slip down at your suspension.*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
No Nut November
Is the hardest thing
I have ever participated in.
Seriously, it’s really hard.
Like all the time, and at the most
INCONVENIENT places.
Waiting for the train? Hard.
Taking a dump? Hard.
Wedding or funeral?
Yea let’s not go there...
But the worst moment by far
was telling a homeless man
I didn’t have any change, and he
Said, “it’s okay, no one’s been this
happy to see me in years”
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 5:37 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel like a participation trophy.
Congrats, you did it.
Here's to commemorate your dedication
Now goodbye, go do something better with your time
Earn something you're not afraid to show off
That's worth more than this five cents of plastic
Unless, of course, you're not good at anything
In which case look, everyone, at my trophy.
I participated in something
That took more effort than eating food or breathing
I showed up sometimes
And did some stuff
And I got this trophy I can put on my top shelf
So everyone can see it's a trophy,
But no one knows I barely earned it.
Not that anyone cares anyway
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
this is a letter to all of those
who stumbled upon my dull eyes
and poetic words
i apologize to those who participated in
whispered i love you's and dreams shared
for watching from afar as your cared for me
a half of a whole
you held my body, empty
my soul scooped out of myself
like an acorn squash during winter months
nothing left but the skin
and my soul out among the wildflowers
searching for the missing parts of me
searching for my home
i placed my body in your hands
letting you sip the wine that made up me
drizzling you in honey, in sweetness, and in light
for i knew you would protect me
scrawling poetry into the broken bits
the unfiltered bits
you would cause me to feel something on cold winter nights
i am sorry that when my soul stumbled home
bringing home the bits that were missing
that you were left alone
standing in the dark under streetlights
unsure of where you went wrong
broken promises and dreams in your hands
drowning in your own love
suffocating on your sunshine
cursing yourself for loving too hard
i am sorry for hurting you
but thank you for loving me
even when i left you lonely
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
The Love of God
Is not average love
Definitely not the love of today
Is this why people look in such a way
Which keeps them guessing
Wondering why you’re not stressin’
Over hurts of the past nor yesterday
See, I have experienced His Agape
I’ve learned, every hurt is not a deal breaker
Every wrong deed does not warrant a person being deserted
When was the last time you hurt a friend
Not for the first time, but… again
Sometimes forgiveness and restoration is for the best
Not all hurts should be overly stressed
Have you participated in your fair share of mess…?
I guess, yes
Practice restoration and forgiveness
Because…
Every hurt is not a deal breaker
Every wrong deed does not warrant a person being deserted
Walk in His Agape love
Simply His Love “Unconditional”
~Butterfly εїз 2014©
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Georgiana Seymour,
Duchess of Somerset
crowned _'Queen of Beauty'_
at the 1839 Eglinton
Tournament, the first known
beauty pageant;
W
European festivals dating to the medieval era
provide the most direct lineage for beauty pageants.
For example, English May Day celebrations always
involved the selection of a May Queen.
In the United States, the May Day tradition
of selecting a woman to serve as a symbol
of bounty and community ideals continued,
as young beautiful women participated
in public celebrations; such as the beauty pageant
held during the Eglinton Tournament of 1839,
organized by Archibald Montgomerie, 13th Earl of Eglinton,
as part of a re-enactment of a medieval joust
that was held in Scotland; the pageant was won
by Georgiana Seymour, Duchess of Somerset,
wife of Edward Seymour, 12th Duke of Somerset,
and sister of Caroline Norton;
Georgiana proclaimed _"Queen of Beauty"_;
Entrepreneur Phineas Taylor Barnum staged
the first modern American pageant in 1854,
his beauty contest closed down after public protest;
However beauty contests became popular
in the 1880s; In 1888 the title of _'beauty queen'_
was awarded to an 18-year-old Creole contestant
at a pageant in Spa, Belgium. All participants
had to supply a photograph & a short description
of themselves to be eligible to enter; a final selection
of 21 judged by a formal panel.
