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she enjoy watering the bourgainvillea
but never return the hose on place

she love turn the chicken into soup
but not cleaning the dishes

she love to drive under the moon
but only return home when the gas hit E

she prefer falling for a guy
but never, oh she can't forget the creature.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Diana Mar 7
There is
On this planet
That is
Like you
Your looks
Your preferences
Your character
All combined
Makes you
ryn Jan 2015
I recently got reminded... Oh how I am caught
In a delicate web of disillusions
Make me see what is actually not
Make invisible my heart's secret questions

Been successful in putting aside all grief
But truth has it's way to make you pay
You can bury all grievances; you can mask all disbelief
But it'll all catch up; these things you've kept at bay

Make your silly compromises
To have the the best you just make allowances
Keep up your futile pretences
Accommodate your selfish preferences

Day had dawned where each question need their answer
Questions I've shrugged and left unaddressed
Indistinguishable when fact and fiction begin to blur
When dreams and reality have coalesced

Tonight I lay with the load I bring
Body asleep with my heart fully awake
Blessing or curse, this rude awakening
Decisions and choices left for the following suns to make
Umi Apr 2018
Open, oh eye of ones heart
The spiral of desire continues with no end to it, if lies are to pollute the world it is time to purify yourself from them all, one by one.
A hearts eye, sees through lies, but that is not its only purpose in a chest full of light and compassion in which it can greatly be found,
It serves so much more, all sealed uner a truthful surface and a righteous core, careless about anothers looks, the way they speak, superficiality such as shallowness are wiped out by it completely,
The hearts eye sees anothers soul and what they truly are, a judgement far away from personal preferences or falsities caused by instincts of ones heart which are likely to bring light headed frivolity,
It cherishes the good, the beauty of the soul except for wealthy appearance, mavelovence within greedy devilish behaviour and spite,
Projected like a story, the fear of what they see is but of themselves, if such an eye hits a devil right on the head, exposing his  treaciousness
What lies behind such a courtain of darkness, may it be good? Evil ?
Come pray by my side, if you shiver from that far away I cannot help you, as sadness clouds your vision in a courtain call of pure grief,
Let me open your eyes, so your wounds may heal.

~ Umi
Xallan Jan 28
If I had the right tools I'd show you
How empty my mind is, like a computer
That updates every few months,
Erasing all that data, any wisdom.
Deleted- motors still whirring
Fans still blowing upon the spinning
Of an empty disk, a blank hard-drive.
Ready to encode new preferences
New creeds, programming, ideations.

I am still searching for understanding
Of race, of society, of priorities,
Of gods, of worship, of labels,
Of love, of lovers, of choice
Of the parts of people they choose to reveal,
They choose to hide (their masks),
What they cannot choose to be, and
Cannot choose to show-
Of humanity- identity.

I don't get an opinion on any of that-
Try as I may, I will never understand.
I was born without an identity
And wisdom teeth, likewise,
I am not wise for lack of them
At least never need removal
For like wisdom teeth, the result
Of irritation is surgery, pain, and recovery
I skipped that, so that pain isn't real.
Delta Swingline Feb 2018
My birthday comes in a little over 2 weeks and I think when people talk about birthdays, they are secretly talking about status in blocked hours.

Somewhere in that 24 hour block, a person was born, and that person was me. .....well Yay I guess.

I don't like my birthday. And the reasons for that, are more complicated than you think.

When I was 13, I was really into cupcake birthday cakes. I asked for one, every year, for a long time.

When I turned 15 and 16, my best friend baked me cupcakes and brought them to school for me, and I shared them with my peers. You see, I considered her my best friend, and I guess that's not enough to be the best friend.

It's like unrequited love if you put poisonous platonic friendship in my blood first.

When I turned 17, she did baked me my last set of cupcakes, but I no longer had a best friend. So I spent my birthday mentally by myself while my family sang otherwise.

And right now, I hate cupcakes, and superhero films because they remind me of her. But saying that is the weakest thing to do, since everything, reminds me of her.

I will never admit I loved her, the same way she will shamelessly say she never loved me. I can't hate her, but I can't see her without hating myself.

