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Diana Nov 2018
Is more ****
Than a Confident Woman
That knows her worth
And what she rightfully deserves
Not because of anything superficial
But because of everything inside her
That's original
It's not something literal; it's more figurative. A woman can wear her confidence in knowing what she's worth and what she honestly deserves with high standards and nothing else because she herself is precious.
Justice is just is
never changing always broken
the powerful get rewarded the weak get mistreated
morality gets wounded and then healed by fake promises
we gave justice eyes
because it seems to only serve those with lighter pigmentation
hidden in webs of lies, truth is not to be mentioned
justice is just is because no one wants to rightfully serve it
Left Foot Poet Mar 2017
"my soul to keep"

this prayer
elegant, simple complexity,
comes me haunting,
every evening,
this notion,
a faint ghosting,
repeatedly reappearing
and nightly leaving,
from between my crumpled, sweaty bedsheets,
departing with a demanding unsatisfied, incessant,
coated with a diabolical, unfeigned challenge  -

write of me,
relentlessly commanding,
right me

no notions,
come realized,
no poem body, resolved solutions,
are easy offered up

your inner voices,
fettered and deterred,
begging you,
this one,
defer, defer,
for better days,
for better poets,
who require
no assembly instructions
cannot improve upon it

my distress, sensed;
the lady of  the house,
over the shoulder peering,
sees the moody poem title that
has self-selected to core this poet's core,
for endless torture,
raining down ruinous lamentation

she, ever softly spoken

"good man,
your soul,
your poems -
both mine to take
mine to keep

this title,
this poetic obligation
fulfillingly, fittingly,
my responsibility

mine to write
mine to keep
mine to right
mine to mine
for its
bejeweled contemplations

render easily unto me
what I have Caesarean seized,
pried lovingly and forcibly
from thee within

though seemingly rightfully thine,
title has passed,
legally, tenderly,
into your lover's arms

banish poet thine troubled assembled,
ensemble senses,
this particular poem's journey
and the soul that bears it,
released and relieved,
for now,
mine to take,
mine to keep,
thy soul,
in mine to dwell,
mine to complete"

Nowe I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take
Eva Amato Sep 2018
I slide the door open,
she was rightfully there.

It was the room I assigned for her
she had just moved in.

A few spares of her outfit peek out of her wardrobe,
A couple dresses as well
One blue; one red.

At the side is a broom; feather duster and such
Still lying around.

Her personality hadn't changed the room yet.


I take my first step in,
she amusingly begins bowing already.

No different than the rest of the furniture she is: tidy, a pleasant aroma around her and a pretty thing to look at.

I greet her, my maid.
I hear those dutiful words, that name: "Mistress".

She's blushing; her arms so obviously tense.

Every footstep I take towards her echoes in our hearts.


I lock our gazes- such an adorable and intimidated look.
Her lips are trembling as I get closer: "Mi-" she tried to say.

But my finger was keeping her mouth shut.

"Shhh" a whisper followed by a modest nod from her.

The tension is cut as I slide my fingers down her arm
her gasp held hostage by me.
She could make no sound.

I can't help but giggle.

With that smile I lean closer to her.
To her lips.
I had her captive already, my arms resting on her hips.

"You are my furniture, dear."
"Yes Mistress."

It is all there was before with my kiss
I took over her mind.
Sean Hopps May 2017
I feel like I am lost
Between thoughts
Between muses
Of better luck, and
Of better luck next time.
The pity that has crowned me
For all to see, and feel,
Comes rightfully,
As I do pity myself,
Like a mouse ought to
In deepest winter.
The mouse, however,
Sleeps through it,
While I turn and toss,
Wrapped in my blanket
And in thoughts of fortune
And in my misfortune.
I cannot complain;
I have known a good life,
A life with luck,
A life with privilege
Compared to the mouse's.
Yet, I still feel lost
Between thoughts
Between muses
Of better luck,
And better luck
Which I wish myself
Next time.
Deb Jones Sep 2017
I am tempered by the fires of life's lessons
Some learned at my mothers knee
Other lessons I had to live through
Part of me wishes I were still naive

Sometimes the heart of gold I strive for
Feels more like a shield made of steel
To keep out the pain of remembering
The lessons I was taught so well

Once in a while, it makes me smile
Because, I am just me
Not that shiny woman
I used to think I needed to be
That perfect woman made of fluff
Not a woman hardened by tenacity

I survived everything that I've been through
Not always knowing when to wait or when to run
Sometimes my hesitation
Made the pain linger on so long
Sometimes I ran much too quickly
Trying to avoid the hurts I thought was to come

The most hurtful regrets I have
The ones that still make me cry
Are the times
I should have stayed and fought for
What I knew was rightfully mine

I forgive everything....
That forgiveness will allow
I work so ******* forgivng myself....
I am working on it even now

The lessons life has taught me
Made me the woman that I am
I was tempered and molded
By my very own two hands
All in all
I am proud of how I am turning out
Split Jun 19
It’s 4 am and I can’t help but wonder
How we live with the knowledge
Of the pain within others.

Within those with no shelter.
No resources.
No freedom.

It’s 4 am and I’m confused
On how we dare harm our planet.
Our home, our everything.

How we prefer to feed our needs
Rather than spare the earth
A bit of torture.