Such events were not regarded as respectable;
But beauty contests came to be considered more
respectable with the first modern _"Miss America"_
contest held in 1921;
Still the oldest pageant in operation,
the Miss America pageant was organized
in 1921 by a local businessman as a means
to entice tourists to Atlantic City, New Jersey;
The pageant hosted the winners of local
newspaper beauty contests in the
_Inter-City Beauty Contest_ & was attended
by over one hundred thousand people;
_Sixteen-year-old Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C.
was crowned Miss America 1921, having won both the
popularity and beauty contests, and was awarded $100_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter design from the 1930s. Some 14,000 Hurricane and Sea Hurricane fighters and fighter-bombers were built by the end of 1944。 August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane's shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain. RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses. Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated. The Hurricane underwent many modifications during its life, resulting in many major variants, including the Mk IA, with interchangeable wings housing eight 7.7mm (0.303in) guns;the Mk IIC, with a Merlin ** engine; the Mk IID, a tankbuster with two 40mm anti-tank guns plus two 7.7mm guns. During the war, Hurricanes were sold to Egypt, Finland, India, the Irish， Persia, Turkey and the USSR Air Corps.More in http://www.rangorango.com/124-series-c-1_5.html
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
Written for a school project
September 09, 2013
To: Evan Riddle
From: Granddad
Well, I understand that you would like to have a letter from me, recognizing certain traits, and accomplishments, and so forth. Begging your pardon, I will begin in this manner.
A couple of years ago, during a"pre-game warmup" prior to the start of one of your games, I was standing behind the glass watching the pucks bounce off your chest. A young boy, perhaps a year younger, came up, stood beside me, also watching you. He then turned, yelling to a friend, "here he is, #41!" He was quickly joined by his friend and another, all three watching you at close range.You have no idea how that made me feel. How proud of you I was, that apparently your reputation was developing among your peers within the "ice crowd."
In my home, on a wall, is a photo of you, taken during the All-Star game in Ottawa, Canada. You, wearing the red and white All-Star jersey, standing in front of the net watching and observing the action that soon would be coming at you.
This is my favorite photo. The expression on your face silently reflects your abilities to "focus" on what you are supposed to do, the "determination" to do it, and the "perseverance" to get it done. Three traits that have followed, and stayed with you, and guided you to be successful, in all you have accomplished in both sport and academic activities in which you have participated. You are respected by your team, your coaches, your teachers, and your classmates. You can't have better than that.
Love you,
Granddad
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
I refuse to stay silent
I've participated in the day of silence twice now
The first time in 8th grade
We got cards that explained why we weren't speaking
I stayed silent the whole day
And felt quite special about it too
Lunch was a long game of charades
And I thought to myself
"I can't wait for the next day of silence."
And I hardly thought about why I was being silent
To begin with
9th grade I did it again
I brought a whole pack of sticky notes with me
And by the end of the day,
I felt the need to plant a tree
To pay the world back for all the paper wasted
I broke my silence by lunch time
Because my friend needed to tell me
How much she wanted to ask this girl out
And I wanted to ask this boy out
And I went home that night
Hardly thinking about why
I was (mostly) silent that day
April 11th would be my third year
Participating in the Day Of Silence
If I was participating
Which I won't be
Not become I'm homophobic or anything
Oh, no
But I began to think about being silent
And what it accomplished
What does it accomplish?
I realize it's supposed to be symbolic
Of LGBT youth whose voices are forever silenced
Because they decided their life should end
On their own terms
Suicide is a taboo word
A stigmatized topic
I'm not gay, or bi, or trans
But there are nights
When suicide looks easier
But I can't tell anyone I feel like this
Because no one likes discussing ugly things
And we'd rather live with the pretty lies
And it's much easier to fake a smile
Than lose all my friends
So what kind of message are we sending
When we stay silent on subjects like suicide
And students stay silent
Because they don't want to speak in class
And then feel like they're doing the world a favor
Making some political statement
I want to tell the story
Of the girl who got kicked out of her house
For bringing another girl home
I want to share the tragedy
Of the boy, bullet in brain
Because he was born a she
I want to be the voice
Saying "It's okay."