You know age, goes up, the same way sadness, goes down. Pulling you into another 24 hour block just so you can say.

"Hey. I made it another day."

I will admit that every day without her is another day without cupcakes, and another day without sugar is another day without happiness. And people may have asked me "How can you flip-flop between preferences like you're not the biggest homosexual in the closet." So when I tell people I'm straight, they tell me I'm not allowed to change my mind.

I loved her, but she left me and took all of my friends with her. And I thought that real friends wouldn't abandon me, but there is always time to be wrong. By the time my birthday comes, I'll be crying, and she doesn't even remember what day my birthday is on.

By the time I read this out loud, I will have been through this birthday, like a person walks through fire. Turning 16 is less about age, then it is about school, and turning 18, is less about the number, and more about becoming an adult. And no amount of adult can neutralize pain.

I have accepted the fact that no man will ever really want to marry me. And no Christian, will ever truly want to love me.
And if I am wrong, I will have to repeat this lost love forever dragging it out in my life.

And if I have kids one day, do you really think...

That I'm going to tell everyone if it's a boy or a girl...

By making blue or pink...

Stéphanie Feb 19
Told my feelings were fake
Laughed at for crying
Brutalized for refusing
Depicted as anomalous
This is my "home"

I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing

Crossed volatile environments
Misunderstood ephemeral friends
Bullied, ostracized
Experienced injustice
This is school

I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing

Living my curiosity
Knowledge is my strength
Reflexivity makes me grow
Embracing my difference
This is my refuge

I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing

Meet mind-like people
Discovered my emotions
Explored my preferences
Dug my family history
This is my travel

I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing

Communicating humbly
Nourishing healthy relationships
Trusting my positions
Affirming my autonomy
This is my womanhood

Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom
I wrote this poem after days of suffering from my mother's intrusion in my maternity… how she made fun of me and invalidated my thoughts, actions and desires towards my future daughter.
By: Cedric McClester

Now that he’s divorced
People speculate
But what I’m alleging
I can freely state
Sorry if he can’t stand up
Underneath the weight
Cuz he has ****** preferences
For some heavy freight

I don’t know why
You’re amazed
E’rbody knows
He swings both ways
He’s been Ms. Honey
For days and days
Haven’t you noticed
His effeminate ways

I can run it down
Chapter and verse
I can even tell you
Who he slept with first
And just to make bad
Even worst
I  know when he first
Became immersed

Listen it’s his life
So let him live it
Whether you approve
Or are not down with it
He can still sing
So come on admit it
And some of y’all think
That he still can get it

Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2019.  All rights reserved.
Petrie Jun 13
Life of a $&%!#*-%^3(!&

But never silence.
Dear god there is never a moment of silence.
The things they say,
The things I see...
The things they make me feel.
As if there are eyes burning into the back of my skull.
For the perfect moment;
When I'm sad,
To catch me at my lowest,
So I will obey every word they so elegantly whisper
From the back of my own mind.
Ultimately my own twisted thoughts,

Life of a Schizophrenic
Its Love I'm not sure of

People and places,
Life's got its own races,
Good or bad, life gives chances,
Mine with you, never noncoincidence.

Things happen for a reason maybe,
But with time I just knew you'll be,
Something I've envisaged for thee,
A partner for who you'd be.

Many things go for a sight to heart,
Yours did for a hair at that,
My preferences subdue to that,
Yours worked on me like a ****.

I'm indulged,
I babble over thoughts of us, I overindulge,
Man up I say, as affections bulge,
To a lone night of clean "thoughts with no smudge".

Oblivious to a public scene,
I make my first words seen,
Chivalrously I ask "to be seen",
Optimistic of a positive answer forseen.

You shrunk my optimism,
Hallucinated my pessimism,
With thoughts if I'd pulled a solecism,
Thoughts that rhyme with barbarism.

A turn off? I thought less,
My heart taught me to care less,
And to mind less,
Cause you'd still "come first".

Trust your heart,
guard the parts,
It assumes the innermost thoughts of both paths,
And coerces the being to act.

You trusted your heart,
Guarded the parts,
Your were coerced to find my path,
I was happy to have you back.