It’s 4 am and my heart aches
at the thought of intentional harm.
At the thought of incompetent behavior.

Overproduction of animals, plastic,
Just for the consumption of greed.

It’s 4 am
And my previous mistakes
Of careless, selfish actions
Rightfully taunt me.
Please understand that actions have consequences, any bit of good will add up. Use less plastic, eat less animal products, and donate your time along with your resources to those in need (your knowledge can also be shared, one does not understand their harm until given the facts).
Noah Sep 2018
Beauty of this effortless.
I did not come to swallow of guilty tongue,
Though rightfully, it has been made done.
Having been I to pronounce in unrightful bearing,
Brought down in redeeming unveil in the turning toward you.
My eyes were told to ration my love in foreign experiences,
Such a time that I couldn’t hold back.
Time ran like a moment of memory,
Which was the cause for all motion to remain.
Your defining passerby moment made me consume silence,
Unfolded your presence, expressed your moment to not forget.
Showing guiltiness of my dissonant mind.
Beauty of not any effort, I became an atonement and could not say.
Forthwith that moment, this stride, yours.
To glimpse what I became aware.
Seamlessly this path was made more.
Evermore I mourn to relive it.
Maddie Jul 6
Flying off swing sets, glimpses of sunsets, blades of grass floating in the air.
Snowflakes on my tongue, so much to become, dreams as big as a triple-dog-dare.
Chasing after leaves like a dog chases bees - relentlessly and rightfully fun.
Broken arms, not broken hearts, with band-aids to fix all my wounds.
Sadness existed solely in silence or when I was sent to timeout.
I didn’t yet bear the weight of the world. My bare arms were too busy living.
Surviving off smiles and makeshift mud pies, my backyard bakery was thriving.

I think back on that time when the whole world was mine. I wonder where I went since then.
That little blonde girl with the ribbons and curls doesn’t recognize herself anymore.
My old friends are gone, they simply moved on. I guess I had to move on too.
Monsters and demons crawled from under my bed, into my head.
And sticks and stones couldn’t touch my bones. My words were all that could hurt me.
My arms are now scarred from when life was too hard. They’re not bare anymore.
I’m more and more scared, I wasn’t prepared for my dreams to disappear.
It’s hard to have dreams when you struggle to sleep. I wish I could sleep through the night.
I wish I could see through the eyes of what used to be.

Why is the world so different than it seemed?
I’m ripped at the seams.
I can hear the screams.
From the little girl who had dreams drowned in the world.
Debbie Lydon Jul 15
Glaze my mind's last bough with gold,
For it is waning like a face that has been carved by sorrow,
Reside, perched upon it like a robin in the cold,
Who's bold colour can't help but alight hope for tomorrow.

Though I wander listlessly within this bleak time,
And a daily load upon my back has been thieving my vigour,
There is a guile still inside that is rightfully mine,
And an idea, born of strength, that is infinitely bigger.

I have been built upon a strong foundation,
Your attempt at erosion can do nothing or little,
A dignified and discerning heart beats within,
I will tell you in earnest, it is neither breaking nor brittle.

My sky does still have dark clouds to be cleared,
But such beauty they endow to a distant position,
Suffering has not marred those colours revered,
Tragedy and triumph are allied in this, life's war of attrition.
she jumped off a cliff at night and fell into some insight
longing for the wind to carry her towards her inner vision
her darkest demons came to display their fearsome faces
yet despite their frightening efforts they could not dissuade her
she approached her sparkling soul with many expectations
her hopes, desires and dreams she swore she would not forsake them
many tired eyes and hands reached out in vain persuasion
trying to break through the light she had rightfully cultivated
words and forms took on different bodies and danced before her
with her diamond sword she cut off their heads and tore their bodies into pieces
no more could they taunt her with their mellifluous and insidious voices
her mission was to resurrect eden from within this grave of poison
her body's wisdom told her that she was ready
to give birth to a sacred garden
that would become a sanctuary and place of peace for all of Maya’s children

never underestimate the power of the dragon’s tear
it holds the key to harnessing your fear
breathe in this fire and release the siren’s laughter
her necklace is dark and covered with the blackest diamonds
as cumbersome and wicked as her cunning daughters
drunkenly they stumble through the streets of cobblestone
only stopping to spit upon or kick the remains of fallen bones 
how does evil find its way in this world of light and shadow
how does any soul conquer thirst, hunger and desire
first they fight and then they die until all are left asunder
villages are burned and pillaged and all the treasures plundered
are you ever really who or what you think you are
for when all is said and done what is left to be discovered

looking inside I see the light that causes blindness 
in the eyes of old men and women
like fiery emeralds they flash and shine 
but can only reflect back the mind’s madness
dreaming perpetuates the illusion of permanence 
causing them to deny their decline into violence 
walk steadily with rhythmic and righteous cadence 

dance fearlessly upon the spines of enemies 
laugh for they know they cannot evade this
if you learn to jump from cliff to cliff with strength and grace
you shall escape this miserable fate and relate only to your destiny
to be captivated by the sight of the mind’s trickery 
is to sleep restlessly in an eternity of longing
but to recognize your soul and merge with it beyond control
is to paddle your ship upon the surging waves of wonder
until you eventually discover you have again crossed the whole ocean
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