Not censoring my words
Maybe I'm misinterpreting
What the Day Of Silence is all about
But at least I have the power to say
You will never silence me
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
CLOWNS DYINGFIVE circus clowns dying this year, morning newspapers told their lives, how each one horizontal in a last gesture of hands arranged by an undertaker, shook thousands into convulsions of laughter from behind rouge-red lips and powder-white face.
STEAMBOAT BILLWhen the boilers of the Robert E. Lee exploded, a steamboat winner of many races on the Mississippi went to the bottom of the river and never again saw the wharves of Natchez and New Orleans.
And a legend lives on that two gamblers were blown toward the sky and during their journey laid bets on which of the two would go higher and which would be first to set foot on the turf of the earth again.
FOOT AND MOUTH PLAGUEWhen the mysterious foot and mouth epidemic ravaged the cattle of Illinois, Mrs. Hector Smith wept bitterly over the government killing forty of her soft-eyed Jersey cows; through the newspapers she wept over her loss for millions of readers in the Great Northwest.
SEVENSThe lady who has had seven lawful husbands has written seven years for a famous newspaper telling how to find love and keep it: seven thousand hungry girls in the Mississippi Valley have read the instructions seven years and found neither illicit loves nor lawful husbands.
PROFITEERI who saw ten strong young men die anonymously, I who saw ten old mothers hand over their sons to the nation anonymously, I who saw ten thousand touch the sunlit silver finalities of undistinguished human glory-why do I sneeze sardonically at a bronze drinking fountain named after one who participated in the war vicariously and bought ten farms?
1.9k
2 addicts in conversation
I've always said the act of love itself from unrequited to world wind is a drug that claims more addicts than all narcotics combine. From the rush to the withdrawals. tears and anticipation to the eruption of having it taken from you. This love drug leaves you a fiend even if you've never participated in its consumption, you pursue, hunt, track and lose your mind for the slimmest of chance in its acquisitions.
Let's take a hit together now and forever. As friends, lovers, partners, and unify.
I feel you! I hear you! Where siblings of the same needle in its lust and retrieval.
-xin-
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
She was just an average girl,
in an average world,
with an average family.
She went to an average school,
with average friends,
and had average grades.
She lived in a small average town,
with average stores,
and average neighbors.
She participated in average clubs,
competed in average sports,
and achieved average awards.
She had an average boyfriend,
with an average job,
and an average truck.
She participated in average services,
competed in average races,
and achieved average ribbons .
She lived in a small average community,
with average churches,
and average parks.
She went to an average library,
with average books,
and average computers.
She was just an average girl,
who wore an average smile,
while trying to averagely fit in.
You see…
She was… She went… She had…
She lived… She participated… She achieved…
She competed… She lived… She wore…
Her world was to average…
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
The password to the entrance of your home is
I brought beer
I love you with my liver
If you were a city
You'd be Atlantis
I would be its shorelines
We have both participated
In each other's floods
We were never levies for one another
I will not hold back the ocean for you
I will pick you back up when I can though
So that you can be a landscape that is timeless
In your presence
we are never killing time
We are defining minutes into laughter
So that we can walk away happy
Even in silence
We are living
I called myself homeless
and you said
I wasn't
but I couldn't stay here forever
Then you asked me
"Is it solipsistic in here, or is it just me?"
Then we sank into sleep
And I know your mornings
Your noise
Your wake up call
Takes getting used to
But that is fine
Because I know your flood
and your drought
And I love you with my liver
And yeah
I brought beer
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
There it was -
Among lost flowers
And drained cups of espresso.
Among corrupt cabinets,
And torrid affairs.
Among the soldiers and the artists,
Among the philosophers,
The drag queens and the disasters,
And T.S. Eliot and his mermaids.