It all goes good,
Feels like hunger found food,
Thoughts drain like words in a big book,
Out like a baby, 9 out of the womb.

Loves in the obscure,
Not too bright to be lured,
Maybe its too early to sense pure,
What about...we're just not sure?

Conversations glitter,
Feels better than never,
We found ourselves, 'cause we talk better,
All nights, its ours to getter.

But wait, I'd assume time rather hop's,
With that, we can account for times we never talk,
When daft blue ticks are the norm,
Emoji replies bare the nigh-dialogue.

You initially thought we had something,
I did think so too, same thing,
But we look lost, close to nothing,
Maybe we aren't doing the necessary "fighting".

For a while its lost,
We're gone, for short!
Maybe we should have taken a shot,
To keep our life span for talks not short.

But things fall apart,
Maybe only when Achibe laughs,
But life has its own true paths,
Maybe for who compulsorily have to cross paths.

Little fires spark a big flame, indeed,
Maybe we realise we both are in need,
Of each others warm needs,
Maybe were both tired of a boring deed.

Lets rekindle us. A date?
Sounds good. It definitely deserves the wait,
Love talk, you'd guess, or? lets not exaggerate,
The day schedules a good date.

Alas, she's late, but its queen,
She deserves the big scene,
With a nice dress in green,
She'll pass as my queen.

Fun food time goes quintessential,
Night time in urban city? Cinema is essential,
Got us dazzling with thoughts of us not in denial,
Possible lovers? we did the conventional.

Cozy moments, things get sweet,
You'd actually feel love's heat,
It burns, rather internally in the heart,
Its an affection you'd never want to thwart.

Trigger triggers, what's triggered?
Ardour, lust, infatuation, love fad, love, what's desired?
Passion grows for each other, both admired,
Actions? Long talks no one gets tired.

Do you call it sudden love, lust, infatuation?
The words are lost find one with a good definition,
Feels are strong and great, feels like never diminishing,
But experience says, its love I'm not sure of, finishing.
The poem talks primarily of an unsure love I have for someone. I narrated poetically how we met, and how things have gone since. Up and down. Wasn't a strong bond even tho we both had a crush, but it recently and suddenly has become an inevitable affair and you'd ask? Is it love? Well I'm still not sure of.

Some stanzas explained.
"Many things go for a sight to heart,
Yours did for a hair at that,
My preferences subdue to that,
Yours worked on me like a ****." - I basically meant her nice Afro was what influenced my crush on her. I like Afro hair a lot.

Oblivious to a public scene,
I make my first words seen,
Chivalrously I ask "to be seen",
Optimistic of a positive answer forseen." - In a full class I go to her and ask for her number, hoping she'd give me.

"You shrunk my optimism,
Hallucinated my pessimism,
With thoughts if I'd pulled a solecism,
Thoughts that rhyme with barbarism." - My bad she didn't.

"You trusted your heart,
Guarded the parts,
Your were coerced to find my path,
I was happy to have you back." - She later took my number from a friend and texted me.

"But wait, I'd assume time rather hop's,
With that, we can account for times we never talk,
When daft blue ticks are the norm,
Emoji replies bare the nigh-dialogue." - We stop talking like we used to.

"But things fall apart,
Maybe only when Achibe laughs,
But life has its own true paths,
Maybe for who compulsorily have to cross paths." - I believe things can go wrong. Chinua Achibe is the Auhor of the book "Things fall apart", and on its cover he has this nice smile. So maybe the book's title makes him laugh (smile). And I believe perhaps maybe life thinks we definitely have to get something between us. Even for once.

"Little fires spark a big flame, indeed,
Maybe we realise we both are in need,
Of each others warm needs,
Maybe were both tired of a boring deed." - Our usual texts are "how are you". That's it. But looking at our chats we both do realise we need more than that.

"Lets rekindle us. A date?
Sounds good. It definitely deserves the wait,
Love talk, you'd guess, or ? lets not exaggerate,
The day schedules a good date." - We try and plan a date in one of our conversations.

"Trigger triggers, what's triggered?
Ardour, lust, infatuation, love fad, love, what's desired?
Passion grows for each other, both admired,
Actions? Long talks no one gets tired." - Something's changed! After the date! Its so intense you wouldn't know what it is. Is it us?

And as a thinking boy, its headache - A "love I'm not sure of"......
aL Feb 5
An evil man who became righteous will get glory while righteous man who soon turned to be an evildoer will burn in sulfur.
But how can something blame the poor? A hard rain is falling and there's no shelter for the storm, no soup for warmth, no water for everlasting thirst and just like there ain't no god.
Cause some folks god means hope.

Fate lies just like the devil always do
Sweet words could lure a confused ears, lonely eyes could be tricked by aesthetical beauty, unsoulful heart can outbeat a purer one.

Hell could be somebody's paradise. Billions of different preferences, why cant you say yours? Everyone is afraid of something, humans tremble, pain is to feel. And beauty is so subjective you don't know what's attractive anymore.

Evil exists cause god chose a contrary. All things are balance, makes things heavenly. Some are made to be unholy and some chose to worship their own body.

2.24am sixth of my February
I cant get sleep
we never did an ounce
of hard work in our life
too distracted by television
we remain infinitely mutable
all our decisions so flexible
come quick and watch us change the channels
so many other signals we could respond too
for you are from another galaxy
and all my inhibitions retired early
i perform various feats of bravery
like stealing butter from your cupboardss
while all of my most intrepid acts
require the utmost of confidence
there are still too many swords here
and not enough ice to shave into statues
what a pity the way we forgave
each other our preferences
fortunately these days we are beyond
the thickest parts of the fray
in this dining room there are several pieces
of your brilliance waiting to be eaten
until with fingers licked clean
you inspect the totality of my being
and i suspect we are now ready to recline
on the omnivorous spines of our ancestors
and blindly worship, the old Mercurius
for the great Trickster still rules our souls
from within the ancient halls of entertainment
that we now pretend to call "a television"
they live
across so
many of
all across
the physical,
across so many
miles of vast and
beautiful lands, for
doesn't every land have
it's beauties, though i'd
of course not trade any of
them for the north, though
i curse myself for it each and
every winter; but there is
truly no place like home;
across oceans, and often
from such very different
cultures as well, and ******
preferences and of genders,
across ages and those shared
frames of reference dictated by
history, so many divides, but
no barriers, just differences,
but thinking somehow still so
much alike in so many ways,
and drawn to a particular love
of a very specific and dying
art-form above all, but still,
it is like any of them might
have grown up with me in
the same neighbourhood,,
that someone who couldn't
have less skin in the game
as far as your immediate
life, a magical quality
as it makes them so
much easier to trust,
and they care, and
for no other reason
than that they care,
and even love in
many ways, though
my experience has taught
me that one particular kind
of love seems doomed to
painfully fail, which
*****, but such is
life, but that knowing
people care for no other
reason is because they care,
like an element, something that
can't easily be broken down into
smaller pieces or explanations,
it is just because it is,
and that's a really
nice feeling
to have.

i know the chance that
we would ever meet
are slim-to-none,
but if that were
to happen with any
of them i would
have an extremely
happy day, and
that's an especially
nice feeling
to have, too.
the beatles - with a little help from my friends
kirk Nov 2018
I knew they'd be more sightings, it looks like I was right
The day has arrived once again, where things have come to light
Shinning armour is absent, and there is no gallant knight
Oh Annette, there's only Den, and your chastity's not tight

It seems Miss Tidy has returned, she's covered a long span
**** escapades displayed again, written by a big **** fan
***** heifers filled Cow Pies, diving in like Desperate Dan
I wouldn't mind a go myself, because I am a man

Bus stops and phone boxes, seem to be your mainstream media
Your depicted as a ****, and your appetite gets greedier
Every time that you appear, your antics are more seedier
Be careful of your infamy, you'll end up on Wikipedia

What the hell is going on, you've resurfaced once again
There's no accounting for good taste, with ******* different men
I don't know if it's better ***, than your getting from old Den
Oh Annette if you get judged, it'll be a Ten from ***