There, in a smoky haze
Of toasts and time,
I found meaning.
Friends, lovers, actors,
Huddled together one cold October,
Not for pay, not for fame.
Drawn together merely to drink our fill
On the intoxicating elixir of humble creation.
It was there,
In those chilly nights
Of backyard theatrics,
In the raw camaraderie
Of presenting art for art's sake,
That I found myself,
Whole and true.
So many plays and shows
I have oft participated in,
And many days have passed
Since that blissful October,
But the vivid memory forever remains
Of the perfect cast of players bound together
In the pure glee of organic imaginings
As we explored the dark against the light.
Did we know?
Did we comprehend, then,
The magnitude of beauty to be found
Within the ties that held us together?
Perhaps the rest never did quite feel the current
Of the electric wonder we evoked beneath the stars;
Not only in our karaoke-laden performance,
But in our offstage whisperings and antics -
Friendships forged in a campfire flame.
I cannot speak for the others,
But as for myself -
A girl now disillusioned
By Louisiana cynics
And toxic hometown politics -
I am nostalgic for those nights
That I spoke of Michelangelo.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 9:43 AM UTC
Barry and Ashley and Leslie
Performing on Jupiter moon
Singing waltzing Matilda waltzing Matilda you’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And flea, flea fly, flea fly flo
Vister, coolabah coolabah coolabah vista
Oh no no no not the vista
And we are the bad and mean green machine Ashley liked league and hated Aussie rules
He said why do you like Aussie rules league is much better
And Leslie one day organised a church play which I participated in despite me being a Buddhist
I found it fun though and I used to sit at the mall and Leslie talked to me there, making me feel like I have adult friends
Ashley said I had a good imagination when he was reading my poetry
The band played waltzing Matilda as the war was on back then
We still have a war like when people disagree with us
Yes that seems so bad
Barry joined my bowling league as another helper and Leslie came to my play in 2003 to watch it with the ladies from Vinnies and Ashley was a regular customer at the kaleen swimming pool when I went there each Wednesday and I always said hello to him and I joked with him and he joked with me it is sad that they all a no longer around because they each made me happy
Waltzing Matilda waltzing Matilda you’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
We sang and we threw that jumbuck in that tucker bag
You’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And Barry gave me an Apple computer to get me up with the joneses and make me really enjoy the internet, ya know
I was hopeless at the computer once but now I know how to use it
Now we are singing all these numbers like world of our own
And Georgy girl and many many more death happens but it is great to know we come back to life performing at this cosmic concert stage on Jupiter showing that death can be fun and uplifting knowing we will come back
So Barry Ashley and Leslie
Thank you for making me feel like a normal person when I went out
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
We brought a warm, vegetarian dinner to the homeless in a Christian shelter
The steaming pans burned my thighs for the duration of the ride
Our host was a self-described anarchist, married with four children and a dozen guests
He had participated in hundreds of protests; countless arrests
Travelled all over the globe to the site of genocide and hate
Saved lives one at a time, noble and tragic work
His first mission was in his early twenties, to the Gaza Strip alone
The night he arrived he slept in a friendly home
Woke to gunfire, screaming bullets and children, and mechanical roar
Get down! Said the Palestinians, closing the windows and doors
If you look outside
They
Will
Shoot
You
Israeli helicopters scanned the streets and mowed down pedestrians
Dropping massive glass beads
Marbles, they called them
These spheres would shatter and leave sharp edges for scared feet
Once impaled there was no running, blood trailed and so no hiding
Tear gas canisters cleared the capable, my host watched one enter a house
Inside children cried and begged for safety from war and smoke
A doctor huddled with my host heard and acted on a hero’s impulse
Leapt from his roof to that of the yelling young
Dove in through a window and snatched all three, along with the stinging source
The elder two were scared but saved, handed to the Palestinians
The baby with them had suffocated
Too late
The doctor gave my host the canister, still warm
You brought this here, he said
And he was right
Made In The USA
He brought the story back, called every major newspaper
No interest in anything he had to say
This stuff happens every day they told him, boring
Last week twelve Palestinians were killed by a bulldozer
Now there’s front page material
Something
More
Unusual
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 1:06 PM UTC
I am slowly drifting further from the unrealistic reality
that has been imposed on me by others.