Bus shelters are the place, to read about your ***
Showing intimate parts of your life, like the local multiplex
Written words like **** and ****, are nothing to perplex
It's obvious what's going on, its hardly that complex

If **** *** is preferable, if it's not just a passing whim
You can lick my exposed ****, and I'll give yours a rim
A tight *** is just as good, as a nice warm ****
Oh Annette untidy your legs, and we'll go out on a limb

**** *** excites me, but there's just one small detail
Is your *** completely free, or is your **** for sale
If you use lubrication, then it never will get stale
Naked flesh I really like, that's probably cos I'm male

If telephone boxes we're obsolete, if bus stops did not exist
Where would Annette's news be then, from the *** obsessed artist
Would he try a public lavatory, would he have a different twist
Oh Annette If writings ceased, *** stories would be missed

George Formby leaned on lampposts, but I'm not sure I'm a strummer
Unless you count a *******, and you are a heavy ******
I'll wait until you come by, for one hell of a good ******
Outside in the night light, so much better in the summer

Could you be a lovely girl, or are you an **** *****
**** ***** and ***** *****, are just the local lingo
Oh Annette if you want ***, don't wait too long in limbo
I can do it on all fours, as well as legs akimbo

Softer holes are better wet, **** positions don't much matter
Whether it is *******, or laying a bit flatter
Certain parties can be fun, if your naked on a platter
A very happy unbirthday treat, I'd share with the Mad Hatter

Do you bite as well as ****, be rough and rarely gentle
let passion take control of you, cos I'm not temperamental
You seem to be the kind of girl, to be experimental
It makes no difference if your a ****, it isn't accidental

There's nothing wrong with ***** *****, if they are never shut
Open all hours is quite fun, when you're an **** ****
I hope you have "**** Handles", that are looming round your ****
So Annette relight my fire, I don't want my long wick cut

Come on now be daring, because you seem like an old friend
I hope your ****** preferences, are not just a passing trend
So much is known about you, with all that has been penned
If your into *** ***, then give your **** a lend

Just how many blokes you've had, well I don't have a clue
There's Den of course but now and then, you try someone new
It doesn't really bother me, if you've had quite a few
You could be in fetish films, if your backdoor is blue

Perhaps I have misjudged you, and you are a teachers pet
And everything that has been said, is something you regret
But If the rumours are all true, then I would not forget
To stuff my ***** up your ****, and I'd say oh Annette !
What can I say about Annette Tidy, as you may or may not know, I discovered writings concerning Miss Tidy's shall we say carnal activities in February 2016, there we're further details of her misdemeanours 2 years later. Both sightings inspired me to write a poem the first of which is titled " Oh Annette Tidy" .
After the second sighting I then wrote " Oh Annette Tidy's Back Again " I thought I was done with our Annette until I began writing this new poem, so you might say the Annette Tidy saga has now become a trilogy of **** escapades, I hope you enjoy it and I wonder if this will be the last we will hear from Annette Tidy ?
RJ Days Jul 2018
First, you have get to an email address
and then fashion a sculpture
out of daisies and moonbeams
as a wedding present for your love;
practice your poetry because
it will come in handy when tongue tied;
pentameter is a pocket ace
and the game is cutthroat so you’re
gonna wanna have some ready;
calisthenics are required
as is having the right politics
but dissimilar guacamole preferences
are usually alright for awhile;
be sure to develop a tolerance
for sand between your toes;
learn to frolic, but never skip;
don’t buy a boat because nobody
has time for a sweater cape enthusiast
and drowning is very unromantic;
Grow roses and cook eggs every way
you can but ever respect the bacon;
Practice looking longingly;
Toss your hair and brush your teeth;
**** your socks but carefully
maintain just enough flaws
to seem endearing and then
forget all this because the only
time you chose to fall is suicide
and it’s kind of like a bridge jump,
so it’s time to just lie back and enjoy
the dopamine rush while it lasts;
you’ve roped a unicorn,
the fleeting chemistry of
your synapses will thank
or blame you later.
ChildofGodyay Jan 22
prickles and thorns,
sticks and stones,
brains and maggots,
all limp and cold,
a little darkness here and there,
a little pain will do it right.