The end was not cordial nor was it polite.
It was spattered with hate and rage
and malice and anger and loss but those are not mine.
The end for me was very matter of fact.
As if it never ended because it never started.
My end was casual highlighted with words like "k"
and corrections on his awful grammar and a nod
at my phone intended for him to see and the icy reply to a
one sided heated conversation that he was having with himself
because i never participated.
The tone of my indifference remains steady which is
what angers him most. I have been killed by far better men
than him. But they are cheap in a sense.
Cheap ***
Cheap words
Cheap rooms
Cheap emotions
Cheap lies
and even worse
Cheap truths.
And after all is said and done
Here you are in a sense getting
what you wanted.
A small piece of immortality in an
otherwise meaningless life.
But alas my dear, your name is not mentioned here.
And as I warned before,
You are just another line.
Another sentence which will be forgotten.
Sad isn't it?
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Michael was a teenager who made straight A's
and participated in any sport he could,
but Michael was flamed for being gay
for society deemed he should.
Michael didn't seem to have any friends
for all were repulsed by him,
simply because of the way he bends,
And thus, his happiness dimmed.
When Michael gets home, it's straight to his room.
His father a drunk, his mother out of state,
giving birth to a constant loop of daily doom
So you could say things weren't that great.
Michael was beaten daily, for why he knew not.
Mr. Smith always began by lifting his hand,
stating these bruises were a lesson to be taught
and confused Michael couldn't take a stand.
If one person could've stood up and been kind,
Michael might still be here.
Instead, one dark thought stole his mind
and with it, all of his fears.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
She was just an average girl,
in an average world,
with an average family.
She went to an average school,
with average friends,
and had average grades.
She lived in an average town,
with average stores,
and average neighbors.
She participated in average clubs,
competed in average sports,
and achieved average rewards.
She had an average boyfriend,
with an average job,
and an average truck.
She participated in average services,
competed in average races,
and achieved average ribbons.
She lived in an average community,
with average churches,
and average parks.
She went to an average library,
with average books,
and average computers.
She was just an average girl,
who wore an average smile,
while trying to averagely fit in.
You see-
She was - She went - She had -
She lived - She participated - She wore -
She achieved - She lived - She competed -
Her world was too average-
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
Have you ever been so anxious your body is frozen yet running a million miles?
Have you ever been so anxious you can feel your heart pounding through your sternum?
Do you remember that feeling of anxiety the first and last time you involuntary participated?
Because the worst pain, is believing you remember the feeling the first time; the last is so much worse.
The renewal. The ritual. The regression.
The process in which one is broken; the ritual.
Becoming healed; the renewal.
Then torn apart worse than before; the regression.
Do you cope with unhealthy habits?
Do you taste your moonshine alone?
Do you become destructive and deadly towards yourself or others?
This part of you is ingrained.
This is you.
This was always you...
The renewal. The ritual. And the regression.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 3:11 AM UTC
I left my house today to find all things about me were wet.
Not from melted snow, but from legitimate, god-given rain.
I could smell the downpour in everything, all things ecstatic that they had survived so far.
And this is when I decided that winter had ended.
That's right, people, it's over. We can all go home.
Winter may pretend to linger, and it will probably snow again.
But I can feel it in my bones, the seasons have changed.
The trees cry out that they still live. The soil itself is stretching and yawning.
It seems this always happens when the seasons change.
Summer ends, and there is a change in the wind.
Before the leaves even begin to fall, autumn is present. An elephant in the proverbial room.
In late October (in salt lake at least), the earth enters the big sleep and snow begins to fall.
It seemed strange that I could feel this so distinctly.