bowl cracked and torn,
cursed and wrong,
only beautiful with intricate patterns and bright colors and filters but with musical scores gone wrong.  

click click liked,
swipe swipe left or right,
drinking nights,
they've seen them all.

is it fun to feed the darkness?
is it fun to feed the pain?
or the anger or the malice or the judgment or the cane?
maybe, the flesh seeks for the pleasure of the wrong kind,
the wrong sign, the evil one loves his daily dose of darkness.
he doesn't want you to draw the line for the things that are wrong.
he wants you to sing his wicked songs.

when you surround yourself with darkness how "sweet" the sound of his teeth crunching, munching on the juicy contents of your choice.
"great choice of food"
here's is his preferences,
instead of light and life,
put darkness and death,
instead of joy, maybe a bit of despair,
instead of full dependence on God, maybe just an "eh I am near there"
instead of choosing to choose Him instead of them, just choose them,
those who love evil and eats its fruit, those who love to dwell in darkness, in the woods, those who feed their vain.....

the darkness you surround yourself with will mold you,
the pain you keep feeding will just grow within you,
if you keep feeding yourself with darkness you won't feel very good, won't you?
Jesus is the light, Jesus is life, His Word is light, His Word is life, and it is my guide, i choose Him.
i know it is sometimes easier to choose the dark but it will never be worth it, never worth the wait, never worth the suffering.
in Jesus, the suffering, the pain is worth it, in Him i have life!
life like none other, filled with purpose and light!
i feel so free! feel like i could take flight!
i am truly free in Christ Jesus!
i am truly in peace in Christ Jesus!
i am joyful in Him!

Jesus i love you,
i want to love you, more than the heavens or the stars,
more than anything or anyone in the world,
i want to love you with all of my heart, all of my soul, and with all of my might.
on your wings, i will take flight.
i have fed that evil before, but i have learned not to now :)
hehehhehheheheheehheehheheehheehhe probably incomplete but yee will be keeping alll you guys in prayer! if you have any prayer request, you could tell me :)
My economic model was working well
When I saw the silent woman
We greet to wish
Preferences do not come

Husband the bread-earner
Also applies to wealthy women
I smiled; I said, I got the point
It all depends on the ideal man

But I also saw the silent woman worshipping her man

Dr Baljit Singh
Tuesday 11th June 2019
Hank Van Well Jr Sep 2018
At least for a day

At least for a day America came together
At least for a day , no one cared what color our skin was , or where we came from.
At least for a day we honored law enforcement and first responders in the like, as they charged toward the unknown danger to keep the rest of us safe.
At least for a day we let our military do what they were trained to do , instead of sit on their hands .
At least for a day we could do whatever we had to , to keep the country safe from further attacks.
At least for a day their was no partisan politics , where the government worked together for the greater good and put aside the petty bickering and said “ what do you need Mr President “.
On a day where the enemy tried to break America , we stood together as Americans , one body ,not identified by skin color , religion , or preferences , we all cried together, we all brushed off the dust , built a taller building , even though that is not the symbol of who we are , it was a symbol of what we aren’t .
At least for a day , we couldn’t be broken .
17 years later ..... we are fighting against ourselves , being encouraged to disobey law enforcement , divided again by our skin color , or religion , or preference , for a while , I couldn’t even say Merry Christmas without potentially offending someone.
Hatred is spewing on both sides of our government , we are being told to “resist “.
What happened ?
Do we need another tragedy to show us all we bleed the same color ?
The Bible says “ a house divided against itself can not stand “ Matt 12:22.
I will never forget the sorrow of that day , all the souls lost then , and the ones still recovering , I cried that day , and I cry now , because at least for a day , we forgot about all the other ******* and fought back as Americans , mourned as Americans , re built as Americans .
At least for a day , we stood together !
At least for a day!
Ylzm Apr 4
We were told we're free, for we choose freely.
Eve believed; we too, are as desirous.
Creators urged us, to choose their choices,
Our preferences influenced, they believed.

Blind men, unsure, step to step, staggering
Knocked down and pierced, in circles wandering.
Pain, inevitable, but they rejoice,
For free they are and they'll walk, each their choice.

— The End —