But it's entirely natural, from a step back. Birds fly south, salmon migrate.
Perhaps, in fact, it's stranger that I would consider it strange.
The seasons are more natural than anything else we know. The cycles of the earth are at the core of our experience in terms of being alive on this planet.
Maybe we should begin to worry when we can only tell the seasons by the calendar.
Or maybe it would be worse if all that the seasons changing meant was a change in wardrobe.
Our ancestors used to rely on these sensory gut feelings to properly harvest their crops.
Frankly, I'm embarrassed that the term "sweater weather" exists.
I take pride in the fact that I participated in the plants stretching today.
We yawned and raised our faces to the rain and rejoiced as one.
It reminded me that the cycle goes on, and nothing really ends and yet everything ends but nothing really really ends.
It's just a little rain, after all.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
Just enough riddles
To number thirteen.
What makes me giggle,
You might call obscene!
1.
The start of the end,
At the end of time.
Comes first in Earth,
And finishes rhyme.
2.
Inside this foul clan, you will find
Not just two, but three of my kind.
3.
What doth thine eye
Most keenly spy
During the calm
Of the stormy sky?
4.
Actors eagerly
Anticipated
This primary line,
Then participated.
5.
It might make you think
Of something like "aches",
The black ball in pool
With the number "8".
6.
A young man, Arnie
Placed his ball on me
When he stopped mixing
This drink, lemony.
7.
Beginning of first,
But never in last.
It's how you begin
To scribe the text fast.
8.
The one who's reading
This most bizarre tale,
On who I depend
To somehow prevail!
The first word's a name,
The third can explain
The point of this game,
So simple and plain.
B-A-C-F-E - F-E-A - D-H-A-A-G
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
*I never known what you speak of
I've not obtained
what it is to sustain
a meaningful relationship
Seems I'm destiny to be alone forever
I've not grasped what it is to allow someone
to just be who they are
all I can see is my own imperfection in them
wanting them to be better
and
throw a fit when their so inadequate
more so
I'm the one whose lacking
and
fear changing
just in case they wont approve
I don't ask for validation
since
I validate myself
Isn't it still important
if we're reflections
of
our love and relationship?*
*I've not yet understood this concept
since
I'm so used to doing it always on my own
with or with you.
More so with out then with...
Few have tried to show me
teach me
yet I've ran fearful of what COULD be
TOO scared afraid
I just cant be hurt again
but no one understand that
Closed off from love so long
I've forgotten what its like
and
when I've had it
I've not known if it were real or fake.
Too many times
I've been lead to believe in the illusion
of love when it wasn't even true
How do you condemn me
when
you've participated
in my demise to began with?*
***He told me we'd never part.
He too told me I was his heart.
This one said I was his only.
Another said he'd never leave me lonely!!!***
* Yet they've all left
weather I made it so or on their own
Too many times
I listen to a lie
yet I'm to blame
Somehow unbeknownst to me
its all ALWAYS my fault.
Til death do us part
was me dying each time he cheated
or how about them beating
I should stop blaming
and
take responsibilities for myself
for my actions
it's always someone else's fault
that
I'm how I am
but truth is it really has been
yet at my age shouldn't
I have to face facts....
I need to love me
give to me all they're unfulfilled promise's
left me longing craving needing and wanting.*
***Fix my own broken soul
I want to
I don't even know how
I lack the ability to move on
past the hurt
which consumes me
and yet
I want a
Meaningful Relationship***
Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
Ive alway been a happy person I didnt grow up with much but I appreciate everything
I love beautiful women but they have an ugly core insecure and jealous im usually a victim allowing myself to be hurt so they feel better about themself
Growing up with tough love doesnt help doing so much for little effect. The dating world has changed. Ive been trying to find mrs. Right for me. Thought I came close but love is more than beauty. Its being able to understand one another flaw and all
Its been a growing experience I prefer natural you can't rush this process. I participated in casual *** its fun but feels meaningless lust over ppl who mean nothing its been different
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC